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Wed 26 Feb, 2003 07:38 pm
In passing we see the faces of those
Whom we have never met in prose.
We see them on the porch from scenic highways.
We turn our heads to catch a fleeting glimpse.
And hence, they pass into the landscape.
The hum of tires beneath the car
Takes us away from where they are.
And in the wondering of that briefest of encounters,
A name floats out to hang it's appellation tight
In sight, to thaw within the freeze.
The people on the porch.
The torch of poetry.
Yes... I often have that thought.."I'll never see that face again"...and what about all those minds wrapped in their internal conversations that could potentially deafen us ?...and all unaware of each other !
fresco, You have a poetic bent. What a fantastic theme for a poem: minds wrapped in eternal conversations, deafening the world...
Excellent poetry of your observation, Letty.
That is ME on the porch--- 
,
Don't forget to wave.
And read the fella I try to emulate on the poetry thread-
Porch or veranda?
Hey, my friend, Jackie.
big wave............................................................................................
And I hear the waves even as we speak.
Thank you.
Were we able to see all faces,
hear all voices;
all conversations,
all wishes,
all desires;
taste all tears;
sense all regrets;
to whom would we listen?
to who would we give comfort?
to whom would we open our hearts?
Bo,
Absolutely fantastic! Where have you been hiding the bard in you all this time? Listen--comfort--and open--Yes, Bo, the simplicity that is anything but simple, but a rainbow design, nonetheless. Love it!
Lets;
The sensitivity of your original spured me to dig down inside;
Isn't it odd that when almost everyone you know;
most poeple you meet, even in breif encounter;
many of those about whom you read, care so clearly about one another,
that society is still the hideous mess that we see around us.
Yes, Bo.
The true riddle of the Sphinx which looks on with smile so inscrutable;
past so imputable.
You must read Stephen Crane's "A Man Said to the Universe", Bo. since you speak that language.
Do you have any concept of how long my "must read" list is allready?
Of course you do! Silly me.
[I've added it.]
Lovely as usual Letty.
This kind of poetry speaks to everyone, for who hasn't seen a single face or friends on a porch and wondered about them--who they are, who they love, their troubles and their strengths--what makes them living, individual human beings? Sometimes, it's hard to keep driving.
Bogowo, you reminded me why it is necessary to keep driving!
Diane,
Interstate travel has truly taken away more than it has given, I think, enabling us to by-pass America. That is why fresco's poem about sheep in the road, and the pastoral image that it creates, is a welcome wandering of the mind.
Thank you, Diane.
Do I have a doppleganger?
Maybe,
but what I meant by my question mark was why is "pace" the enemy. Were you referring to slow...moderate....fast...what?
As a matter of "public" record;
The pace of an automobile prevents intimacy with the "wallpapering" along the route.
The human scale of walking, allows, not only greater scrutiny of the size, colour, and attitude of the "flies" on the wall, but demands a reaction, however, cloaked, forced, or genuine it might be.
Well, my polar friend, I just wrote the most beautiful rebuttal that I have ever written and someone out there grabbed it and buried it under the front porch...
Even though I've always destroyed or thrown away
whatever I've written (it is NEVER good enough to
suit me) - I still have that poetic yearning in my
soul, always calling to me; Come back, come back.
I enjoy listening to you all. Babs
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