Dear Sally,
Many thanks for your comments. This is what I'd call a very unfiltered poem,
as it expresses just what I feel at the moment.
I suppose in a way, it does hark back to angels, who are immortal, but I was
thinking in more general terms about religious ideas of suffering -that it's
good for us, and we should be grateful for it. If there were no rain, we
wouldn't appreciate the sunshine, etc. I think most of us feel we could
appreciate the sunshine without the need for a regular monsoon.
Kind care,
grasshopper
----- Original Message -----
From: "Sally James" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 11:49 AM
Subject: Re: [THE-WORKS] New sub: Things I never asked for
> I think the title is fine and as usual your poetry makes me shiver with
the
> truth of it all. I can't find anything to crit. I identify with the
> narrator in the writing as I suppose many will at some time in their life.
I
> wonder if you are into the angel thing again ? I have been reading many
> angel books of late and one suggestion is that we choose the way we live
in
> our lives before we are even born even choosing our own parents. A very
> intesting idea which your poem seems to home in on for me. Sally J
>
>
> >From: grasshopper <[log in to unmask]>
> >Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
> >To: [log in to unmask]
> >Subject: New sub: Things I never asked for
> >Date: Thu, 3 Jun 2004 11:35:34 +0100
> >
> > (Suggestions for a better title welcome....)
> >
> >
> >
> > Things I never asked for
> >
> >I never asked for this, to be mortal,
> >to dream of Death and find him waiting for me
> >at the foot of the stairs, or sniffing the milk
> >in the fridge. I never asked for a list of losses,
> >to stand with bowed heart and see them
> >go down in ornamented timber like captain's chests.
> >I never asked for pain, for tears, for fears at night,
> >for the greyness in my head that bulges my eyes
> >into blurred words. I never asked for them, but I'm told
> >there are immortal ones asking for these things,
> >who never get them, who sit and cry for them,
> >like dogs scenting high bones, begging for them,
> >as a charm against the bliss and bland eternal.
> >Take them, you bastards, take them - I don't want
> >the weights in my knapsack, my suitcase of cares.
> >
> >
> > grasshopper
>
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