There's something powerful going on here, Sharon, yet I feel that it would be even more so if edited down (the final four stanzas work best for me).
Doug
On 2011-01-19, at 8:34 AM, sharon brogan wrote:
> Up in the dark, white
> ground, snow. You are here.
> This is all there is. You
> do not have to deny what you are.
>
> Rain still falls from your dream.
> Simulacra of old acquaintance
> slip past familiar corners.
>
> This is not from scripture.
> Do not flay your own back.
>
> You follow this arrow
> in the only direction
> you can go. Choose
> what you will.
>
> Love what you love.
> You’ve been here before,
> this day, yesterday, the next,
> just around a dark corner.
>
> Live in the world in which
> you find yourself, mountains,
> the sea, your own inner landscapes.
>
> Sliding on ice,
> unsteady, uncertain,
> no arm to hold to but your own.
>
> This planet, this land, this water,
> they roll under you, through you.
>
> How is it the sky fades
> from dark to dawn?
> But fade it does, again and again.
>
> This is your home.
> It is what you make it.
> Build it in your mind.
>
> And again you rise into it,
> unfinished, unfamiliar, strange
> to yourself in wakefulness.
>
> Brilliance in the dark,
> subtlety in light,
> nothing is as it seems.
>
> Speak clearly. Say to yourself:
> this is mine, this is me.
>
>
> --
> sharon brogan
> http://www.sbpoet.com
> http://www.sbpoet.net
> http://smallpoems.sbpoet.net
> 406.578.1788
>
Douglas Barbour
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Language has unmistakably made plain that memory is not an instrument for exploring the past but its theater. It is the medium of past experience, just as the earth is the medium in which dead cities lie buried.
Walter Benjamin
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