Perhaps you’re wondering where I’ve been, why I haven’t posted in a month.
Maybe I’m wondering, too.
Look, I don’t have a good explanation for you. Sometimes writers—writers like me, anyway—get distracted. I’ve been busy, and I’ve been lazy. Mostly, I’ve been dreaming, and then dreaming some more.
I’ve missed your posts, and will try to catch up on my reading soon. I didn’t stop writing, and I’ve written a few posts of my own while I’ve been out. They need a little polishing, but I will start putting them up soon just in case any of you are bored and looking for something to read.
In the meantime, I also took some time to write a poem. See if you like it, or can make any sense of it for me. I truly don’t understand it myself. I don’t write much poetry, and when it arrived, it surprised me like limes and oranges at Christmas. It feels pretty and gentle, and could use a proper title reflecting that feeling. Like almost everything I write, I’m afraid it’s just another Pelennorian pebble lost in a vast field of stones.
I stared at the Pleiades,
Shimmering in the winter sky.
Picked a night flower,
Lit by a diaphanous moon.
Drank Taigan water,
Tumbling over smooth stones.
Explored a secret titanium mine,
Sparkling and bright.
Nibbled on a chocolate truffle,
Served on Antediluvian china.
Traced amaranth pink,
At the tip of an artist’s brush.
Tasted raspberry pie,
Drizzled with fresh cream.
Held an aureated nectarine,
Set with amethysts.
Leaned against an autumn birch,
Standing apart from the grove.
I forged a tiny boat,
From hammered copper and iron,
And sailed the vast mirrored sea,
Rising with steam.
I scaled mountains of iron,
Awoke a great brown bear,
Spoke its name out loud,
And wrestled it to the ground.
I envied the wind,
Blowing through the Boreal forests,
Scented with lightening and rain,
Encircling the Earth with its crystalline sash.
I sang a creation song,
In the morning,
And again at night,
And did not feel so alone.
Michael, I think you have potential poetic talent. However, it is obvious you have used the Thesaurus on this poem and therefore I flunk you. -Mean Ass Professor
I knew all the words but one, dear sister, and that’s hardly a cheat.
Well, I hate you for being so wickedly smart. Wait, I have an excuse. I am losing chunks of brain, wait, there went some more temporal lobe right then. See? It’s so messy. (sick)
I’m curious…which word didn’t you know?
Aureate. It’s a synonym for golden. But I wanted the extra syllable.
Hmmm…it sounds like a Curious Reflection…very nice Michael.
Thank you, Ron. I suppose it is a Curious Reflection. Puzzling, for sure, but in a good way.
This stanza spoke to me because I had a pint of local Boreal Rousse this evening. It tastes nothing like wind or forests, but a lot like cold beer.
“I envied the wind,
Blowing through the Boreal forests,
Scented with lightening and rain,
Encircling the Earth with its crystalline sash.”
P.S. welcome back
Yum!
Thanks, Mike. I’d like to try that beer. Especially right now. It was 109F, about 45C, where I was today. Tomorrow, they tell me it’ll be about 120F, which is hot enought to melt iron.
You’re a wonderful poet, Michael. And you’re in luck, cause I’m about as smart as they come and can make perfect sense of your poem for you. You’re clearly feeling a little lost, searching for something, perhaps longing for something that is just out of your reach. What are you longing for, Michael? Tell us, it’s a pony, isn’t it?
Yes, a pony! A black one that whinnies like thunder, snorts fire from its nose and has wings. I want to ride it, to fly over the city at night when everybody else is sleeping.
That, or a Ferrari.
Go with the horse, it sounds magnificent. That horse could make angels fall.
I only mentioned the Ferrari because I didn’t everybody to think I was being too girly.
It was a little girly.
It was way girly.
It was.
Is there something wrong with girly?
No Michael, we all know you’re a little effeminate and sensitive. I liked your girly poem.
Whoa! There’s pie?
Yum.
I know, right?
Ah! At last! A post by one of my favorite bloggers!
I’ve missed ye.
And I thought the poem was dreamy. It reminded me of a dream where observations can be crystal clear.
And I think you are alluding to our senses allow us to feel “alive.” And Mother Nature bears witness that we are not the only creations on this earth, hence we are not truly alone.
I love it.
And take my interpretation with a grain of salt AND a Diet Dr. Pepper.
*burp*
Not only the senses, Quirky, but yes, sometimes we’re lucky enough to feel alive. And loved. But only sometimes.
I like your poem. And I’m glad you’re back.
Thanks, you really seem to understand it.
I really do, don’t I? I think the title should be “Dreamin’, I suppose”.
Or, “What I did on my summer vacation”
Either one.
Good Mike, We are heading back to Vancouver tomorrow. It was good to see Jay and Alison. Having a good train trip.
Good news, pops. Wish I was there.
I can’t look up all the words I don’t know this early in the morning. I like the way they sound and look, but the meanings escape me. The last four stanza’s are much more to my liking because I think they are more easily read. I particularly like the last one. This is a real switch up for you and if you stick to this more elaborate vocabulary, I will have to get a dictionary with bigger writing.
What? A real dictionary? With real paper and whatnot?
Yup. But mine has really small print. I need to get glasses if Michael insists on waxing intellectual on us.
Large print?
Yes, I need a large print dictionary. Or maybe glasses. Naw, glasses would be going too far. I look so gooooood without them.
The only poems I get are limricks.
Sad, I know.
There once was a man from Nantucket….
And a woman with a berry bucket.
I don’t know all the words to the berry bucket, suppose I could make some up.
Dirty limricks, or just regular ones?
Very cool poem. And I’m always struggling to keep up with…well, everything. Glad you’re back in action.
Everything is a lot to worry about, I admit.
Missed ya Michael, see ya next month
Hah! Maybe.
Nice to see you back, my friend. I’m looking forward to those posts that you have coming. I’m not much of a student of poetry and I’m afraid this one went right by me. But I’m sure it must be wonderful, because everything you write usually is.
It is wonderful. The most wonderful poem ever.
You have been to Boo’ya Moon.
Missed you!
Lightning
no e; stupid word, I know.
ah haaa!!! Michael it finally happened to you !!!!
Fuck.
Eloquent, Dear!
Oh good! You’re back! I hate it when bloggers suddenly disappear. Just so glad you’re back, and glad to hear you were writing during your absence. The poem was beautiful. You write beautiful though, so I’m not surprised you’re also a poet.
I don’t write much poetry, actually. Hardly ever. I felt inspired.
I think I have a title for you: “On Eating Magic Brownies”.
Seriously, it was quite, um, ethereal, if you know what I mean.
What the hell does ethereal mean? What are you, Daniel Webster?
Well, since you weren’t posting I decided I wouldn’t either. Out of solidarity. Now I suppose I’ll have to start posting again now that you’re back.
My advice: Who cares? Let’s be lazy together, Boom Boom.
My Uncle Mike is a learned man who appreciates raspberries and creams and also wrestle bears to the ground…in his dreams…lol. Welcome back!
You’ve no idea how much I like raspberries and cream. It’s the best.
Yay! Welcome back, I’ve missed you. Although, I’ve been MIA for two weeks, also.
I’d love to comment on your poem, but I will have to look up 90% of those words first.
Everybody’s whipping me over my language. I’ve got welts all over my body. I like the poem, though.
Your poem is beautiful.
You are brave to share it.
*kisses welts to make better*
I LIKE IT VERY MUCH.
So fun article is!
I hate it when you write like a brainiac and leave us blondes in the shadows.
But I did read this post when you wrote it and now I see you are still dreaming.
Hope things are okay at your house.
Yeah, I’m not buying the “dumb blonde” thing, Techno.
Everything’s just fine, and thank you for thinking of me.
This is a great site. I really like it. Thank you for the site. May God bless you in all your works.
this is a lovely poem. My compliments… I have passed it on.
gwennie
At first, I thought you said you passed on it. Or passed out. Or something negative involving the word pass. And then I realized, “Hey, Gwen likes my poem. That’s awesome.” And I was happy. Not for long, of course — it’s hard to be happy for very long — but for a little while.