Tags
Edward Smithfield, Golden brown finer temptress Through the ages she's heading west From far away Stays for a day Never a frown with golden brown, Here she comes Silent in her sound Here she comes Fresh upon the ground, However far away, I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky And one by one they disappear, Joseema., lost and found sound as a pound, Lost in a good book, Nachgochema Anetaha Anachemowagan, Our consonants spun and squealed- rattled faster- hesitated- raced harder- syllables soon melting with groans or moans finding, Seeks and ye shall find
Hariod Brawn said:
This is so clever, melding such poignancy with the sort of distanced objectivity we might experience in viewing the world after some great loss (how dare the sun rise, the price of bread even bother to change?) A kind of protective mechanism, is it, perhaps, that distancing from the way things must be? The pebble-skimming repetitions suggest the seeming relentlessness of loss, as if echoing returning feelings hitting the surface of consciousness, then subsiding, then rising. And yet there is still energy left for the final plea, the longing, which again rises and falls in consciousness. A great piece of work, Esme, in my judgement. Many congratulations. Hariod ❤
LikeLiked by 7 people
Esme upon the Cloud said:
I am honoured you think this of it Hariod, truly. It takes standing back for some time and looking through other people’s eyes for me to see how well the core has been conveyed when I’ve written a piece usually, so when someone picks up on the beat within, gets the repeat as with the pebble, it means a great deal. He’s annoyed at the sun, the ocean, ultimately the universe itself for not bothering, for not making his loss with the gravity and import he feels is deserved, neither of them can forgive the ocean for its cheek, the lack of notice. People grieve over not just those who have departed this coil or mort, but also those who suddenly have someone disappear out of the blue, for whatever reason. People go missing and are never found . . . Edward went supernova searching for her, and he found her, or she found her way back, this time. Other times he does not and vice versa, but eventually we are all stars (going all Moby (no dick thank you) on you here) and they shine as one. (Not a right one).
Thank you again! ❤
LikeLiked by 4 people
The Pink Agendist said:
No. Obviously “red eyes downcast, fiery cap in hand” means this is about a homeless person who’s taking drugs – and who can’t afford bread because the price went up. So then he eats leftover chicken nuggets people left behind at a picnic. Littering bastards! Then children throw rocks at him on the beach and he walks into the ocean, never to be seen again.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Hariod Brawn said:
I hadn’t been able to pierce the diaphonous veils of metaphor and metonymy with quite such erudition as yourself, Pinky. Do please forgive the drear and asininity of my misguided pabulum; my senescence so frequently leads me to overlook the bleedin’ obvious.
LikeLiked by 2 people
makagutu said:
Beautiful poetry right here!
Greetings to Esme from hot Nairobi
LikeLiked by 2 people
Esme upon the Cloud said:
Thank you mak!! Very pleased you think so sir x
LikeLike
The Pink Agendist said:
Lovely 🙂
LikeLiked by 2 people
Esme upon the Cloud said:
Thank you Mr Pink. I’m very touched you think so. x
LikeLiked by 1 person
Swarn Gill said:
Beautifully written Esme. At first I thought this might have been a metaphor for Brexit, when you talked about the price of bread going up, but it is clearly much more. 🙂
Seriously though it resonated with me when I’ve felt heartbroken at a loss of love. Time seems to pause in one’s own heart, but the world moves around you. There is a discordance there. The fact that our emotions impact our perception of time is an interest of mine as you may well know. Even once our hearts catch up with the pace of the world and we do move forward, there does feel like there are echoes, or imprints of that love in certain places. Like an old photograph, but it exists in the air, in the earth, it us organic material of the past, and so your fossil metaphor is very a propos.
As always your ability to use words to reach inside the reader and move them amazes me.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Esme upon the Cloud said:
‘Time seems to pause in one’s own heart, but the world moves around you. There is a discordance there.‘ – Yes, that’s it, motion goes on, you go on, the baker serves you a loaf just as they always have done, but there is a discord that resonates the timeline, puts you in a separate thread of slow motion as through the motions you go. You put it all very well Swarn, and I’m glad that’s your take of the piece too. We leave imprints and echoes all the time, it is those who love us who feel them the most, especially when we leave, be it for a few weeks, a few years or forever and a day. I should add that these imprints can impart a great joy too, and in the case of the poem it is a kind of treasure trail on both sides that led to them ultimately being reunited. So not a glum piece in a nutshell.
Fossils. Yes. I am an excavator smiles.
Thank you good sir, you have given me the surety of my success with these words. ❤
Esme highly gratified and smiling happily upon the Cloud
LikeLiked by 2 people
Swarn Gill said:
Indeed there is a sort of sweet sorrow in the missing of someone. The sweet some days is stronger than the sorrow sometimes is the stronger, but as I’m sure we’ve discussed before love is always something to treasure, and re-treasure.
kind of treasure trail on both sides that led to them ultimately being reunited
It reminds me of the lyrics to a Harry Chapin song:
I’ve found you a 1000 times,
I guess you’ve done the same,
Then we lose each other,
It’s just like a children’s game,
And as I find you here again,
The thought rolls through my mind,
Our love is like a circle,
Let’s go round one more time.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Esme upon the Cloud said:
Oooo I love those lines! pockets them for potential usage in book.
Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Bela Johnson said:
Yours as well! “Even once our hearts catch up with the pace of the world and we do move forward, there does feel like there are echoes, or imprints of that love in certain places. Like an old photograph, but it exists in the air, in the earth, it us organic material of the past …”
LikeLiked by 3 people
Swarn Gill said:
Thank you Bela. 🙂
LikeLiked by 2 people
Ben Naga said:
A step above the ordinaire, and appreciated. 🙂
LikeLiked by 2 people
Esme upon the Cloud said:
Thank you Ben, how marvellous to hear.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ben Naga said:
Grins with abandon
Now here’s an article I suspect you may enjoy chewing over. Please view it as a Springtime gift, my friend:
https://www.wakingtimes.com/2019/02/28/8-pieces-of-bad-life-advice-that-are-actually-good/
(It’s not nearly as “NewAgey” as it might at first glance appear, honest.)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Esme upon the Cloud said:
‘Get away from the zoo-mentality, the menagerie of madness. Let your mind out of its steel cage. Crucify any routine that kills your dreams. Nail it to a cross and fill your winecup with its blood. Play more. Dare more. Adventure more. Trust more. Love more. Love dangerously. Loving dangerously is loving without hope. It’s loving courageously, vulnerably, honestly. Which is likely to hurt. Therefore, loving dangerously is being open-hearted enough to be okay with having your heart broken. In fact, it’s about becoming adept at adapting to heartbreak. It’s about overcoming the slings and arrows of life and becoming resilient, robust, and antifragile because of heartbreak.’ – Just a couple of bits there, much of that article is very advanced for humans and I mean that very seriously. Thank you Ben, you were dead right, and I thank you for the gift. I’m wondering if the Cloud has been freelancing behind my back all the more-so towards the end, hahahahaha.
‘Grins with abandon’ – Love that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ben Naga said:
Hmm. Clearly you have a far greater trust in my memory than I do. 😀
LikeLiked by 1 person
Esme upon the Cloud said:
Hahahahahaha.
LikeLiked by 1 person
manth1975 said:
You are a great talent my fiery cloud xxx
LikeLiked by 2 people
Esme upon the Cloud said:
Ahh, Mantha, I’m honoured you think so. bows and curtsies low, thank you dear. ❤
LikeLike
Bela Johnson said:
I share the sentiments of Hariod and Swarn, no surprises there. And to add my own is to say that I have and am experiencing several losses lately and presently; those who were here so vibrantly, and then gone. And what is left, like a slug moving slowly across pavement leaving its shimmering trail, is that cars still hum along the road, birds still bless the breaking of dawn with their singing, the wind rattles old plantation house windows and the sun rises and sets as though nothing has changed. While everything has, for me. Of course I am not alone in these sentiments; nor are any of us. Strange, strange, this too-short existence. One ought to rise joyfully each day, breaking the glory of morning like a dolphin’s powerful exhale as it surfaces from the depths. We forget to breathe, perhaps, in those moments that, for whatever reason, take that breath away. Lovely offering, esme. Thank you. ❤
LikeLiked by 4 people
Esme upon the Cloud said:
Oh Bela <3. The joy, yes, that’s the carrier – for joy is love based, and therefore intertwined completely here, and we can glow brighter every morning. Breathe. smiles and nods. Some song lyrics that hold me in that joy are thus –
‘Breathe, breathe, believe, believe, that we are loud like love’ – it’s a shouter. Shout out Bela every day, bellow your love out in waves. You’re already very good at it, it is as you say, remembering that’s the key.
Thank you for you words dear. I very much appreciate them, especially here. X
LikeLiked by 3 people
Bela Johnson said:
❤️❤️❤️
LikeLiked by 1 person
Michael said:
This was masterful, Esme. Brought me to a stop, cap in hand, to witness what we can’t really say or talk about unless we resort to such means as these, where what emerges from the deep silences of our existence defies our understanding, even as it illumines us, and even though it was nothing more complicated then a pencil, a scrap of paper, and a pool of light that has been traveling since the very beginning to find us. Oh, and you…
Michael
LikeLiked by 1 person
Esme upon the Cloud said:
Oh, me – es – esme – ye,s ’tis me. And as me – Esme – I thank ye Michael for all I see in your kind soliloquy. The paper, the light, a pencil . . . aye, and in a loop it be. I’m so pleased you stopped by and enjoyed this Michael, caught it’s essence as you have – and you have – and you have, made my day with those words. Thank you in spades.
LikeLike