It always amazes me, Saturn, at your facility with words and how easily you weave them to form a deep impression of thoughts and feelings. Your poems often take me to a different "mental space" and make feel like I have touched something both ancient and contemporary. Thanks.
I don't believe that I have posted any original poems on this forum (because I don't think I could actually write a poem), but I came across my daughter's sonnet. She is 19 and wrote the following one day at college. I thought I would post it. It's her first attempt and better than I could write.
Cleared is the table set for one,
The pruned hands in the kitchen toil,
And long gray hair falls down undone,
Still on her face tears roll like oil:
A man, a memory, set with the sun,
And dead grape vines that now recoil,
Hang on the grave in conversation,
Mocking their mother, most unloyal
Who never learned until she lost,
More the years, not more the wise,
Her eyes she found had long been crossed
A few moments remain, and this to weep-
We learn the most important things
Only where dead men sleep.
"Come... dry your eyes, for you are life, rarer than a quark and unpredictable beyond the dreams of Heisenberg; the clay in which the forces that shape all things leave their fingerprints most clearly. Dry your eyes... and let's go home."