We’d like to show the side of the world you don’t normally see on television.
Let's talk about the black plastic bags
Full of fallen angels stuffed in a box,
the jagged edges of painful crossings-
divorce, shame, death,
dropped in the bags.
They smell like rotten persimmons.
You drag them behind feeling the strain
At the gate, you yearn to go through
Even a magician can’t loosen
for without the bags
So it comes to this.
fodder, compost, rich ripe mud,
lighter than specks of dust.
Excellent - reminds me of Bly's poem about "carrying around heavy bags" - only yours is better. Sally,do I know you from California - Shiven? I am going to your page, and possibly I will remember?
committed to Oneness, ron
Dear Sally, I went to your page, immediately after writing below, and sent you a quick "aha" message, while asking you about your brilliant colorful paintings - are they new? And I prize your great sea turtle painting proudly hung in a prominent place in my house. I am looking on line for your fine painting now. to post here.
Ah by the way, I blame my mental lapses on two things: the creative right side of the brain has no memory and info. overload - "the older I get the more beautiful life becomes." Frank Lloyd Wright One Love, ron
I like the feeling of the weight and the feeling of the necessity of it and the smell of it (as the awareness of it increases) and the fertility of it as it becomes useful for something new and light and "lighter than specks of dust." wonderful!! thank you.