Steeped in sadness

[Byron In Exile]

.....

 

[Cheyenne]

Thumbs and bluespoke- you know I love you guys.

 

[KillerMuffin]

Death is my friend and sometimes we dance. He comes to call, handsome in his tuxedo and warmth. Skittering along the edge and teasing, so teasing. He seduces and he charms, promising heaven in his bony fist.

 

[erosman]

I had a good cry this week. I sat in my vehicle and half leaned out to embrace a friend that I have loved with my whole being for over two decades. We talked of the laughter and profundity that we had shared. We cried at the realization that our paths would leave us hungry for our memories. It was epic. It was full. It felt good in a strange sort of way to just let the grief tumble down our cheeks.

Poignant memories don't have to be salted with regret. I could only face the next moment when I stammered my gratitude. I was better for knowing...for loving, and the trajectory of our paths only lead us to greater heights if we will but let go.

Life has been full. It has been good...very good. The heart that led me to that moment will take me further, if I will but trust. The richness of the past propels me to find my inner blueprint's path. The adventure is not complete. Life's vitality lies in a balance of the past and the future...the fulcrum is today.

 

[Ishmael]

Death is my friend and sometimes we dance. He comes to call, handsome in his tuxedo and warmth. Skittering along the edge and teasing, so teasing. He seduces and he charms, promising heaven in his bony fist.

Astride his pallid mount, he leans and points. Inviting me to his secret realm. Offering succor from earthly pain and sorrow. Seducing me with promises unproven. Signaling the unearthly orchestra to play a waltz, slow and grim. His words play cunningly on my ears. The temptation is great but the cost unkown.

Ishmael

 

[Rhys]

Death is my friend and sometimes we dance. He comes to call, handsome in his tuxedo and warmth. Skittering along the edge and teasing, so teasing. He seduces and he charms, promising heaven in his bony fist.

He is Baron Samdi lord of the dead and the graveyard, his yawning mouth reminding silently of words we never speak ill of the dead for lest ourselves become death sooner than we think.

 

[Rhys]

Time....slips away for us all...

tell someone you love them today...


I do love you.

http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/herrick/hourglass.jpg

 

[SpiceCake]

Astride his pallid mount, he leans and points. Inviting me to his secret realm. Offering succor from earthly pain and sorrow. Seducing me with promises unproven. Signaling the unearthly orchestra to play a waltz, slow and grim. His words play cunningly on my ears. The temptation is great but the cost unkown.

Ishmael

How did you know? It has been so great this week, the temptation.

 

[tswyk]

I had a good cry this week. I sat in my vehicle and half leaned out to embrace a friend that I have loved with my whole being for over two decades. We talked of the laughter and profundity that we had shared. We cried at the realization that our paths would leave us hungry for our memories. It was epic. It was full. It felt good in a strange sort of way to just let the grief tumble down our cheeks.

Poignant memories don't have to be salted with regret. I could only face the next moment when I stammered my gratitude. I was better for knowing...for loving, and the trajectory of our paths only lead us to greater heights if we will but let go.

Life has been full. It has been good...very good. The heart that led me to that moment will take me further, if I will but trust. The richness of the past propels me to find my inner blueprint's path. The adventure is not complete. Life's vitality lies in a balance of the past and the future...the fulcrum is today.

Beautifully said, Erosman.

 

[candlelight]

You took the words right out of my mouth and said them better than I ever could.

 

[tswyk]

One of my favorite poems

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it) like disaster.




"One Art," from The Complete Poems 1927-1979 ,
By Elizabeth Bishop

 

[morninggirl5]

Thanksgiving is the ultimate family holiday, even more so than Christmas, I think. More people celebrate it- the whole country, not just Christians. But it is a hard holiday for those without "real" family. Part of the darkness of November is due to remembering and then realizing what is missing in our lives. When that answer is "people" it can be a horrible month.

Cheyenne,

You said it so well. For me, the entire months of November and December are heartwrenching. There will be 2 new babies at all our family celebrations this year.

There's an old song titled, "If we make it through December," it's truly how i feel.

 

[Cheyenne]

I read this thread and I think of Mensa. Not long before his last hospital visit, he posted to the bb about seeing death in the corner of the room, calling to him. I think I finally believe he is really gone, and that he had some idea that his time left here was short.

Don't look at death when he calls to you. Turn away.

 

[scrymettet]

november 21

Jojo,
Voici donc quelques rires
here are some laughts
Quelques vins quelques blondes
some wines some blondes
J'ai plaisir à te dire
I have the pleasure to tell you
Que la nuit sera longue
that the night will be long
A devenir demain
to become tomorrow

Jojo,
Moi je t'entends rugir
me, i heard you roar
Quelques chansons marines
some sea songs
Où des Bretons devinent
where Bretons guess
Que Saint-Cast doit dormir
that St-Cast must be sleeping
Tout au fond du brouillard
In the very bottom of the mist


Six pieds sous terre Jojo tu chantes encore
Six feet under the ground, Jojo, You still singing
Six pieds sous terre tu n'es pas mort
Six feet under the ground, Jojo, You are not dead

Jojo,
Ce soir comme chaque soir
Nous refaisons nos guerres
Tu reprends Saint-Nazaire
Je refais l'Olympia
Au fond du cimetière Jojo,
Nous parlons en silence
D'une jeunesse vieille
Nous savons tous les deux
Que le monde sommeille
Par manque d'imprudence

Six pieds sous terre Jojo tu espères encore
Six pieds sous terre tu n'es pas mort

Jojo,
Tu me donnes en riant
Des nouvelles d'en bas
Je te dis mort aux cons
Bien plus cons que toi
Mais qui sont mieux portants

Jojo,
Tu sais le nom des fleurs
Tu vois que mes mains tremblent
Et je te sais qui pleure
Pour noyer de pudeur
Mes pauvres lieux communs

Six pieds sous terre Jojo tu frères encore
Six pieds sous terre tu n'es pas mort

Jojo.
Je te quitte au matin
Pour de vagues besognes
Parmi quelques ivrognes
Des amputés du coeur
Qui ont trop ouvert les mains

Jojo,
Je ne rentre plus nulle part
Je m'habille de nos rêves
Orphelin jusqu'aux lèvres
Mais heureux de savoir
Que je te viens déjà



Six pieds sous terre Jojo tu n'es pas mort
Six pieds sous terre Jojo je t'aime encore.

 

[LukkyKnight]

The falling leaves drift by the window
The autumn leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sun-burned hands I used to hold

Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall

C’est une chanson, qui nous ressemble
Toi tu m’aimais et je t'aimais
Nous vivions tous, les deux ensemble
Toi que m’aimais moi qui t'aimais
Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s’aiment
Tout doucement sans faire de bruit
Et la mer efface sur le sable les pas des amants désunis

 

[curious2c]

Life sucks then you die...have a nice day


edited to say:
This is not meant to be light or disrespectful. Losing someone close to you is always hard. The only way I have dealt with it in the end is to realize that life goes on...it sucks sometimes, but there will be better days too.

 

[horny_giraffe]

There's nothing quite like the solitary silence given off by the still depths of soul-steeped sadness. It hurts to be alive. It's a bittersweet pain, joy in the evenness of each breath swallowing the gentle hurt of breathing. Life tastes like a rainbow of richness, a full measure of emotional wealth sprinkled with precious jewels of rubied blood that litters each breath with so much rawness.

No one is immune, no one can hide, no one can be without the coppery residue of pain in the back of the throat. The clawed touch of love is such a strong need that when we don't have it we bleed. The delicate claws so sharp we don't even know we bleed until it splatters on the floor.

And so we live steeped in a sadness inherent in our very humanity. Celebrate or shun, live despite pain or live in it.

We all hope for pain that transcends ourselves, that makes us something more than the pitiful mortal animals that we are.

We cry out in our pain "Daddy! Mommy! Love me! " We try to remember the immortality of our youth, when summer was forever--when every emotion carried the solemn weight of our future potential. An infinite number of possibilities are crushed under the weight of opportunity, until the choice is made despite our kicking and screaming.

Sooner or later, we understand that even our ultimate contribution will probably be usurped by morticians:

2 gal. propylene glycol
1/4 gal. amphyl
1/2 gal. 10% buffered formalin
50 oz. liquefied phenol

 

[KillerMuffin]

In the Valley of Cauteretz

All along the valley, stream that flashest white,
Deepening thy voice with the deepening of the night,
All along the valley, where thy waters flow,
I walked with one I loved two and thirty years ago.
All along the valley, while I walked today,
The two and thirty years were a mist that rolls away;
For all along the valley, down thy rocky bed,
They living voice to me was as the voice of the dead,
And all along the valley, by rock and cave and tree,
The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.


       -Alfred Lord Tennyson

 

[Rhys]

21 November.

yeah what is it about that day anyway...

 

[Ishmael]

The Spoils of the Dead

Two fairies it was
On a still summer day
Came forth in the woods
With the flowers to play.
The flowers they plucked
They cast on the ground
For others, and those
For still others they found.
Flower-guided it was
That they came as they ran
On something that lay
In the shape of a man.
The snow must have made
The feathery bed
When this one fell
On the sleep of the dead.
But the snow was gone
A long time ago,
And the body he wore
Nigh gone with the snow.
The fairies drew near
And keenly espied
A ring on his hand
And a chain at his side.
They knelt in the leaves
And eerily played
With the glittering things,
And were not afraid.
And when they went home
To hide in their burrow,
They took them along
To play with to-morrow.
When you came on death,
Did you not come flower-guided
Like the elves in the wood?
I remember that I did.
But I recognised death
With sorrow and dread,
And I hated and hate
The spoils of the dead.

- Robert Frost

 

[frankies90]

I must say....Robert Frost certainly does something to me.

 

[Ishmael]

I must say....Robert Frost certainly does something to me.

Whoaaaaaaaaa, talk about a voice from the past.

How are you????? Won anymore awards for your poetry? And why aren't you sending me your works anymore?

Any new stories at Lit?

So many questions.

Hope everything is going well Frankie.

Ishmael

 

[KillerMuffin]

I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to God's throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness,
In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare
Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare
Of the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, express
Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death--
Most like a monumental statue set
In everlasting watch and moveless woe
Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.
Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:
If it could weep, it could arise and go.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 

[frankies90]

Whoaaaaaaaaa, talk about a voice from the past.

How are you????? Won anymore awards for your poetry? And why aren't you sending me your works anymore?

Any new stories at Lit?

So many questions.

Hope everything is going well Frankie.

Ishmael

Hiya Ish,

I'm doing well ty. Actually I did get another one of my poems published. I'll send you more hon.

As for the erotica haven't had much time for that....unfortunately. I have many flowing through my viens that are ready to put down on paper.

PS....I loved the poem you chose for the board.

 

[Calamity Jane]

I read this thread and I think of Mensa. Not long before his last hospital visit, he posted to the bb about seeing death in the corner of the room, calling to him. I think I finally believe he is really gone, and that he had some idea that his time left here was short.

Don't look at death when he calls to you. Turn away.

*sigh* I miss him so much. Find myself wanting to PM him about some silly little thing, and then I remind myself that I can't.