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In Your Absence by L Ölziitögs

In Your Absence L Ölziitögs, translated by Sh Tsog

In my eyes there are butterflies, a felt hat, mirror and a candle. In my eyes there are women, an apple, trees and a bird. In my eyes there are clocks, a key, cloud and the sky. In my eyes there is everything, except for you. Even the wings of the butterfly and the nice felt hat cause me sadness. Because you are not here, the sun is not yellow and the tree is not green. If I can’t see you and I can’t hear you, I don’t need ears and eyes, I don’t need anything. In the dark, in the dark alone, you appear, There, where the whole world, time and existence, grow dim. I will close my eyes, therefore. Oh, this burdening light, this burdening sun…

#personal #poetry #L Ölziitögs

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neil hilborn, a place where someone loves you / [deactivated user] / @filmnoirsbian / anne sexton / sonnet by neil gaiman / caitlyn siehl, start here

imjacksbrokenheart

Andrew Garfield on losing his mother, The Believer

Known to Be Left, by Sharon Olds

If I pass a mirror, I turn away, I do not want to look at her, and she does not want to be seen. Sometimes I don’t see exactly how to go on doing this. Often, when I feel that way, within a few minutes I am crying, remembering his body, or an area of it, his backside often, a part of him just right now to think of, luscious, not too detailed, and his back turned to me. After tears, the chest is less sore, as if some goddess of humanness within us has caressed us with a gush of tenderness. I guess that’s how people go on, without knowing how. I am so ashamed before my friends—to be known to be left by the one who supposedly knew me best, each hour is a room of shame, and I am swimming, swimming, holding my head up smiling, joking, ashamed, ashamed, like being naked with the clothed, or being a child, having to try to behave while hating the terms of your life. In me now there’s a being of sheer hate, like an angel of hate. On the badminton lawn, she got her one shot, pure as an arrow, while through the eyelets of my blouse the no-see-ums bit the flesh no one seems now to care to touch. In the mirror, the torso looks like a pinup hives martyr, or a cream pitcher speckled with henbit and pussy-paws, full of milk of human kindness and unkindness, and no one is lining up to drink. But look! I am starting to give him up! I believe he is not coming back. Something has died, inside me, believing that, like the death of a crone in one twin bed as a child is born in the other. Have faith, old heart. What is living, anyway, but dying.

#personal #poem #poetry

“Starfish” by Eleanor Lerman

This is what life does. It lets you walk up to the store to buy breakfast and the paper, on a stiff knee. It lets you choose the way you have your eggs, your coffee. Then it sits a fisherman down beside you at the counter who say, Last night, the channel was full of starfish. And you wonder, is this a message, finally, or just another day? Life lets you take the dog for a walk down to the pond, where whole generations of biological processes are boiling beneath the mud. Reeds speak to you of the natural world: they whisper, they sing. And herons pass by. Are you old enough to appreciate the moment? Too old? There is movement beneath the water, but it may be nothing. There may be nothing going on. And then life suggests that you remember the years you ran around, the years you developed a shocking lifestyle, advocated careless abandon, owned a chilly heart. Upon reflection, you are genuinely surprised to find how quiet you have become. And then life lets you go home to think about all this. Which you do, for quite a long time. Later, you wake up beside your old love, the one who never had any conditions, the one who waited you out. This is life’s way of letting you know that you are lucky. (It won’t give you smart or brave, so you’ll have to settle for lucky.) Because you were born at a good time. Because you were able to listen when people spoke to you. Because you stopped when you should have and started again. So life lets you have a sandwich, and pie for your late night dessert. (Pie for the dog, as well.) And then life sends you back to bed, to dreamland, while outside, the starfish drift through the channel, with smiles on their starry faces as they head out to deep water, to the far and boundless sea.

#poem #poetry #personal