Jumping in Puddles
Who would
throw herself
into the water?
Who would reach
swollen fingers,
sunburned arms
over the edge of her
pathetic life
boat
and cut the rope
that tethers her heart
to the anchor?
I’d do it.
I’d do it
for the sea.
Who would
throw herself
into the water?
Who would reach
swollen fingers,
sunburned arms
over the edge of her
pathetic life
boat
and cut the rope
that tethers her heart
to the anchor?
I’d do it.
I’d do it
for the sea.
posted by yelhsacrow at 7:44 PM
3 Comments:
i hate to take up so much room in a comment, but your poem reminded me of one by E. E. Cummings(- i think it's the puddle part.), one of my favorite poets ever.
in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame baloonman
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring
when the world is puddle-wonderful
the queer
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
it's
spring
and
the
goat-footed
baloonMan whistles
far
and
wee
Thank you for that! I posted an e.e. cummings poem here a while ago--"All which isn't singing is mere talking":
all which isn't singing is mere talking
and all talking's talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or seeking
master or disciple sheep or wolf)
gush to it as diety or devil
-toss in sobs and reasons threats and smiles
name it cruel fair or blessed evil-
it is you (ne i)nobody else
drive dumb mankind dizzy with haranguing
-you are deafened every mother's son-
all is merely talk which isn't singing
and all talking's to oneself alone
but the very song of(as mountains
feel and lovers)singing is silence
lovely poem yelhsa
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