WATERMARK

a poet’s notebook

Established 02004

March 9, 2005

Snapshot 09 March 02005

There are dreams
but I sleep past them. I wake

in sun and pain. Joe
is dying and I ignore it. I bury

myself in books and
other distractions; in television

and other detachments.
My head is encased in foam. It floats

through air, cushioned,
enclosed, severed, cut from this sad

and heavy body.
My head cannot tell my heart to feel.

The connection is
broken. A broken connection can be

mended. A broken
heart is irreparable. It flies in pieces

through unforgiving
air. This head feels only the sensation

of floating, a slight
anxiety that cushioning might be

insufficient for a hard
landing. Hard-headed, hard-hearted,

I wait for the phone
to ring, but it is disconnected. They

can call and call
but I will not hear. Joe is dying far

away and later
than he wanted. He is sad because

he is going
to heaven and I won’t. He is happy

because he knows
his other daughter awaits him there.

Another bright morning,
another warm day. A ribboned sky

at sunset.

Photos 2005, Snapshot Poems 2005

5 responses to “Snapshot 09 March 02005”

Ken

March 9, 2005 at 9:42 pm

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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SB

March 9, 2005 at 9:49 pm

Just in case some reader comes by who does not recognize this, it is Dylan Thomas, Do not go gentle into that good night — click the link to go to the Academy of American Poets and listen to him read it.

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etherealfire

March 10, 2005 at 2:50 am

beautifu image, beautiful heartbreaking words…

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Gunnar

March 10, 2005 at 7:44 am

Nice blog you have here.
Thanks!

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jenett.radio

March 12, 2005 at 1:53 pm

poetry as life…

“I wait for the phone to ring, but it is disconnected.” SB’s last Snapshot, and the one before it, are quite moving…

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Ancestral (Artificial )Intelligence

I do not use AI to write. For me, writing is how I think, and I prefer to do it myself. If/when I post anything here that I suspect or know to be AI generated, I will tell you.

I have changed this from Artificial to Ancestral, after Abi Awomosu @ Substack. This medium was made with human history, human thought. All of it, bright and dark. It is ancestral.

Poems

Please do not assume that I am the speaker/ subject of my poems.

In these times of creative nonfiction and fictionalized memoirs, I think of the poem itself as true fiction: it is most likely not factual, but it must be true.

It is likely to be — it is best if it is — a truth I did not know before I wrote, and may not understand even then.

A poem is my way of discovering (dis-covering) what I feel; sometimes, what I think — but it is not necessarily biographical.

Snapshot 09 March 02005

5 responses to “Snapshot 09 March 02005”

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