PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

 Your words trace orbits of:   Your words trace orbits of their own; thank you for launching such warmth into my little corner of the cosmos. To know that "After the Comet" landed with someone attuned to the quiet majesty of the heavens makes the whole poetic trajectory feel worthwhile. I’ve always believed that what some call random motion (ellipses and echoes) is often where meaning hides, waiting to be witnessed. You’ve done just that, and I’m deeply grateful, Starward-Led, for your constellation of kindness.

More than valuable, your: More than valuable, your words settle like dew on the altar—each sentence a benediction in itself. To be read so deeply, and with such reverent ferocity, is to be seen in a way few poems dare hope for. "Crossings" was an attempt to name the many departures we survive, the rituals we build to return to ourselves, and the joy that refuses to wait for permission. That you walked it not just as a reader, but as a co-witness, means more than ink could say. Thank you for meeting the poem where it lives—in breath, in silence, and in becoming.

There’s no doubt that he: There’s no doubt that he waits for you with nothing but understanding and unconditional love. And wearing sheer socks, of course.    We have all made choices we’re not proud of, but this poem and many others offer purpose, courage and valuable art to others. Never underestimate that gift. God bless.   

A spinal injury, five years: A spinal injury, five years ago, has skewed my lower nerves so that I can barely walk, but the pain in my legs is amplified beyond what I could have imagined.  This poem definitely describes pain with an authenticity that can almost be felt on the screen.

Sunday evening going into: Sunday evening going into Monday morning has brought to my browsing eyes to of the finest poems I have ever read since I began reading Poetry in 1973; and this poem is one of tbose two.  The robe of stars . . . walking barefoot into a wild life . . . and laughing so hard the stars come nearer:  these three phrase are the triangled pillars on which ths poem rises into its verbal magnificence.  The only two failures are the title, and the final two lines---far too much like Elton's maudlin song and therefore the reader loses the greatness of the poem.  But this is so easily fixable, and the poem can begin and end on its inherent stellar greatness.

  Reading this as a mythic:   Reading this as a mythic interruption, of light that intrudes, dazzles, and then departs. May this response acknowledge that what we witnessed was not just brightness, but a kind of quiet grief: the fleeting miracle of being seen, together. It reflects on the comet not as spectacle, but as elegy— an arc through darkness that becomes memory as it vanishes. And yet, for that brief moment, we looked upward and remembered what wonder feels like.

I love---let me say: I love---let me say again, LOVE---this magnificent poem, especially part V.  And I love how my words fail as I read yours, as they did decades ago when I began to discover Poets like Vergil and Wallace Stevens.  The joy of discovery dwindles in old age, but your Poetry brings it right back.  I really like the format of this poem. * Bookmarking this one for several anticipated re-reads; same way I love to hear Dvorak's 9th repeatedly.