cemetery

Trees In The Green




Trees in the Green

 

A view of the trees

Remembering that they are

life forms jutting out

In cemetery prairies

Also, in parks & parklands

 







Author's Notes/Comments: 

Reedited 08.31.2019 (corrected a misspelled word in the Author's Notes/Comments: introspecive - intros*pective); 07.05.2019; 07.02.2019 grammatical error correction: (due *to, versus due *from, self-directedness versus self-directed learning)  


Reedited 06.22.2019 (for corrections regarding the mismatched syllables in the last line which was not seven syllables (when I thought it was before), if the 5-7-5-7-7 basic tanka description is to be followed.  This error was intuitable in that specific time, yet the error was still committed because I thought that I was doing it right  (I would recall that it was possibly due to excitability in those initial moments; & which I only have been able to finally confirm along the way by verifying its initial descriptive notion as I went over it this time (ipso facto, earlier today).  This is a helpful aid in my self-directed learning since this was an issue with descriptivism.



06.07.2019 reedition (for grammatical & semantical errors):



This was just an attempt at composing a "tanka" after a very, very long time that I had not composed one.  Although not published here, I have known that I have created some Japanese poems beforehand  (in the decades that are passé).  Believing, at first, that I was mindfully creating a haiku, which was my 'real intention' (until this was being thought out right now), my recounting proved that I am mistaken (mostly due to the descriptions I once held in my mind to be 'true'—e.g., a 'Gettier problem', in an epistemological sense).  In my mind, I was wanting to make a poem, in short verses.  And I could not help but recall the 'Japanese art', until later when I began realizing that—via a causal relation—"I might have gotten something wrong" (also by virtue of merely going by the term's/definition's sake).  Both of their definitions were readily available in my mobile device's built-in dictionary & are easily accessible; yet despite that obvious breakthrough of technological convenience, I figured that it is not enough for me to truly grasp the essence of such a particular Japanese "art form" (from an 'a priori' knowledge).  And then, somehow, the 'a posteriori' notion prodded me because of this process in my introspective/reflective note/commentary). This particular poem, (i.e., an actual example of my 'tanka') has got me in that realization.  Its poetic style have me liking it more, which emphatically may have quite something to do with why I liked it all the more (because of its refined/distilled appeal).  Quite, I liked it so much (I thought)..even though I still have yet to figure out both of their distinctive qualities (i.e., tanka vs. haiku) which does not warrant a self-directed learning in any way.  Right now, I cannot yet say why, in terms of technicality, because I just wanted to emphasize a 'particularity' whenever I expound on its adverbialism (in this respect, with my objectification/objectivity).  The rest would be left to the spontaneity of the learning experiences of life.  Although, truthfully, a tanka - how my experimentation turned out to be, has that totally different approach & meaning to poetry (as compared to a "haiku")..while I mistakenly was thinking that I was actually composing a haiku for that matter.  That spontaneous occurrence mattered in that it happened aptly, when I would have liked it to be happening at this time.  The end result is valuable empirical data [outcome].—The mobile device, where the sources of informational products were "actually" taken from, & that which had provided me with the quickest possible reference at the time, was just a particular "language text" defining the "definiendum" ["tanka"].  This was seemingly the recallable driving force and decision point for its final publication.  Thus, it ended up here, howsoever, & that had also given me enough (or more) reasons to examine my poems—in this capacity.  Once again, I apologize for my long notes (which you can expect sometimes whenever I have something to post/to share here).  Kindly please pardon my philosophizing as I have tried to give my comment on several accounts or viewpoints (a multiperspective approach with a lot of contextual dimensions & intertextuality).  Thank you for looking on!

 

 

 

Do the dead dream

Folder: 
Poetry

Down on forgotten beds
angels in stone
forever watch
those who sleep
in the arms of comfort
of the silent
and the still
of the dreaming worm

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Untitled

“how beautiful is the silence of growing things
in a place full of even deader things?
the soft roots of innocent herbs
poke through the rotten flesh
and curl around the dirty bones
of forgotten ancestors
that deserved better than this.” And
all of this underneath the rubber soles
of a young girl’s Sunday shoes,
scuffed white surrounding curled baby toes.
Her world watches as she jumps from rock to rock,
lining the winding road as it leads out.
And she laughs at herself,
dark curls bouncing with her. Again she wonders,
“how blind are the sunken eyes
of those who stopped looking? the flies buzz
and run their tiny feet all over
the stiff, unfeeling organs
of ancient lovers from a different land, different time.
if they could see now, they’d just see rotting wood,
the unsightly view we condemn all our expired kind to-
maybe that’s why they stopped looking, closed their eyes.”
She smiles, and the old breeze
chills her crooked teeth, stirs her Sunday dress,
black and white against her bony knees.
And she tells herself-
“It is just his body that lingers,
falling victim to natural defamation;
his soul floats on to a truer place,
full of grander memories.”
For she cannot afford to think in any other way.

ROSE PLACED

We placed a rose
on the plot today,
where in a week or so,
your boxed ashes will lay.

 

Strange looking at the grass,
the ground damp from rain,
that fell the previous day;
unreal that this

 

is where your final
remains will lie,
in the casket,
underground

 

far from the eye.
It gutted me,
looking there,
the lump in the throat,

 

the eyes full,
slight wind
in the hedges near by,
wanting to pour out,

 

get the hurt out there,
pushed off somewhere.  
A lonesome rose,
lay on the plot;

 

all about other stones
and crosses and statues,
names and dates,
words of loss and pain,

 

other have felt
sometime along the years,
days, hours, ticking quietly
from grave to grave,

 

flowers placed,
plants in a pot,
and soon you will
lie there in your own

 

marked plot,
words chiselled
against the black,
but whatever

 

we have worded there,
can never
bring you back,
dear son,

 

can never
bring you back.

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White stone

white stone as far as i could see,

over the hills and dipping into the valleys,

TAPS played as a soldier's funeral commensed,

i saw between the headstones,

grass and beautiful sky,

i wonder if the soldier ever saw blue sky while in battle.

a uniformed soldier gaurds the bodies and souls of soldiers with no names.

all the graveysrd was quiet,

every hundred mile,

except for TAPS,

gently laying a soldier to rest.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Arlington Cemetery

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