Listening for the words in a quiet corner of the night. The fiction, poetry, and photography of Jason Evans.
This one is on the edge of bittersweet. I woke up in the middle of the night with the phrase "What is wrong with me?" echoing through the cold recesses of my brain, and then the thawing, "There there now, everything is alright and you are fine." from my higher being. I won't bore you with the ridiculous foibles that caused the inner dialogue, but your poem comes from the higher place, and I love the warmth.
I love that photo. All those edges and pieces emerging into sharp relief.Being lost, and yet warm. Still something that others, even those hellfires, seek and hold onto. The vulnerability and strength of that is what's striking to me here. And uplifting.
I suppose if you were cold enough, hell might seem nice and warm. FOr a while. Maybe if you could just warm your hands and feet over it.
i feel that chill, jason... and the warmth thereafter
I really love that photograph. It is a natural collage. I feel as though I have been that cold before and that lost, too - gnawed to a carcass. I don't like it much. A blazing flame is the only thing that seems to thaw me when I am chilled to the bone. Come to think of it, a shot of rye whiskey does the trick, too. But when I am lost - it takes many hours of wandering to find my way back.
Catvibe, I'm glad that higher part of you was there and strong, ready to reassert your foundation. Yes, reality is largely what we (or the higher part of ourselves) make it.Sarah, infinite edges and holes in that photo. Yet, it leaves the overall impression of a surface (albeit cracking). Somewhere in these words is the warm thaw of the photo. So much sweeter than the brutal, instinctual drive to survive the fatal cold.Charles, yes, you've tapped into the conundrum. Desperate for heat at any cost. Until you have to pay.Laughingwolf, may the warmth never leave you.Kaye, a collage...yes, I like that! Gnawed to a carcass of cold is the contemplation here. An extreme. But one we sometimes cross the borders of. How dear is heat to us then? I'm with you. A shot of something stout is good medicine before a crippling freeze sets in. :)
I'd rather be warm than bone numbing cold. I imagine hell would seem nice for a time ... until the thaw set in and the warmth turned to burning needles and pins. Great photo.
sometimes that is all there is left to hold on to.......
In the depths of winter with the chill in my bones I have sworn I will never complain about being too hot, ever again. Hellfires seem welcoming, indeed.I like that line, "Warmth would be your nectar" ... I can relate.
Aggie, extreme cold is one of those untenable positions. I agree.Paisley, I think that sentiment is underlying this poem. In the extremes, our desperation is what we will be left holding.Miladysa, we need a blanket in here!Terri, it never gets very cold in South Africa, right? (Except for any mountains.) I can imagine your bones will never quite accept what the north can dish out.
I too, sense this being about passion bringing back one to the much needed warmth of life - but the price can be too much.One might just prefer being cold sometimes.Or, I don't know.Your poem made me think, and I am utterly thankful for that.
I love the picture and I can almost see the flames of the "blessed hellfires" that "welcome". Happy New Year Jason!
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