Oh, what a beautiful--
Remember that time when we--
I'll never forget the--
We had the most--
My God, that was so incredibly--
over
Pigments won't sleep on the canvas
We can't stop touching them
No mountain of rags will scrub the paint away
Our fingers stain the wave of
now
And smear every portrait of
then
17 comments:
.....it seems more so at this time of year.
we straddle the "then and now" hemisphere while we continue to keep the ever changing canvas alive and breathing....
Your poem is very thought provoking. I like it a lot.
That's a beautiful painting and a perfect poem to accompany it.
I really like these lines:
Our fingers stain the wave of
now
And smear every portrait of
then
(Sorry I can't make do the italics. For soem reason, the HTML tags don't seem to work for me.)
your last paragraph is astounding!
Got to admit I've done my share of smearing......
Deep old bean. Very deep.
I understand this.
Thank you, Jason.
"Our fingers stain the waves of time." O, I loved that line. Amazing writing Jason.
Wow. I can't explain how I feel right now. I can totally relate to it :| Beautiful beautiful work.
Over.
this one comes alive as a good painting. I had to reread it some more and again - as with a good painting.
You've got my heart skipping beats with all the pauses, that are all in the right places, by the way. I love the certainty carried within the very last statement.
Awareness, I liked the way you described it. I suppose the poem was about compulsion. Even if we try to push back against past, it keeps re-asserting itself.
Karen, that's another one of my heavily photoshopped photographs. :) I snapped it on the Pennsylvania turnpike on my way to Pittsburgh.
Shadow, much appreciated!
Four Dinners, I think most of us have our hands all in it.
Bernita, I've thought about what a tremendously hard year you've had. I hope thoughts like that can lend a little strength.
Tabitha, I'm glad it resonated with you. :)
Atrisa, thank you slipping inside this vision and feeling it so completely. And I should also say, welcome! :)
Szelsofa, the poem hits like the raw colors. A bit messy, but hopefully very present.
Nevine, I saw those final lines as little paintings, just as impulsive in their placement as fingerpainting. And yes, I do feel that the present shapes the past. Our evolving understanding changes what was.
Raw is the way it should be with the paint and emotions. This goes way deep.
PS: Did you change the name of your novel to The Clock? Or is it a new one?
We never seem to be able to not have the impulse to try to re arrange the canvas...even though the paints be well dried.
bright way of poetry, this is very impressive to me, I mean your style of writing the poem,,
Keep it Up!
http://www.jingleyanqiu.wordpress.com
Welcome aboard!
Aniket, yeah, raw is right. Regarding THE CLOCK, yes, I changed the title. The other one was different and unique, but I'm learning that different and unique is a problem.
Walking Man, we always find a way, don't we?
Ji, thanks!
I know. It was a title that would make one curious. But THE CLOCK seems better for promotion campaigns, etc.
Since "The Mystery of the Screaming Clock" was the first novel I ever read, I'm not complaining. :)
Nice job Jason. I love the way it turned out. (Even if the fingers are actually mousing instead of getting dirty. Hey, all's fair in love and art, right?) The last stanza is perfect.
I too must quote this:
Our fingers stain the wave of
now
And smear every portrait of
then
Beautiful poem, Jason!
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