I'm going to present another of my friend Lee H. McCormack's poems, partly because I like it so much, and partly because I'm immersed in the process of trying to complete my learning track at Treehouse in Web Design, which I'm very close to doing, and eager to see that particular goal met. So, I'm exercising my prerogative to post a poem of my choosing, if not my own composition.
Enjoy, and respond as moved, in the comments. Find the poem below the orange squggly dingbat.
Kalliope
Means "beautiful voice" from Greek καλλος (kallos) "beauty" and οψ (ops) "voice". In Greek mythology she was a goddess of epic poetry and eloquence, one of the nine Muses.
Join us every Tuesday afternoon at the Daily Kos community political poetry club.
Your own poetry is always welcome in the comments.
Bongos, berets & turtle neck sweaters optional.
The keyboard is mightier than the sword.
Anywhere In The World
Being somewhere in the world is like being anywhere:
the bus or train arrives, what are you waiting for?
Outside it is raining burrs and orchids, the street
is littered with announcements
someone threw away, the wind blew East
and in the West another sunset scorched the ocean
while you leaned towards going but held back
thinking of love and all its complications.
It's true, I would miss you but then we've been through this
and again the rain is beating a tattoo against the window
and all this endless contortion in the world just
our journey to redemption. Without reason
another eyelid slips down and light dims,
for in the end losing love is death without a funeral.
Then you begin the wandering, the yearning for
distance and exposure to something new
to get you through this phase of disenchantment.
Biologically, it is a mutation of senses that,
once a blue lagoon, now are covered with oil spilled
when affections ran aground and the world became
large enough to travel in again, for as a stranger
in a strange land no one else can hurt you.
Still, no matter where you are nights continue to be filled
with dreams of places you've been and faces you've lain with
in the unconscious steam and frost of seasons.
I know this because, like you, I cannot tell us apart
yet we are never the same twice and always changing
distance is our true connection, the rail or bus line simply
another time in mind that meanders elsewhere
in its slow arrhythmic pulse of blood overcoming gravity.
Being here is like being anywhere in the world,
the motion constant and endless as cells are rearranged,
each view as different as weather, the far or near of every vista
always new as the journey goes on within us
into anticipation of the unknown and unexpected arrival
at that moment we admit we have lost ourselves
in loving the world, and have nothing more to lose.
LHM © 2015
Link to Lee's poem with accompanying image, chosen by him, on Facebook (scroll down--there's a lot there)
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