Sad and hopeful, Shannan. Thank you for this. There is a place. For now, it is here, still, despite losses, so much beauty, tenderness, touch, smell, taste, hear--presence. These bodies are a burden, but without them, there is no laughter. Without them, there is love, but no ability to feel it. Courage.
Yes, as if we are a bag of senses, so many more than we often consider. Direction, humor, common, morality, and many I haven't probably tried out yet. 😂
I too have been lost in rumination of decay and trying to pan for what’s left of the gold. I’ve found some treasure in the spirit of infinity, of what beauty comes next, of what’s beyond our control.
I love “How cruel the gavel of time” for its pounding finality, and at first misread it as the gravel of time, which evoked an hourglass bursting with too-rocked-up sand. Thank you for sharing your poetry! Substack is an expansive well for verse, for sure.
As so much big-picture trouble around us is leaning harder into the straining seams, this affirms the need for poetry. And capable poets. To get us to grab our roots firmly and hold tight to the view from here. When troubles spread in broad strokes, hope needs to be specific. As Shannan makes it here.
Sad and hopeful, Shannan. Thank you for this. There is a place. For now, it is here, still, despite losses, so much beauty, tenderness, touch, smell, taste, hear--presence. These bodies are a burden, but without them, there is no laughter. Without them, there is love, but no ability to feel it. Courage.
Thank you dearest David! And yes indeed, these burdensome bodies full of strange joy...and endless material to write on haha 😭
Yes, as if we are a bag of senses, so many more than we often consider. Direction, humor, common, morality, and many I haven't probably tried out yet. 😂
I too have been lost in rumination of decay and trying to pan for what’s left of the gold. I’ve found some treasure in the spirit of infinity, of what beauty comes next, of what’s beyond our control.
love the thought of finding treasure in "the spirit of infinity"
Wonderful!
Thank you Ray!!
Beautiful. I’m glad your note cajoled me into coming here and reading it.
Haha, so glad! Thank you Jonathan
LOVE this!!
Thank you Amy!
"Spying birds migrating away to warmer
mountains, I can almost fool myself
that there is such a place for me too."
I have chills.
Thank you for this.
Thrilled it resonated, Shubha, thank you for reading
I love “How cruel the gavel of time” for its pounding finality, and at first misread it as the gravel of time, which evoked an hourglass bursting with too-rocked-up sand. Thank you for sharing your poetry! Substack is an expansive well for verse, for sure.
ahh I love that misreading, really. Thank you my friend!
As so much big-picture trouble around us is leaning harder into the straining seams, this affirms the need for poetry. And capable poets. To get us to grab our roots firmly and hold tight to the view from here. When troubles spread in broad strokes, hope needs to be specific. As Shannan makes it here.
Thank you so much Richard, your thoughts are always cherished
Mustanging is a Sasquatch word: rarely encountered, you’re not sure if it’s real. Nice! Very fitting for this lightning-in-a-bottle poem.
It's become a favorite word somehow haha. Thank you Colin!
Shannan!!!!! This poem is phenomenal 🔥🌎
You're wonderful, thank you Elise!
Somehow I experienced the reading of this as both grounding and expansive. Lovely.
this is wonderful to hear....thank you Cynthia!
How beautiful! 🫶🫶❤️❤️
Thank you Meera!
Really beautiful and poignant.
Thank you Laura!
Love your created noun to verb "mustanging along pastures"! Your end line- reminding me so many things are wondrous (impossible, really!)
Thank you Nancy!
How thoughtful and worrisome. I hope things end well for you as this poem does.
I think they just might, Michael--thank you!
Gorgeous
Thank you Rachel!