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These are the moments to hold

Since I keep forgetting the newer stuff at home, here's one from 2001. Written as a wedding present for someone I once worked with. (Not sure why-I didn't like her. I must have liked the love in their eyes or something)

These are the moments to hold.
The soft spaces between breath, the
sun that breaks upon your back
as you watch children smiling so
softly at nothing in your
lazy backyard.

Hold fast the quiet when they’ve
gone sound to slumber, tucked
strong against
terrors that chase them through the
dark. Hold fast to the silent moments as
you catch sly wrinkles in
your lover’s eye.

Hold fast the time, the days that
slip past you unknowing, days that drip
like honey from your fingers. Stare long enough and you can see them
grow, past your shoulders, past
soldiers, past forgiveness.

Hold fast their passions and
loves, their tempers and blue moods.
They last so precious little time.

These are the moments to grasp roughly to your breast.
The silence of a bedroom broken only by
heartbeats. The desperate clutch of a hand after
death has walked
oh so near.

Hold fast to the time that you have.
Love, like water, flows freely through your bodies.
Time, silent villain
will make it move all too swiftly.

This is excellent stuff. Your imagery is creative, consistent, and it works.

I have to say that I'm not altogether surprised that you didn't like the person you wrote this for. It is actually quite dark, the relish of each moment always tinged with some doubt, some fear; "tucked against terrors," "sly wrinkles", "past forgiveness".

You use the phrase "desperate clutch of a hand after death has walked so near." This is the ringing message of this piece for me, about the desperate holding on for time, rather than enjoying the moment.

Superb stuff. Don't minimise this, thordora. You've got a gift. :)

THanks. Sometimes we minimize our talents, because we really don't know.

It is likely dark because her fiance was walked towards the WTC on 9/11, and had he been 5 minutes earlier, likely would have died.

And she was a cuntbag.

And yes-the older I get, and my kids get, the more I try to "zen" out and just be. I don't know how to be happy, but I'm learning!

Wow, you totally ended that on a downer - did she like it?

I mean a downer in a good way BTW, as you know, I like the dark stuff. All your writing has a heavy streak of realism and fatalism to it - guess that's the background again, huh?

I don't know if she liked it-I've noticed that most people never move beyond either "Roses are Red" or "I'm so sad, I've been so bad" as types of poetry they read and understand. The effort is usually so wasted on most people.

One thing I'm always acutely aware of it the passage of time.We don't stop enough and notice things we find beautiful, or kind, or just nice. We don't stop to realize that the bad things frame the good, and are necessary. We don't stop to say good things. We don't stop.

And that sucks ass. So I try to stop when I can, because all things can just be gone before you know it.

Yeah-the backround. Somedays I feel so old.

I think this is the same poem you gave us when we got married too! :-p (but that was in 2003, so I can only assume your comment was not about us. haha)

yep, same one. And no, it was NOT originally written for you-I usually give it to people with a gift-I'm lazy... :)

And when I think about it, I don't think I'm THAT dark...am I? I just choose to see the reality of the situation sometimes. It allows me to also see good stuff...but honestly, it's easier to write about the bad things....happy nice stuff ends up sounding cliched...

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