Tag Archives: contentment

I do

LynPraying

God, but what an honor it is
to love and to be loved by you!
By this I do not mean
the self of youth,
the callow of desire
or the inertia of long nights.
For me, for you, for evermore
it is the bright of your soul,
the kiss of your smile,
the glow of your too often
set upon patience.

I do not love you with every
fiber of my being, and with
every twinge of my every second.
I love you more than that,
I do.

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For Lyn, of course.

The Bahá’í Faith recently completed its yearly fasting period. This poem came to me when I suddenly awoke at 3:00 AM on the last night of the fast. I remember being shocked with the clarity and completeness of it: having a poem arrive like that is something that rarely happens to me. Although tired, I was able to force myself to stay awake long enough to memorize it, so that it would still be with me the next morning. Thankfully it was!

Thank you for reading I do. I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain, and as always, I look forward to your comments.

The photograph of Lyn praying at the side of a small river was taken several years ago during a fall holiday to the Poconos in eastern Pennsylvania. To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.

john

Photograph, poem and notes © John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © John Etheridge,  https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use in any way without the expressed consent of its creator.

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One fall drive in the Poconos

Maple leaf forever

The small maple leaf, deep red with tiny yellow daubs and
a bent stem, floated down before the windshield and slowly,

lazily even, started to curl midair, casting as
it twisted, a spell on time itself: sound stopped and light curved

in a still sheen, highlighting the pale yellows on one side
of the road and the blood reds on the other, with a pair

of puzzled eyes—hazel my mother called them—floating in
between. Suddenly I knew this for what it was: an ache

for all those calm, quiet, forgotten moments, the ones of
absolute lightness that are sweeter than breath itself and

sufficient for being them unto themselves. Gone then
were those agitated moments—

With a whoosh, more imagined then heard, the little maple
leaf flew up and over the car, into the void behind.

– or –

The small red leaf twisted in the wind,
an instance of perfect resignation,
a breath released before I—
and was gone.

 

swril2

 

Recently, my wife and I spent a week in the Poconos, the name the resort area goes by in Pennsylvania. (In New York the same area is known as the much more prestigious “Catskills,” which just goes to show you that even a mountain range can do with good marketing these days.)

We were both, by the time we got there, exhausted and tired in both body and spirit, so the trip was a welcome respite from our daily clamor.

The incident described in the poems happened exactly as described, but that raises the question, Why two poems under one title?

I wish I had as good an answer as the question. The longer poem was my attempt at a more structured, detailed poem. You will note, for example, the 14 syllable line construction until the break and how much color plays a role in it. But in the end, I wanted to try something even  more closely aligned (if not as descriptive) with the spirit of the event, its brevity and intensity.

Like any good parent I will not state a preference of one child over the other. But please, feel free to weigh in on which you think works the best for you.

Thank you for reading One fall drive in the Poconos. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.

john

© 2013 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. These poems and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2013 by John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com.

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Do you?

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I work with several wonderful reviewers on some of my poetry. One, KB, from The Mirror Obscura (a site that I highly recommend by the way—KB is an incredible poet) had suggested the poem may be too prosaic.

On the other hand, the  fantastic Julia Dean-Richards from A Place for Poetry (a fellow PenDraggon; I have linked to her deeply moving work before, here and here) liked it, but then did two things that saved it: 1) she cut it’s length, making it briefer and more to the point (never a bad thing), and 2) changed the font size of certain phrases.

The result seems—to me anyway—to leap from the page and become even more intense then I had written it. Unfortunately, my blog theme does not allow me to change the size of a font so I opted to post an image of the poem that preserves the exotic formatting.

Thank you for reading Do you? We sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.

john

© 2013 by Julia-Dean Richards and John Etheridge; all rights reserved. This poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license for this poem is: © 2013 by Julia Dean-Richards and John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com.

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Floating

Cathedral Rock, Sedona, AZ

 

A giddy drunken laugh of pure melodic thought,
the musk of a scent floating in the dusk,
an impression, a vagary,
an echo of an image, a reverie,
the memory of a sweet soft sigh.
We are this silence,
this dreaming, this evening
we are this silence,
just now.

This poem is dedicated to my wonderful wife, Lyn, and to the incredible time we had in Sedona, Arizona for the last week. For my foreign readers, who may not know about this fabulous treasure, Sedona is an artist’s community/vacation area in the heart of the American Southwest dessert. It is a few hours drive south of the Grand Canyon and a few hours drive north of Phoenix, Arizona.

While we were in Sedona, we ate well, slept well, did some running, some hiking and some mountain biking, and all-in-all relaxed and had a wonderful, calm and romantic week. If only it need never have ended…

Thank you for reading Floating. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.

john

© 2013 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. This poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2013 by John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com.

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