Tag Archives: desire

The ride

Whirlygig

When first she put her leg over the motorcycle
and clung to the rat bastard’s back…
when first she felt the thrum of the engine
and felt that surge when he gunned it…
when first she threw herself all in,
giddy with knowing that this was it—that this, just this—
this was what she had wanted all along…
even then, knowing that the crash was sure to come,
knowing that she would break everything she had to break,
knowing that she would lose everything she had to lose and more…
even then, knowing all of this from the start,
the anticipation was awesome,
just awesome.

swril2
A person’s life choices are never anything to comment on or to judge because life and its decisions are so personal and none of us are perfect. But trying to tease apart the process, to understand how it is that we drive ourselves and how we face the world…to do that is universally human, and I trust, forgivable.

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

The photograph is entitled Swing! and was taken at my home in Putnam, CT. It is the rotating pendulum going all a whirligig at the bottom of a clock. For more photography, please visit the Book of Bokeh.

john

Photograph, poem and notes © 2014 by 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: © 2014 by John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use or reproduction in any way, unless so granted in writing by the copyright owner.

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A quiet tale of a scalpel and a brush

You have a thief’s hands, you do,
a lover’s lips, a liar’s tongue
and a drunk’s sure hand for the cure.
How often I’ve let you make me,
severing lips from hope
and painting my eyes shut…

I know you, I do;
I know you as I know the way
pain runs sweet and slow
down my broken back;
I know you as I know the way
I drain and flow to your will,
wanting more, yearning less,
mute to you all the while;
I know you as I know the way
I lay helpless in your gaze,
searching for you, searching for me,
searching for the surcease of I-don’t-know-what,
but searching all the same.
We know, don’t we? We know.

Thank you for reading A quiet tale of a scalpel and a brush. 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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Floating

Cathedral Rock, Sedona, AZ

 

A giddy drunken laugh
of pure melodic thought,
the musk of a scent aloft 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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Where you draw your line

No matter how short you think it is
told true, the trail is always long.
If you want to know what it all means,
it means exactly and only what you think it does:
you do not hike a path, you blaze it as you go.

So do not talk of the distance you’ve trod
but of the way you’ve left to go.
And if you think I am telling you exactly
what I want of you, you are correct—
I want exactly and only what you think I do:
you do not yearn in vain, it burns you as you go.

This is how I make the miles of a long hike disappear, by writing poetry in my head. It doesn’t do a lot for my practice of mindfulness, but it sure can make a trail go faster.

Human beings are such curious things. How much do we yearn to be safe and careful and free of worry and doubt? How much do we fear the unknown, when it is in the unknown that we find our strength, our purpose? How often do we do and want things that are inimical to our well-being? I am as puzzled by me as you are by you and as we all are by each other.

Thank you for reading Where you draw your line. 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.

7 Comments

Filed under Poetry