Tag Archives: puzzle

Will

free

What do you do when you’re drawn to the do?
When somehow, somewhere, by someone,
there’s nothing that’s left that’s not been done before?
I mean, what’s there to be afraid of, except,
well—you know—you?

And yes, I know you’re tired, of course you are.
But you’re also all aflutter from the naughty
you’ve discovered, I can hear your pulse
pounding in your desire.
Just beware what you scratch,
there’s more than warm blood
welling from the bottom of this one.
And speaking of heat,
you left the door open
when you went your way home
and that’s making the temperature rise—
perhaps it’s that bridge burning beneath your feet.

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

The photograph was taken in Sedona, Arizona, along the Oak Creek river, just north of town. I had stopped to take pictures of the canyon and quickly grabbed this shot when I had the chance. 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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It does, the deeper, the harder

I don’t know/therefor I am certain is surely
the lover’s conundrum: knowledge from ignorance,
greedy yet generous, the thirsty little barb
that sinks its teeth in and never lets go.
Isn’t that exactly how we get here,
wherever the here is that we find us?

And yes, it hurts so bad that we cry
but it also hurts so sweetly that we pray,
when we pray (and of course
we don’t pray often enough)
that it will never, ever stop
not even once,
not even when we say it does not matter
because it does— matter, that is—
not just hurt.

This poem grew from two lines from another poem that just couldn’t work themselves in. As I often do in such cases I removed the offending lines to see how it affected the poem and it benefited from their deletion. The lines I took out included the words “a lover’s conundrum” and so they went on to become this poem.

Thank you for reading It does, the deeper, the harder. 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

© 2012 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: © 2012 by John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com.

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