A Fire Dropped Ashes on My Hair
The bonfire dropped ashes on my hair.
I didn’t care.
The polish did not appear perfect
on my left little toe.
I didn’t care.
The waves, I’m sure,
were splashing on some shore.
I used to hear them always,
with friends.
I hear them no more.
My head spins with miserable thoughts,
of miserable people;
people in miserable far away places
and right around the corner.
I take an Advil.
My hair straightening gel didn’t work.
I didn’t care.
My copy of Satyagraha, given to me by my grandmother,
dislodged from a set of books that had been placed upon my new book shelf.
A page was torn.
i would cry over the exact same thing. except it would be my compilation of love poetry.
Aw, sorry, Alice. The poetry is grand, thuogh.
:(
Sweet, poetry lives in you yet again.
Is it always the sad things that bring it out?
beautiful poetry.
I’m glad you’re writing some poetry this weekend it’s
been awhile.
Sorry about the torn pages, but we all have torn pages.
You can repair the torn pages; it’s the ownership of the book which counts.
I think you are rubbing off on me.
Loved it.
There is a reason (well, one of several) why I do not try to teach poetry. I never feel qualified to comment on someone’s emotional release.
:( to the torn page and :) to the poem, be it as it is.
Alice that’s amazing and inspirational. From not hearing the sounds of the shore to “I took an advil” to the end. Loved, loved, loved it.
The page can be replaced, your memories will remain
wow. that was beautiful
Precioso y bellisimo…
Isabel Allende’s work being disfigured, or Pablo Neruda’s, would do that to me…
The polish on my left little toe would have to match I am afraid… *sigh*… a bohemian’s burden I am afraid…
Hope you get some rest this weekend, besos, and stop it now, no more crying! Are you not supposed to be calloused? ;)
tran: I’d like to see that compilation.
Dawg: See I’m not totally callous.
Robotman: Indeed something is still alive and sadness tends to make it more so.
kyagirl: thanks
jacob: You are wiser than I once thought.
coyote: I know what you mean but I tend to comment anyway.
john: be it as it is.
pia: indeed I know it was a mood and I wallowed in it for a time.
Wombat: Thanks dear sweet wombat, you would say so regardless.
Missy Bohem:Gracias mi bohemio hermoso.
I hate when gel straightener doesn’t work. Ah well… great poem, btw. :)
Awesome verse, chica!
Awesome verse, chica!
Straightening gel?!?
This would make a great Beatles lyric.
Lovely poem.
My favorite part is about the Advil. This cowgirl eats Advil like candy.
My hair behaves so much better now that I whacked it…I am in love with my flat irons.
ha ha,
I never use anything hot on my hair because my “stylist” from down here in Maryland would kill me or so he tells me so I am stuck with this stuff in a purple tube,which works beautifully when I can get it. My hair stays pretty straight when it temperate out but once in awhile it goes astray.
I’ve always wanted to shave my head but fear my head might be kind of bumpy ……so ,thus far, I have passed on that.
What a fantastic poem. Thanks for sharing it with us cooper!