Very relatable feelings . Love your artistry Sherman . Still today , I wear my concert shirt with you and Bonnie Raitt’s names on it …. Proud to wear it ! 😎🙏☮️
Grave yards need to go. I understand having a ceremony for loved ones after they die, but using up precious land to fill with toxic synthetic boxes and an ego slab of identity marble on top - just not sustainable in a world of 8 billion going on 12 by mid century. You think about how nature works and its an amazing system of recycle and renewal. In ancient times we were buried with a cloth or our clothes wrapped around us and put under the dirt to biodegrade and become one with the earth once again. Grass and Wild flowers etc. pop would out of our grave site area and nature is left the way it was meant to be - no toxic waste, no ego marker. I wish to cremated and ashes tossed into the ocean or maybe the tree planting idea? Also, I have some thoughts on your heavy Evolve poem but another time.
Ahh. The graves. So silent even when we are willing to listen. I visit my mother's grave, every time hoping to hear a whisper. The Fort Jackson National Cemetery is not far from here. Row after row after row of hushed white stones. Thank you for this reminder to see and try again to hear whatever they might say.
I feel that loneliness and understand it. We are all so different from each other. My parents were cremated then scattered in Puget Sound. My grandparents were cremated then put into a niche at a cemetery in Seattle. That's as far back as I know. Most of my ancestors emigrated from Norway in the 1880s. Growing up, my family moved every 2 or 3 years to a different part of the US--following my father's job transfers. I've moved 32 times, since graduating from high school. Frequently, when I'm driving, I will have a conversation with a loved one, who has already been promoted. I guess my tribe is mostly strangers I have yet to meet. Thanks for you poem. I love the graveyard shift putting you out in the night, walking past a graveyard.
I love your phrasing: "not quite absent, not quite there". I do not visit any family in cemeteries but I often still feel the presence of those who are gone in a "not quite absent, not quite there" way.
There's only two stanza's here and yet so much subtlety. Implications of a divide and the idea of how isolating city life can be despite how close and congested people are together versus a more sparse and communal life. So well executed.
Very relatable feelings . Love your artistry Sherman . Still today , I wear my concert shirt with you and Bonnie Raitt’s names on it …. Proud to wear it ! 😎🙏☮️
Grave yards need to go. I understand having a ceremony for loved ones after they die, but using up precious land to fill with toxic synthetic boxes and an ego slab of identity marble on top - just not sustainable in a world of 8 billion going on 12 by mid century. You think about how nature works and its an amazing system of recycle and renewal. In ancient times we were buried with a cloth or our clothes wrapped around us and put under the dirt to biodegrade and become one with the earth once again. Grass and Wild flowers etc. pop would out of our grave site area and nature is left the way it was meant to be - no toxic waste, no ego marker. I wish to cremated and ashes tossed into the ocean or maybe the tree planting idea? Also, I have some thoughts on your heavy Evolve poem but another time.
.. love the ‘reflection .. mournful .. melancholy ?
but in my impertinence feel it may truly ‘deserve more ?
better said - mebbe an alternative variation ? (with respect !)
- deliver ‘you’ in 3rd person & less pronouns - we know it’s ‘you’
- bring the haunting ambient sounds of the two graveyards ‘to life..
& then find the ‘voice talent of your choice as voice of those buried there
You’re the commuter .. & those who lie there ? reveal your inner thoughts & feelings
.. consider the lament in a visual sense.. it’s the way I ‘see it.. yet don’t quite ’hear it 🦎🏴☠️🎬
Ahh. The graves. So silent even when we are willing to listen. I visit my mother's grave, every time hoping to hear a whisper. The Fort Jackson National Cemetery is not far from here. Row after row after row of hushed white stones. Thank you for this reminder to see and try again to hear whatever they might say.
in the graveyard
just from a name and dates,
you can imagine the story
so powerful!
My grandparents and several other relatives are buried at Calvary Cemetery, which is only a mile or so from where I was born at UW hospital.
I feel that loneliness and understand it. We are all so different from each other. My parents were cremated then scattered in Puget Sound. My grandparents were cremated then put into a niche at a cemetery in Seattle. That's as far back as I know. Most of my ancestors emigrated from Norway in the 1880s. Growing up, my family moved every 2 or 3 years to a different part of the US--following my father's job transfers. I've moved 32 times, since graduating from high school. Frequently, when I'm driving, I will have a conversation with a loved one, who has already been promoted. I guess my tribe is mostly strangers I have yet to meet. Thanks for you poem. I love the graveyard shift putting you out in the night, walking past a graveyard.
A stunner
A stunner
Once again, your poetry grabs me by the throat and heart.
Hope you are never even close to that lonely again
I love your phrasing: "not quite absent, not quite there". I do not visit any family in cemeteries but I often still feel the presence of those who are gone in a "not quite absent, not quite there" way.
You’re magnificent. As Tiffany S recognized….❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Beautiful
There's only two stanza's here and yet so much subtlety. Implications of a divide and the idea of how isolating city life can be despite how close and congested people are together versus a more sparse and communal life. So well executed.