Man, well done with this poem. A beautiful and somewhat quiet way to embrace the brevity of life. Thank you for your words. I cannot wait to read what's next.
My thinking about death changed considerably after two nearly fatal accidents. In one, I got pinned in high water at a favorite swimming hole and almost didn't make it out. In the other, I suffered extreme heat exhaustion in the Idaho wilderness, miles from the road. In both cases, the terror of death was over long before I'd lost actual consciousness -- it felt like inevitability, like the volume knob of my life being turned steadily down to silence. Perhaps we forget that comprehending death -- and feeling fear about its finality -- requires advanced cognition. The body seems to protect us from overthinking -- indeed, we seem hardwired for acceptance -- when we experience prolonged physical distress. So that's my windy response to what comes next: nothing. And it isn't usually scary -- you just say to yourself, if you're capable to thinking at all, "So this is what it's like."
I was in Seattle on Monday and Tuesday! The rain on Snoqualmie was just coming down. I wish I could have stayed longer to attend the meet up on Thursday. Next time for sure. Thank you for sharing.
Hi! I have just become a grandmother for the first time! I have been catching up with things and read your poems on bipolar. I feel I have to reach out to you to express my gratitude for your gifts! I have my own weird struggles with life long mental issues, mainly PTSD. The most heartbreaking has been my family and their inability to relate. Even though we are all in the same family!!! Shocking!!! Anyway I’m rambling but I thank the creator for your gift of poetry! Much needed in these days we are ALL living through whether we believe it or not! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
love the lines about being confronted with the things you don't know....which is the kind of amazement I have now at my age (65) that I can still have so much to learn and remain so insatiably curious instead of a complaint
This is a lovely poem and ode to Seattle winter. I wish I could adequately put into words the waiting for the snow, knowing the temperature is expected to drop, but listening to the steady rain, and then silence, and that’s when you know the snow is now falling. The silence. I love that sensation. Also, on a separate note, I, too, have reverence for the critters who share my home. This past week I let my favorite spider lie in state on the windowsill. In fact, it might still be there.
Well, here is a first for me-I heard your voice reading a poem. I generally do not like to listen to things. I prefer to read them. Now I know more. It is you but not the you in my mind. It will take getting used to but that is okay for now.
Welcome to growing older, one knows a lot but also realizes how much is unknown. It is a bizarre transformation. History takes on new meaning, yet it still remains written by the victors not the victims. One becomes puzzled by what actually happened?
Even my personal memories have been edited and rewritten. By whom I can not say, they live in my head but are not accurate. Strange existence this human being.
I love your questions! I share them...I watch the bees and the spiders and the slugs. As long as we can ask them we will stay alive. We don't need the answers It is the search that enlivens.
I remember a snow fall in Seattle in about 1977. The busses were very crowded, going home from the Central Area to Wallingford. The next day the streets were pure ice ! It was magic!!
...
I open the window,
slide you onto a book
cover, and drop you
to the ground below.
Dear Bee, I see you
down there—a black
and yellow question
mark in the snow.”
I stopped reading here. The echoes in me read the rest without your words.
This is beautiful. Thank you.
Thank you, Matty.
Man, well done with this poem. A beautiful and somewhat quiet way to embrace the brevity of life. Thank you for your words. I cannot wait to read what's next.
Thank you, Thomas.
My thinking about death changed considerably after two nearly fatal accidents. In one, I got pinned in high water at a favorite swimming hole and almost didn't make it out. In the other, I suffered extreme heat exhaustion in the Idaho wilderness, miles from the road. In both cases, the terror of death was over long before I'd lost actual consciousness -- it felt like inevitability, like the volume knob of my life being turned steadily down to silence. Perhaps we forget that comprehending death -- and feeling fear about its finality -- requires advanced cognition. The body seems to protect us from overthinking -- indeed, we seem hardwired for acceptance -- when we experience prolonged physical distress. So that's my windy response to what comes next: nothing. And it isn't usually scary -- you just say to yourself, if you're capable to thinking at all, "So this is what it's like."
I’ve never been in that kind of mortal danger. Damn. That would change perspective.
Simple and great--woke me up perfectly, to the universe.
Thanks, Rick!
I love sitting down at my desk in the morning and finding these in my email.
Thank you, Shilah.
I was in Seattle on Monday and Tuesday! The rain on Snoqualmie was just coming down. I wish I could have stayed longer to attend the meet up on Thursday. Next time for sure. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks, Angie.
Yes! Good to know,
Yes, they have actually scientifically proven eye witness accounts are the most unreliable source.
Hi! I have just become a grandmother for the first time! I have been catching up with things and read your poems on bipolar. I feel I have to reach out to you to express my gratitude for your gifts! I have my own weird struggles with life long mental issues, mainly PTSD. The most heartbreaking has been my family and their inability to relate. Even though we are all in the same family!!! Shocking!!! Anyway I’m rambling but I thank the creator for your gift of poetry! Much needed in these days we are ALL living through whether we believe it or not! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Yup.
As long as you are not cremated -- Recompose.life ~w.
My tribe doesn’t practice cremation.
Read it with Tom Waits voice (in my mind) the second time and it felt right. I pray you take this for the compliment it is.
That “What Happens Next” refrain works!
love the lines about being confronted with the things you don't know....which is the kind of amazement I have now at my age (65) that I can still have so much to learn and remain so insatiably curious instead of a complaint
Still searching....always searching...
This is a lovely poem and ode to Seattle winter. I wish I could adequately put into words the waiting for the snow, knowing the temperature is expected to drop, but listening to the steady rain, and then silence, and that’s when you know the snow is now falling. The silence. I love that sensation. Also, on a separate note, I, too, have reverence for the critters who share my home. This past week I let my favorite spider lie in state on the windowsill. In fact, it might still be there.
Dear Spider, I say eight prayers. The first seven
celebrate your living days
while the last prayer hopes,
in another time and place,
that the dead still build webs.
Well, here is a first for me-I heard your voice reading a poem. I generally do not like to listen to things. I prefer to read them. Now I know more. It is you but not the you in my mind. It will take getting used to but that is okay for now.
Welcome to growing older, one knows a lot but also realizes how much is unknown. It is a bizarre transformation. History takes on new meaning, yet it still remains written by the victors not the victims. One becomes puzzled by what actually happened?
Even my personal memories have been edited and rewritten. By whom I can not say, they live in my head but are not accurate. Strange existence this human being.
We’re all unreliable narrators.
I love your questions! I share them...I watch the bees and the spiders and the slugs. As long as we can ask them we will stay alive. We don't need the answers It is the search that enlivens.
Thank you, Annie.
I remember a snow fall in Seattle in about 1977. The busses were very crowded, going home from the Central Area to Wallingford. The next day the streets were pure ice ! It was magic!!
Seattle loses its mine in the snow.