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No direction home
Posted: June 7th, 2008, 12:51 pm
by goldenmyst
Teapot whistling
Summoning waking mind
Into deep awareness
Of maternal love
The sizzling sound
Of French Toast
Remembered in urban bastion
Where sirens blare
With surreal urgency
Like the painting Scream
A nightly procession
While I hover on the second floor
The angel of death waiting
For my final exhalation
Posted: June 7th, 2008, 7:11 pm
by gypsyjoker
almost like haiku
but I know so little about it
I just liked it a lot
Posted: June 7th, 2008, 7:52 pm
by mnaz
Too close to home, John,
like trying to get back home.
Posted: June 7th, 2008, 10:07 pm
by mtmynd
John : "
The angel of death waiting
For my final exhalation"
that line draws the curtain shut...
interesting topic, John. enjoyed!
Posted: June 8th, 2008, 10:58 am
by saw
a great read on the uniqueness of the personal journey home...
"home" encompasses so much more than a place we grew up in....
excellent......
Posted: June 8th, 2008, 10:58 am
by goldenmyst
Gypsy I love your comparison with Haiku. Thanks!
Mnaz, so far from a home which no longer exists. Yes those mornings at my grandparent's are gone with the wind. Yet my pulse is steady, heart has a good rhythm, for the time being.
mtmynd, mortality is less feared now. Yet when I face him eye to eye it may feel different.
John
Posted: June 8th, 2008, 11:02 am
by goldenmyst
Saw, home is where the heart is. I left my heart in San Francisco. Sometimes I think that one day I'll migrate out west. There are so many ghosts haunting me here. Your observations are astute.
John