Her Two Cents
From where I write this there’s thunder and lightning outside the window. Nature’s version of fireworks I suppose. Jagged white light rips across the horizon, arching and twisting like a unleashed tree root, making the man-made multi-colored starbursts appear fluffy and superficial. It’s been several weeks since I’ve posted here and coming back isn’t without some trepidation. While other life events have been happening around me, I’ve had the time to think about the purpose of this blog. I’ve always considered Lovelorn Poets a sandbox of sorts – a place to experiment with technical, social, and creative endeavors – and like any organic process, change and growth is a necessary part of the equation. Do I know exactly what I’m going to do in this space tomorrow? Absolutely not. But I’m pretty sure I’ll be back. There will be some old, familiar bits and some new, experimental parts. All I know, right now, is that on this day, July 4th, I celebrate Liberty; a rather different concept than Independence, wouldn’t you agree?
Liberty
Liberty
Paul Éluard (1942)
On my notebooks from school
On my desk and the trees
On the sand on the snow
I write your name
On every page read
On all the white sheets
Stone blood paper or ash
I write your name
On the golden images
On the soldier’s weapons
On the crowns of kings
I write your name
On the jungle the desert
The nests and the bushes
On the echo of childhood
I write your name
On the wonder of nights
On the white bread of days
On the seasons engaged
I write your name
On all my blue rags
On the pond mildewed sun
On the lake living moon
I write your name
On the fields the horizon
The wings of the birds
On the windmill of shadows
I write your name
On the foam of the clouds
On the sweat of the storm
On dark insipid rain
I write your name
On the glittering forms
On the bells of colour
On physical truth
I write your name
On the wakened paths
On the opened ways
On the scattered places
I write your name
On the lamp that gives light
On the lamp that is drowned
On my house reunited
I write your name
On the bisected fruit
Of my mirror and room
On my bed’s empty shell
I write your name
On my dog greedy tender
On his listening ears
On his awkward paws
I write your name
On the sill of my door
On familiar things
On the fire’s sacred stream
I write your name
On all flesh that’s in tune
On the brows of my friends
On each hand that extends
I write your name
On the glass of surprises
On lips that attend
High over the silence
I write your name
On my ravaged refuges
On my fallen lighthouses
On the walls of my boredom
I write your name
On passionless absence
On naked solitude
On the marches of death
I write your name
On health that’s regained
On danger that’s past
On hope without memories
I write your name
By the power of the word
I regain my life
I was born to know you
And to name you
Liberty
