The Tangled Branch Discussion Forums

The world is a circle
made of two hands;
a north direction is one 
hand rising straight up.

There is debt also,
but only as much as one
hand can hold in a palm.

Silence enters a room
index-finger to lips
telling a child to shush,
his brother sleeps beyond
an open door.

The handless word is faith,
palms that float and wait
for each to fall to the other,
to press, to save a wet leaf,
a moth wing, your heart 
between pressed sheets 
of wax paper.
 

Hey, Tim.

I’m a newbie to poetry so I can’t offer much in the way of critique, but just wanted to say I really like this. A beautiful juxtaposition of the written and signed word. The only spot that threw me off was the last stanza, the handless word. Didn’t quite make sense to me since immediately following is a description of the palms so I stumbled a bit there but otherwise a pleasure.

Intriguing poem Tim.
I'm seeing Jesus here? Although He's probably elsewhere 
A clue might assist.

I can't put much to words, but I love this.  I love the feelings I get as I read.  Your images sing, and beyond that explanation seems inadequate.

T

PS -- Hurry back to NaPo when your schedule permits.

Silence enters a room
index-finger to lips
telling a child to shush,
his brother sleeps beyond
an open door.

Like the domestic. I pictured a younger and older child, a shift in attention and priority.

best

matty

avwhis6466 wrote: ↑

Thu Apr 12, 2018 11:38 am

Hey, Tim.

I’m a newbie to poetry so I can’t offer much in the way of critique, but just wanted to say I really like this. A beautiful juxtaposition of the written and signed word. The only spot that threw me off was the last stanza, the handless word. Didn’t quite make sense to me since immediately following is a description of the palms so I stumbled a bit there but otherwise a pleasure.

human words are assigned "signs"....faith is more of a handless thing. Hard to put any words to it.  I guess.  If you stumbled only "a bit" and the whole was a pleasure, I'm good with that.  

Thanks.  Don't really know what to call you...av?    
 

Colm Roe wrote: ↑

Mon Apr 16, 2018 7:32 pm

Intriguing poem Tim.
I'm seeing Jesus here? Although He's probably elsewhere 
A clue might assist.

Jesus always around somewhere, Colm.  Especially in last stanzas of poems.  No clues needed if you were impelled to ask. Your question is all I need.  

Thank you.

Tracy Mitchell wrote: ↑

Mon Apr 16, 2018 8:05 pm

I can't put much to words, but I love this.  I love the feelings I get as I read.  Your images sing, and beyond that explanation seems inadequate.

T

PS -- Hurry back to NaPo when your schedule permits.

Crazy here, Tracy. My poetry output suffers when I'm directing a show.  Thanks for your thoughts here.  Always appreciated. 

Matty11 wrote: ↑

Tue Apr 17, 2018 12:39 am

Silence enters a room
index-finger to lips
telling a child to shush,
his brother sleeps beyond
an open door.

Like the domestic. I pictured a younger and older child, a shift in attention and priority.

best
matty 

Thank you, Matty.  Yes.  My boys all grown up, married, and moved away. Me sad sometimes for their happiness.  It's a conundrum, for sure. 
 

to press, to save a wet leaf,
a moth wing, your heart 
between pressed sheets 
of wax paper.
 
I remember using a laundry iron to press leaves between two sheets of wax paper with limited success. What an image. As a matter of fact what images throughout this poem.