~

I was given a small bag of gold
sifted raw from a pan
I took it back to the river
realized it worthless in my hand

Hmm… the last sentence jarred me a little. Or maybe it was just the word ‘realized’. I think it may possibly be too long. The omission of the ‘was’ between ‘realized’ and ‘worthless’ also, I think, changes the tone of the last sentence - i.e. makes it sound a little out of place. Unless you used ‘realized’ to mean ‘made’ or ‘actualized’.

Maybe try;

‘it had no value in my hands’

-or possibly some variant on the theme of ‘shining’; ‘it didn’t shine in my hands’… etc.

That’s the best I can do, in any case. :slight_smile:

James

i dont fully understand what your trying so say with the poem, but next time add anthother stanza to make it bit more clearer

Gifted in Gold,
Sifted raw from the pan,
Worthless and cold,
Through my fingers it ran…

Fairness of face,
Caress cool Gaia’s touch,
Aged far from grace,
Beauty’s passing is such…

Loving and beloved,
Swelled pregnant with bliss,
Iron hand firmly gloved,
Lips pursed in a kiss,
Heed well my sweet Vortical - True riches is this

I’m a sucker for rhymin’… :wink:

Worthless metal, I touch it with
loveless fingers.
Yellow, my eyes,
gleaming with reflected light;
someone else’s joy,
trapped inside.

Golden, demon sword of Odin
unsheathed in Orphic splendor
I toss thee back to the cauldron
it devours our gamely stab

The “poem” was just a silly fragment of a thought I had last week. I had written the thought down in an email I had intended to send to my parents, but sent it to myself instead for further review because it had gone in a really nasty direction. Needless to say I’m glad I didn’t sent it, but unfortunately most of it was somehow erased when I sent it to myself. Nasty as it was, it was a decent stream of consciousness… but it was meant to be gone I suppose.

I’m kind of glad what I wrote didn’t get tpo the point of anything I was thinking, if it had I’m sure far fewer people would have read it.

Tabula Rasa, I liked what you wrote, but what I said had nothing to do with love. James, I really liked what you added, that was a little more on par with where I think I was going… Gamer… funny!

There’s a lot of resentment, regret going on with me… also I have issues with people’s values and motives, materialism, believing in a sense of duty… Some of what has been going thru my head is that I have resented my parents and my brothers to a lesser degree for leaving Chicago, for their reasoning. Trading your own child and the potential relationship to be had there in your “golden years” (or as I was about to say more accurately, one’s final days) for a warmer climate!? I mean come on… So from there I got onto a tangent about their sick and selfish dream betraying them, losing their home and everything in it because they created a fantastic lie out of there existence- they gave up too soon, became soulless, tired shells. So essentially some higher power showed them the err of their ways and took everything from them…(condo in Biloxi MS- Hurricane Katrina, you get it now- right?)

So now my mother weeps…

So now my mother wishes she had taken the paintings I had done just for her out of the condo before it flew away like a useless bag into the Gulf of Mexico…

So now my mother, for the first time I can EVER remember tells me that she loves me over the phone…

…and all of this, yet still she settles quickly into another mirage… this time in Arizona…they plan to buy another condo and start all over again. My brother already bought them a new computer- they went to see him after the hurricane, he was always their favorite… they drove for four days to get to California, when they could have come back to Chicago in two… They have grandchildren here that they haven’t seen in 5 years, so their grandchildren too have become bitter… just like me and my other brother here in Chicago.

What about my father? I haven’t talked to him since I saw them in New Orleans in May… I guess he didn’t have anything to say to me after the hurricane- he never has anything to say.

I’m depressed can’t you tell… Everything becomes a tragic metaphor when you’re depressed.

About the gold and the river, what it was really about is this: To maintain a life and a household, you have to work for money- this should give you a sense of accomplishment, or buy you something nice in addition to granting you a comfortable survival. But then I imagined the sand being sifted away to find the gold, like love and reflection fade into the background when your life becomes consumed with too many “practical” pursuits… everything becomes tired. A sense of peace may arrive when you don’t have the time or the energy to care anymore. Pretty soon the most precious things seem the farthest away, or maybe you can’t even remember them anymore. Too many dreams die, loves fade and art and music and words lose all meaning.

It’s a search for balance I guess and a desire to put things back where they belong, to restore them to their truest nature. To give some things back the beauty they had before you took possession of them, and for other’s the time and nurturing they require to sustain. Being a dreamer and a romantic is not at all like riding a bicycle, it’s very fragile and easy to forget, like most precious things its time is fleeting.

You are ripe - for Zarathustra! I see that you already are:

I love her who wants to restore things to their truest nature.

I love her who has issues with values and motives.

Love her who mistrusts in art and music.

If you find what Zarathustra says describes you well, I wouldn’t be surprised.

The levy breaks and the mundane rushes in to swallow our paintings. We cling to stray wooden boards and float aimlessly till the moment comes we boldly flip that piece of debris over…one of your paintings keeping you afloat all along, in wet distortion from salt and soak, like you, looking more beautiful than ever. Let’s hang in there.

you relaized it was worthless so is the value of life in the hands of “god” the dude is cruel only to make a couple visits evry some-thousand years or so just to make sinners suffer.