Poet to poet we bleed our ink

Ah, the spotlight is an odd beacon Geezer, I am not sure it has so much to do with the actual poetry than the politics here (though I am still relatively new & could be wrong, certainly some good poems have been posted, don't get me wrong... just I have seen some that are hugely deserving, go almost unnoticed), I am not sure I have the popularity it requires, & just as well I am resilliant & don't aspire to such heady status... I am more interested in the commentary from these genuine folk who can often help to hone my skills & point to elements I may have missed... I have come to really love this sight, AND it's myriad of personalities & styles, the varied motivations, baring our souls to some degree. I love the courage & the care that flourishes. I have spotlights in other places in my life, these other wonderful interactions are far more precious to me here. But thank you so much for the compliment. I really apreciate it. Have you posted again? I will go & look, & I hope so, it's a lovely thing wondering if your buddies have a new poem, like opening chrissy prezzies! Anni "Out beyond the ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about ideas, language, and even the phrase, "each other" doesn't make any sense."

So the cycle shifts since I feel exactly the same of what you have written here. You see we have come (I think) to a similar space with our writing, it lands "home" in us... well your's does me. With our completely different ways of being in the world, lives that will never touch except through the ether, screen to screen I know that sigh it is a gift and I am greatly moved and greatly honoured these things that feel complete in me to be recognised so rare it is in this place so few could even bother to cast an eye I begin to have new insights (a sweet & delightful experience) I fell terribly in love once, with a budding poet I wonder now if this was why I had been so starved of sharing such of being known at my core the core of who I am as a writer so across all that distance you have liberated me with your easy swirls of verbage your delicate arabesque, poised line & space this gorgeous dance of letter passing synapse describing bird, wing, feather brilliance comes to hallo the sentiment of longing as it transforms to BElonging without need of another (it occurs to me to confirm, don't be concerned, I am not falling in love, actually I am being freed from longings that were perhaps misplaced the thing I miss the most was the poetic interaction, which was dissected, withdrawn, witheld & flaunted elsewhere... little snippets via text that kept me dangling whilst I witnessed this. It felt cruel but it was not (I hope) intentional perhaps) Such freedom in that knowledge .. without need of another I have always known that as a truth previously feeling it like the truth of a wound a precious glass broken, slicing clean & smooth into a blood welling palm the shock of this & disbelief shifting moments into cavernous resounding enormity drawing space into a microvision void of sense suddenly aware of how beautiful the flow of blood the sense of stillness the loss of life even (& I have known too often) how it pulls you into such a stark perception the relevence of breath the import of a heartbeat & the longing for another Ah, but I digress... again! Now, (with gratitude to you) it places me on ridges in the open vast array the view from eagle soaring the speed of rocket engine vessels in the sky (I always loved the Hercules, that lumber, cumbersome & squat or Tigermoths that stutter to a start. maybe silent glider riding is the way, hmmm, connect again, these cycles.) A solitary stance of power & release freedom does have wings, I feel them So thank you You give me space & inspiration to move to open pages spreading words in gorgeous patterns in my head, the underlined reflections the filligree of light & shadow sketched across my retina the sweet lead of your own exquisite lines that land like snow to outstretched hands the bleeding palm fresh blood warm snowflake mingled pleasure & the imagery shifts to warmer sentiments Miraculous, the healing of a brighter prospect a new delight & then ouch, that brings intrusion of another straying heart ah cycles these' they hurt, they heal, they soothe with mirth then harshly peel. Think I should stop... again it could be endless I am shocked by my own exposure! Candid expressions of my life I usually hold quite private (what's happening to me?) & yet ... nobody knows me here, so what does it matter I think. I've no idea today - what's wrong or right... knowing there is neiter except in our perceptions ultimately... Sigh! I just meant to say THANK YOU! ....& remind you that that poem was an instant response (do they call that word vomit? It felt far more gracefull than that) to the lovely rambling expression you sent to me of sleeping loved ones & typing by computer screen light, of perceptions of comments made & shared here on this site... Lovely when these cycles spread in ever widening circles of brilliant glistening inspiration... REALLY thank you! Anni "Out beyond the ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about ideas, language, and even the phrase, "each other" doesn't make any sense."