A rope is not a rope till it binds

A rope is not a rope till its coiled into a poem such as this ... the sadness in this is palpable you can nearly touch it ... its beautiful Barry cannot see anything I would change ... I bow to the mastery of your pen ... Anna said to me once, 'poetry and poet is thus born' and never more truer words said than now ... love and higgest bugs Jayne x x

Oh Barry of the melancholic voice, every word sublime... so pure...that I hear music... A house is not a home... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nOA9Fw8AZI Love. ~A

You throw at us a mixture of thoughts and visions, and hope that we will find the final shape, like that of a puzzle and do we? It is as complex as a work of art, abstracted elements fly past our consciousness and create things other than what we read; I suppose that is its charm, this juxtapositioning of words placed for the reader to decifer the meaning. Elements too of the absurdity one finds in eastern thought. "a drop of water can not taste your heart............................you repeat can not............? or sit in a sea shell in your hand".....................this line is so lovely- with the water in the sea shell, so beautiful. Or have I not got it? Barry, love from Ann

Your a lovely poet. Your words resonate like a brush of butter to the tongue. Delicate, delightful, rich and satisfying. What blissful images my mind formed around your words.

Excellent my good friend, the sincerity in the words, the difficult easiness with which you sculpt emotions, the fresh scent of the rain, the silent virtuosity of woman, the frenzy, and the great idiomatic symbolism, all that adds up to a magnificent work of art. Great write! Hugo

Sad death, it makes me think of an old tap on a tape recorder that I had taken up from the BBC in the 60's, and on it were the country peoples songs of Greece; there were these three old crones singing 'why did you have to die so young' to a 6 yr old boy, mourning song. in their non-musical croaked voices they wailed their song, it was very touching and I was furious with theives when they stole my tape recorder, and its tapes, taking from me a tiny piece of my past that I had wished to hear again, including many other found, directly sung pieces the BBC man had collected, all over the world, very fascinating. I love the abandoned joy you toss out in the first verse I hear the cries of the children playing, see and feel the rising balloons but as we near the end of the verse we see them disappearing into the clouds and ... Then terra firma hits us with touched, handled stones among the clouds of heavy rain about to drench our feelings, you lie prostrate on the hard ground and stare up into the void of the sky, your knees filling your picture as they are up close, it is they who describe the deep far infinite distance to the unknown destiny of the child now gone. Then the lyrical atmosphere of the woods,birds and streams with floating bits of twig and dripping water from the crying tree branches, you cannot grasp the scene and finger it, it is a scene imagined, or a 'fata morgana' of the past when the child was happy fishing and watching the water go by, carefree and unwitting of his future. Now I have read it? Love Ann in the north

The tears are here, I feel saddened yet I have a sense of pride for this tribute and you have written this so gently and warm words you have included to make this perfect. Well done. My nephew never saw his seventh either.Dear Barry you have a heart of gold and you have just tugged at mine. You should be proud of this, I am. Thank you for sharing this well written ode for this dear little boy. Loved It. Lyz and kisses.

You are a skilled writer, no question... almost very line peeled me to the core, I knew these sensations through your story, felt your feelings, this is the best a writer can do. & then there's how wonderful this is, how magical you are for knowing how to do this so well, I am so inspired by your abilities. Yay for you & this so sad write that wrings our hearts with ballet point precision. Barry, this is what we should be reading: what i leave behind cannot fill your fingers or send the rain to polish the stones of your bed how am i released within you will the sun be told to shine the rain filling my eyes with your memory will my knees find your closing eyes at the place where balloons go these lines shimmer with ethereal perfection in my mind. I have left only the sigh for the sadness, for the brilliance & for the future possibility. Yay. Cheers Anni~ "When we feel love and kindness toward others, it not only makes others feel loved and cared for, but it helps us also to develop inner happiness and peace". H.H. the Dalai Lama

Hi Orphani I hope all is well . I was simply immerse into this poem, it's always the first few beginning line that starts you to see & read appose to thinking about what your reading . Of course the one that's reads is a open mind the one that thinks about what he reads will have no choice but to be judgmental before the ending of the poem. And happens in the first lines of a poem . So yes ? you opened my mind I had to read it all LOV2U PRESS

I feel there is something missing, not sure what, but the read is wonderful and still sad. I admit I cannot remember all I read when first posted, but I really do feel a change in this, what is it. I know that a couple of I's are not capitalized but you must not keep teasing me. Lol. Love Lyz. XX