Poetry reading, the Robert Frost Farm

That loves a wall,
The separation
From others.

‘No more heroes,
No more dreams,
Life’s what it is,

Not what it seems’
I wrote long ago
When the stars fell down.


And how their child lost,
Robert’s and Eleanor’s,
Shines in my mind.

Their folding
Of the clothes
No longer needed;

The falling emptiness;
The ‘Why?’ crying
Through the heart’s universe,

 

September grieves in me;
My child, lost, shines
In the New Hampshire afternoon.

Words leave my mouth,
Weighted as apples
On a tree; words farmed

Long ago in a room
In Swansea, damp
With a coffined silence.

I read to people
I will never reach.
We are all in shadows.

A poem is not a step
In one’s ambition;
The drama of it

Is not an act
To get somewhere.
‘I am a singer merely,

I sing my song’.
Something there is
In me



 


 


 


Copyright © Adel Gorgy 2011 Photograph Harvest of Memory after Van Gogh (Wheat Field with Cypress)
Cross-Cultural Communications Art & Poetry Series Broadsides # 37
    
Adel Gorgy  Contemporary Photography
Previous    Next
Horizon in Time
Colors of Shadow
About Adel Gorgy
I  and the Sun
Woman and a Sumi Brush
The Other Side of Here
Between Heaven and Earth
Woman Eternal
Provocation
Woman and a Moment
Egypt Land of the Sacred
Portraits of Art
All Galleries
Home
About My Work
    
About
Contact Me
About the Print
www.adelgorgy.com
Exhibitions Details
Publications Details
Galleries
Links
Reviews
Abstracting Abstraction

The scream of the blood
That the staring eyes shed.
Grief, a visitor,

In the rooms of the head.
Something there is
In me

That loves a wall,
The separation.
My words,

Their words, fall
Like apples
When there

Is no-one around,
And the air, natural as God,
Consumes the song.

Peter Thabit Jones