Friday 29 April 2016

Under The Tree

Grasping a handful
Of earth where
His ashes were spread
And where he'd burnt
His manuscript
I cannot know if
This is his or him

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10 comments:

  1. Jae Rose1 May 2016 at 21:39

    A subtle and skilful poem - tenderly and powerfully written

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  2. Sanaa Rizvi1 May 2016 at 22:58

    Stunning write.

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  3. Susan2 May 2016 at 00:13

    Ah, dear! So sad. I wonder if it matters? As I read the poem I imagined a necklace made of alternating matched pearls. We build such memorials slowly over time.

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  4. Donna2 May 2016 at 00:53

    Both really and each a precious memory so beautifully written.

    Donna@LivingFromHappiness

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  5. Sherry Blue Sky2 May 2016 at 01:36

    A person and his manuscript, his essence in both, I imagine. So sad. I know how treasured the ashes of a loved one are.....I cant bear to part with even a teaspoon of mine.

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  6. brudberg2 May 2016 at 02:25

    I just hope that there was no real difference with manuscript and him... so touching and beautiful

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  7. Rosemary Nissen-Wade2 May 2016 at 07:17

    A sweet conceit! And I too think they are essentially the same.

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  8. Mary2 May 2016 at 09:33

    Whew, this is evocative and a bit chilling. Fine poetry expands the mind!

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  9. Old Egg2 May 2016 at 16:55

    They are both him of course for they are both who he was and what he did...and for the narrator a memory.

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  10. dsnake12 May 2016 at 22:21

    there's so much pain & longing in these brief lines.

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