a poet's unmarked grave

a poet's unmarked grave

 

 

aftermath of you

residue incognito

anonymous ash

 

 

 

erin-cilberto

4/12/18

Reviews

[lightsong]

yes, I would like to think of my self as a dust... but not an "anonymous" ash maybe a famous one :)

a real poet lives after death, with an "unmarked" grave, because it shouldn't be locked in one place, it must be free, belongs to no place or time, but to everyone everywhere and in every time.

Reading Your words I imagine a poet who passes away over the books, they become one, as his spirit disappears and fades with the book dust, bonding as one "dust".

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i really like your insights, Light...thank you for your review.
j.

[Lydia Shutter]

Our words will live on long after we are gone....or so we hope. So many words written by that "Anonymous" guy...or gal....sometimes I wonder just who that was. A lot said in so few words. Lydi**

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i often see poems in things...and they are simply signed anonymous...even if the poet isn't remembered, the words are.
thank you, Lydi
i do think the words are the more important of the two.

[Lydia Shutter]

Absolutely, you are right!

[Chris Shaw]

Wonderful word choice. The words and imagery lingered a long while after reading. Well done Jacob. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, but it is what is left in the mourner's heart that matters.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your words, Christine.
j.

[...]

For me this poem is too materialistic. So many great poets living in our hearts and souls without to really die in spiritual meaning. Some of the great poets became on live after death William Blake for example. I wonder how many poets are really on live here. Czech poet and novelist Jan Zabrana one time said. Those who was death during they life time what will be proof about they living when they are death.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for the read and review, Jan.
j.

[Davidgeo]

You're a clever man Jacob. (and you did this in only eleven words... you get extra credit)

This reminds me of bong resin among other things. Not in a bad way. (that was only surface stuff)

What influences us all is mostly the intellect of dead people. Idealized and manicured to fit the times and/or our preference in the moment. Very, very few of us are truly original.

Unfortunately this also (non surface stuff) reminds me of what I know about world war 1 and how the dead were buried mostly in piles on the battlefield, barely marked and largely forgotten in the trenches. And then naturally, comes ww2 and the holocaust, zyklon b and the unmitigated genocide of anything jewish, gypsy or otherwise non compliant. They were "buried" in a similar way.

Sadly, fascism is making a come back. Just disguised as something else... a kind of social justice genocide.

(apologies for being long winded)


Besides all the bullshit I wrote above, I'm probably just projecting my thoughts on the banality of evil.

It takes a bit of intellectual talent to arouse all the above notions from just eleven words. Even if I was way off, good writing is good writing no matter how idiotic I happen to be tonight.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for sharing your thoughts, John...
j.

[Stella Armour]

dust to dust; we rise , we live and turn back to dust... it's what we leave behind in other people that is remembered once the dust has gone.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your words, Stella
j.

[Ruth]

Oh good Gods...this is stunning! I am lost and found somehow in the imagery and have read this 3 times so far...superb Jacob, you literally leave no room for anymore precision...you wield a brilliantly fluid pen...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your very kind review, Poppy.
j.

[‘Thoughts In Time..]

But ever so present - just wonderful🌹

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Kelly...
j.

[‘Thoughts In Time’🌹]

My pleasure🌹

[Neville]

perfect.... then gone... tis writ and tis writ well jacob....

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Neville.
j.

[Neville]

pleasure.....N

[Patricia Wedel]

dear Jacob... Birds will drop seeds by the grave of a poet... remembering the rhymes of beauty bestowed and flowers will grow and return each year to create a garden of heavenly colors. truly, Pat p.s. I posted a poem for Lydia’s birthday entitled “Windmills of our heart”. She would love to read your review.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your words, Pat...and i will check out your poem for Lydi.

[Patricia Wedel]

Thank you Jacob... bless you ever so much...