Amber Doesn't Blog

I didn't write this. Paul wrote this a bajillion years ago for me, and as I sit here reading it, fresh tears spring from my eyes. I miss you Paul....

She doesn’t have time, what with the kids and the jobs.
Many people write as mere selfexpression therapy
and they are required to demonstrate their craft openly,
displaying their skills with a little ostentation
to justify your attention but Amber doesn’t blog.

She walks, shoulders slightly hunched,
eyes on pavement not crafting poems
about walking, but walking and poetising
and part of Amber is remembering, that part
remembered with its own rhythm and delight
or perhaps tripped halfstep over broken glass
a shard of memory mirror distort by some other
power,

and when Amber is sad
I am sad
the world is sad
I realise I am not a banker
nor doctor nor nurse
I am a poor soul if Amber is sad,
so I must put away my craft
my lickedysplit entertainments,
no more talk of hinges
and pivots and miracles,
synchronicities and odd reflections,
joy in common being,
no connecticons,
no secret heartbeats,
no (hugs) ?

There is a permanence of Amber
beyond craft, beyond words,
Amber does not blog
she merely
fluttersbye
butterflies
and settles
her legs tickling your finger
with an infolding of golden wings,
and there is a permanence
of Amber,

Author's Note

I did not write this. I am only sharing Paul's words with the world. RIP fedora Dad.

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

How nice of you to share my dear friend...you have a Ginsberg moniker and a Rod McKuen heart...the romance is alive and well in there...not too sleek or chic to snub the crafty cats you've hung out with...and the piano player in the grey fedora slides the brim between his thumb and forefinger as he shuffles a step and offers a wink of approval...so don't be sad...but be happy that we few who remain had the oppurtunity to share some time together. Paul would want it that way. I remember him and smile...he was always a source of encouragement and inspiration to me as well as so many others...although he was a bit younger than myself we shared a great many perspectives and ideals as well as artistic influences in our writing. He is a dearly missed friend.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Blogging is just thoughts straight out but poetry is emotional motion with creative flow... I like this, very witty.