sketch

we drove through canyons of fir and cedar

to a raw coast in the gray morning

waves of waves stranded small crab

at the feet of gulls no longer bothered

we held on at the hand

until the hugeness included us

we danced some and did okay

walking the length of bone dead logs

we had to throw ourselves away to get there

now it's that way every day

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

Bukowski said of poetry that each line, each and every word written should pop, should explode
on the page before you. And there is a certain thing called control when used to describe the
nature of inspiration as well as the smell of mortality. Let me try my best to explain:
While walking in Walmart this afternoon , nearest the pepperoni infused French bread
and the Yoplait yogurt lined on the shelves like the caskets of dead soldiers, I tried to wish
myself included in the stories of truth and sentiment. I started to smile and click together sentences
(some out-loud) of the poems I wanted to write this evening. Then came perhaps that rush of gravity
that holds a body down to inspiration from those who have also written and sounded things out loud;
that exactness that, hearing the praises of Emerson allowed Whitman to enlarge
"Leaves of Grass" beyond recognition. The influence you have had here Ed Hart, has changed
us all. Made some of us dance while others used those very small escapes of words and
ideas, as a reprieve to go forward.

Thus has been your poetic inspiration my friend......tremendous work.....dana

[Ed Hart]

it is a pleasant thing to watch your mind at work, and thank you for the kindest of words

[J. J. Nightingale]

Vacations gave us ease.. and we blended into it all ..
Waves waved a million hellos and good byes
And Our feet danced naked wild

Now.. we have time to visit and stay
Now we have time
Now for WE..

I am there .. but some one is missing..

Jazz

[Ed Hart]

yes, it is sad, but it is the better side of the bargain...thank you Jazz, for your always heart-filled response...

[J. J. Nightingale]

You are welcome Sir Hart ........................♥

[Abhra]

This is splendid! (In my opinion) The last line completely reverses the meaning of the line that came just before it. That's a sheer stroke of genius!

[Ed Hart]

i like to see your paw print on my page Abhra...and as soon as my old life settles down from a sudden surge of busyness, i'll be more a presence in your neighborhood...

[Kelly Scheppers]

I think poetry becomes more of an art when we see ourselves within the words. Beautiful work, Ed!

[Ed Hart]

i agree Kelly, and thanks for your friendly words

[Kelly Scheppers]

My pleasure!

[J]

you know [of course you do] that your words have always sent my thinkin into the other regions ... sometimes instantly to hilarity... but most often to a depth of unfamiliar complexity where i must sit still, focus, unhinge reality and ....... breathe.

i was born on Lake Superior; have memories of ore boats, black churning water and hugeness beyond the comprehension of a toddler.

but i don't remember sailing away on bone-dead logs wondering on the edmund fitzgerald. and i brought my son here. i did. his heretige, you see. he fished the waters and defined early morning hours.

[Ed Hart]

i wait on your looking through my window...i love the flavor you give to things, this long time now...and am glad for the durance of our connection

[J]

sigh ...... and i mostly dwell in m'own nether world looking for hair lights [a photog ref] and cracks to let me in. but then, you've always been beyond patient w/my wandering ways ... xx

[Ladysue]

Oh Ed, you are more masterful than I remember. Each line delivers a realization into the remarkable sculpting of raw beauty. Nature really does teach doesn’t it? And we feel movement passing through us. Truly a place to be..

[Ed Hart]

hello my friend...i'm glad you feel the juice of nature's beauty, and embrace the teaching of it

[Terpsichore]

Writing like this doesn't come along very often nowadays, though thankfully there are those among your reviewers who are similarly adept at their art.


As the estimable Ken Simm says, this is perfection, and I thank you for the opportunity. T

[Ed Hart]

i'm grateful for the company i have around here, Mr T,....often the post-poem comments are better poetry than the parade of words that sits atop, such as hd's three-pointer from the far court below...thanks for your king words

[Ken Simm.]

Here every word is a wave, or a scent, or a cool freshness. It is perfect.

[Ed Hart]

it;s always nice to know that you've been by, Ken, this life is such an interesting ride, don't you think

[emmajoy]

There's a chapter in every couplet here, Sir Hart! Tis incredible!

Having read this post three times now.. i feel as if i've returned to a place i KNOW i've never visited. Yet, via your gently colourful words, I can feel how it is: an unadulterated oasis that could hold a being or two in gentle but exciting arms. To wake up every morning and be where you are must make up for... whatever.

[Ed Hart]

anyone who feels the grace of the natural world the way you do knows that there's balm in Giliad, and things can be made up for...thank you

[An Ordinary Woman]

I once visited Marina Del Rae in November and it was as you say. I reckon it still is. The hugeness and grayness and the gulls. Thank you for the snap shot, my friend. Much brilliance in your words, as always.

[Ed Hart]

"Marina Del Rae in November", there's a good Tony Bennett song in there somewhere...hello, hope you are doing well, and the days a folding together nicely

[John]

Truth and cleansing through a stark account of what happened. What did you do next? We….We….We….The poem gives a sense of what it is like to look at things as if for the first time. Not wave upon wave, but waves of waves. Not hand in hand but held on at the hand. The fact that people are holding hands and dancing isn’t necessarily an occasion for joy. What if one of them needs propping up (on the bone dead log)? Is nature bothered? Of course not. That tenderest of touches, the stranded small crab, is entirely lost on her. But not us. Or those of us who can still feel a pulse.

[Ed Hart]

you have a unique and sparkling intelligence, John, clear and precise and full-spectrum

[John]

Mrs Temple was speaking to all artists when she would send her daughter onto a film set with the words Sparkle, Shirley, Sparkle.