poem: Are You Hungry?

dedicated to the writing community that inspires and supports me

for E,J, P, and G- the members of the S.S. and several others. 

 

This is for everyone whose glory days did not end

    with high school graduation.

       For men who looked John Wayne in the eye,

   and said, sorry, partner

      I want to be part of something larger

    than my own dusty interior landscape;

        for women who dare believe

          if they take care in the choosing

      the happiest days will be the ones

          after the wedding. For art creators

      embarking on the high sweet notes that

            mark the tune of their

                 own dance.

 

 

This is for the boy who grew to be a man

     carrying a ripped and carefully mended copy

        of his earliest dream in the back

            pocket of faded Levis.

     And for the girl whose classmates

   read Cosmo while she isolated

           proteins and gave parents

    another year or ten of hope for

        daughters and sons in hospice. THIS is

     for the street-sweepers who bless

         the ragged and the cultured, alike

             in the transcourse of the day. It is for

     the teacher who keeps food in her desk

         and thinks to ask, "are you hungry, child?"

 

This is for those who say, it is too late for them

      but they will cultivate Hope

          in others.

 

This is for the housewife who fantasizes

       about slaying dragons and the prince who

   slays her. It is for a pair of worn motorcyle boots

           with silver buckle and chain,

             whose owner can only ever reach out

  so far, but whose span

        covers the spirit of humanity in

        a tired pen and learned prose. For the man

              who saw God in a cheeseburger.

            For the woman who sees ghosts

      and sews her whispered heart's longings

           secretly, carefully, longingly

   into the quilt that covers her lap;

            her smile deceptively serene,

                  gripping needles in fists

         so you cannot see her hands shaking.

 

This is for the artist who hides, laughing,

           in plain sight with his Lady Muse. For

  the star-crossed lovers who drafted

         equations of love on a tangential curve

     whose equilibirum was interred

              half a continent away. For those

         who hold out for soul mates

        and the perfection of a desire

               that this time, will not hurt. For

   those with the courage to walk away

        from what does not serve, to find the skin

they are comfortable in, to look

    for wisdom in sources that

   are younger than 2000 years and further

       away than around the block. For those with

             the wherewithal to make mistakes

          and pay for transgressions and still

    put it out there again, anyway.

 

This is for those who believe that Life is Love;

    that sometimes your sweetheart can be true

         for a lifetime, but know that often,

    we change. We change, and we

         hold the space for others and we fly

               and with our flight we give them wings too

        and we look deep into a pair of eyes,

    a stranger, and we swallow our fear,

       we put forth a burned hand

        and say I understand or I too have seen

or sometimes, even, I could love you, deeply.

 

This, then is for the believers,

  the timeless wanderers and old souls, the star

     travelers and channelers of old gods, the

          creators of new ones and the worlds in which

     they inhabit. Those with the power

         to face and confront demons. This is for you,

   loudly, for battering down the door of my fortress,

             and for you, quietly

     for taking my hand, for showing me

                a different way to see.

 

Are you hungry, my friend?

Reviews

[emmajoy]

And this, dear friend, is POETRY! You so often empty your heartfelt thoughts before your readers, trying perhaps in the most diplomatic ways (though sometimes with a hard nudge) to sit up, take notice, take head out sand or wherever else it is. In this you've selected groups and individuals, problems, actions and ignorance - much more of the latter. Too many suffer the lack of not just food but hope for something more than just opening eyes of a morning and finding life the same as every day past. Yhen, there are other words, other thoughts, about hungering for love, loving, for caring and more: '.. For the star-crossed lovers who drafted ~ equations of love on a tangential curve ~ whose equilibirum was interred ~ half a continent away. For those ~ who hold out for soul mates ~
and the perfection of a desire ~ that this time, will not hurt.'

A brilliance of words and thoughs, my dear friend.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, dear Emma, for such a thoughtful and beautiful review. There are many kinds of hunger, and many ways for a mind, body, heart or soul to be hungry. I think we all, at times, have something to offer the hungry child, pilgrim, friend, or fellow traveler. A blessing, a sandwich, our leftovers from dinner, a hand on a weary shoulder, a safe space to unburden a heavy heart.

As I wrote thus, I found myself thinking of Lucinda Williams ethereal song, "Blessed." My gift for you today is, go to YouTube and find her words. I think you will see yourself in them.

[emmajoy]

I will rush, to be reminded.. thank you. On wed had such a friend call, Noddy his name, late sixties, needed company - recieved that from my family and friends. Soon gone, long remembered, and then there'll be next year and, God willing, many more years. He used to call at our parents' home, again for company. Company? How is it, on this jammed packed planet of ours that someone has to search for company? Too many people like that. 'If you smile someone's way, you light a light .. ' - how easy is that!

[Marie Anzalone]

very good question you ask. I recall being at a Pink Floyd concert, lights dimmed, listening to a stadium full of people singing along to "Wish You Were Here."Ten thousand people crowded together, singing about loneliness. Really makes you wonder. I am never so lonely as in a crowd of people who do not understand me; never so fulfilled as wandering my solitude on a mountaintop. I always thought the answer was to learn how to inhabit someone'e solitude quietly, without intruding. Adding to its depth, not masking it. But that seems to be a dying art.

[emmajoy]

Oh love.. I understand that loneliness whilst surrounded by people, and, agree how one can be truly contented when alone, especially outdoors, free as a bird! For me, being content with another person doesnt necessarily involve a non stop exchange of words, its more an almost oblivious awareness that talk isn't necessary - but sharing the same space is. Some folk need to be told they're loved time in, time out. The dying art is not thinking to say the same to someone else. Perhaps?

[Marie Anzalone]

I know I am the space of a true friend when silence becomes a warm thing that envelops us like a soft blanket. We all need validation- some just need more than others. Usually the ones who have forgotten innner stillness, perhaps?

[emmajoy]

Yes, perhaps - probably. It's having that feeling that 'you' matter, you're not merely present but needed to be present.. and vice versa. It must be 'vice versa' to be real, lasting. Surely?

[Marie Anzalone]

Cultivating the art of true presence is, I think, the most profund gift we ever developed to give each other. Not only "YOU matter" but that you matter so much I will create a space for you that your soul feels safe showing itself in my presence. You can be you, as deeply and honestly as you need to be.

"I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it." -Oriah Mountain Dreamer

[emmajoy]

What happens is, what happened was, and neither can be erased, it's like each life's rolling stone. When you find someone, be it friend or lover, you share the sum total, unspoken or otherwise, and, that makes for a very special space. Sometimes thoughts like that look like idealistic rubbish. But, realism so beautiful we can't want more and maybe if the will and heart's strong enough we can create the 'more'. Come to the conclusion, Rachael, that the more one's been hurt by years of whatever, the more one wants the light; being bitter or spiteful doesnt change whats happened. That special place might have the odd faint flaw but its yours and the other's ..Grief, doesnt this woman go on.. :)

[Marie Anzalone]

"the more deeply that sorrow has carved into your being, the more joy it can contain." -K. Gibranread more"the more deeply that sorrow has carved into your being, the more joy it can contain." -K. Gibran
You find those people, the ones you describe, and you hold on with both hands and don't let go"

[lee von cleef]

I am, the words I am . Well you are. Few of us take the time to lay bare and look inward . Then stand and share and listen . Thank you. Marie .

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, lee, for the reviews, and thank you for the kindness in this one. I do try to listen, to see, to share. You are absolutely right. I don't see myself as that rare, but maybe, none of us ever do. I shoot for honesty. Is that enough, do you think?

[Mark]

For the woman...who sews her whispered heart's longings carefully into the quilt
that covers her lap, her smile deceptively serene, gripping needles in fists
so you cannot see her hands shaking.

These, with the entire last stanza, my favorite lines of this
"Ballad of the Heartbroken, Ode to Those Who Would Persevere."

Yours is the tender hand that wields the Hammer of Thor, my sweet friend,
as well as the Arrow of Artemis, the Balm of Chloe, and the Wisdom of Diana.

How fortunate am I to have made your acquaintance. You teach me more
every time I read you than forty years of writing have done!

[Marie Anzalone]

Mark, dear Mark. Miss you, my friend. We do so have to get together some time again. I am flattered and humbeld by your words for my work. Yes, your alternative title fits the bil perfectly. But are we not all broken in some way? I remember hearing once, growing up, "It does not matter to God that you spilled the milk. What He wants to see is what you did afterwards."

Here's to you, my friend, for being one fo the great ones who never gave up. As we say here, "Salud!" and raise the glass on high.

[Georgia Gypsy]

Oh my, this is the most wonderful work I've read in awhile. I was lost, enthralled and swept away inside every piece of it, and felt as though certain parts were written especially for me. Wonderful, just wonderful work.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks, Kelli. It was tribute to many friends and observations, not just the 4 mentioned. You shoudl see yourself in it, because you are there. It was meant as spoken word, to be rolling and sweeping in its delivery. I think sometimes we need to remember how special we really are.

[Georgia Gypsy]

Yes I do see myself a little in this, and I thank you:D

[Corset]

Holy! I sing hallelu! On this planet there are at least this many people who read and nod and slap their knee at this poem and hear the caged birds singing as I do. would I be able to give it 1000 I would be a happy soul.

[Marie Anzalone]

This is for all of us, Corset. Let's find some joy today, shall we?

[Corset]

Let's :) Thank you ,t's been sometime since I had a whole day.

[gombeggar]

seems a little uneven like yer borrowing from me ;) ...but really has a different feel than yer usual write...nevertheless...well done as always

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks, gombeggar, I try with many different forms, and I borrow voices from all over. And there will always be part of you, with me, even in my head. How's that for a pensive pondering this morning?

[gombeggar]

me in yer head? u poor poor girl, u ...u sure u don't have heat stroke er sumpthin today?

[Horizon K.]

Wow Marie, stunning and straight to the heart.. I know you say this is written for certain initialed individuals, but I find pieces of me, scattered throughout each stanza...Where I look for my hope and where I find it, who has taken my hand, loudly and softly, knowing or unknowingly, and shown me that I can really have my dreams... As long as I never give up. This is poetry to feed the soul. Beautiful.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you so much, Horizon. Yes, 5 inviduals, including myself; unlikely allies who made a pact to help each other weather some pretty nasty storms and stayed with each other after finding common ground. So for them, for the dialogue that inspired much that is here; but not about them. As you correctly surmise, so much more here. I wove pieces of many sources- conversations, my own life, news programs, radio shows, friends- into this. I like to think most people who struggle with something or who struggle to be something, would find some refuge here. Your review means so much. Again, thank you.

[Horizon K.]

Ah yes, this one makes me sigh and feel starry eyed and I know it's not my imagination that I see our other friends in here as well...

[Marie Anzalone]

not your imagination at all... all was with purpose

[Emily B]

there is always another hungry child, sometimes they seek compassion, adventure, knowledge, refuge, we are so much more than we pretend to be, those who rush in, and try and fail, and regroup and try again

i love these words, maybe i will embroider them on my heart

[Marie Anzalone]

Always a hungry child, and so few reaching hands out to them. And those of us who do, so often told we are inferior, we do not measure up, we have ulterior motives. Or whatever. The truth is, many US teachers do keep lunch food in their desks, as welll as small items of necessity. The ones who get up after falling, hard, are the ones who inspire us. Crossing paths with a single other person who has not given up hope; makes us believe that love is still out there. And so on. You are here; I took some extra care with your section. I'd say the way you walk through this world, these words are already embroidered in your soul's coat.

[Emily B]

i have many lessons to learn as i walk my path . . . hoping though

[Marie Anzalone]

as do I, dear poetess friend, and so glad our paths crossed

[Emily B]

i don't know what i'd do with out you :)

[Marie Anzalone]

a toast then, to landing enigmas, clarity, and laughs in each others' laps :-)

[Emily B]

and pandas? ;)

[Marie Anzalone]

that would encompass some of all three, I do believe :-)

[Ravyne Hawke]

Marie, this is so beautifully written, like a hushed whisper across the world, naming and claiming each soul that ever existed and holding you arms out for them to gather and fold into you. I always enjoy your work and I have never been disappointed by anything I've read. Lovely, so lovely.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, Lori, I wrote this for all those who struggle with something, who are full of questions and not self-righteousness. That, I do belive, is most of us. We are all the same journey, so why not extend a hand, offer a hug?

[Ravyne Hawke]

I agree completely Marie.. I just wished more felt this way. Just think of the peace it would create.

[Marie Anzalone]

it is why I do what I do; why I have not given up.. humor and compassion and empathy are the only tools we haveto create a better world; unless you know of others?

[Ravyne Hawke]

Nothing that I can think of at the moment.. I think you've covered them pretty well. Just thankful to have you around, doing what you are doing =)

[Marie Anzalone]

Likewise to you, dear friend, for so much that you do that goes unnoticed.