On You, Across The Table

We all want to believe our children will love us
Hold us, kiss us, stay with us,
and wrap their little hands around our fingers
Big eyes watch big people with big love

But they're a squirmy type
Run away, out of our arms
No matter how far we stretch

Exploring dust bunnies in corners
Carrying shoes to bury in the sand box
They all, will all, run away

And you see then,
Perhaps they are not yours.

Individuals behind those big eyes
And we, again, are left to watch
Like past loves left,
Mother, fathers, gone,
And a thousand friends,
drifted away

We own no one,
Our children owe nothing
And we will all realize how little we are
How alone we are

And in that we must find some happiness
We must find some truth
For them, for us,
For you

Reviews

[Nathan Strange]

Hey man, Charles, I've never read much of your stuff and I'm not gonna blow sunshine up your arse as you are the owner of the website. Let me tell you something pal, this is f*****g good mate. It sums up how I feel at the moment! I'm just sitting in front of my computer screen waiting for the computer to speak to me, waiting for reviews. I'm too tired to review at the moment, I can't think let alone read!
I have a beer in front of me sitting by the keyboard. My forehead is creased up, my eyes black, yet I sit here endlessly, waiting for inspiration to write something. I have this dying urge to want to produce just something, even if it's tedious, yet I know that I'm in no state of mind to write anything half decent.
I saw you were on line and thought, let me read something of Charles's for once. He is responsible for this site. Well man your words spoke to me, that last stanza;

Unable to maintain this moment
This connection
This intimacy
Required to record it
Such is the curse of a writer

[Richard Hartshorn]

"It's more important than living"

Yes. Existing and living are not at all the same thing!

Great poem. I like the flow and just the way it moves through your little narrative here. I think this sort of free poem is more your niche than the short stories.

[Kevin]

Your transition here is so subtle! It is an amazing tale!

[Brandon T. Bisceglia]

Stunning work. The last line, the escapist aspect brought forth as juxtaposed with the intimate description before it, resonated.

[V]

The pretense of an author
Who wills away days
Writing, and believing
It's more important than living


scary f****n truth right there man. You said it well

V

[[untitled]]

wow, the condition of a writer so appropriate here and relateable. The ending made me shake my head and look at the poem as if it were eyes and say, "yea, i know what you mean." The descriptions of the scene and table were vivid and poetic: I could see and hear "papers and pens, tea and napkings, bags and books."

[Hedra Helix]

the first stanza is that aching beautiful language of sepia tones and tea.

the center threatens to elongate it, make it more complex and you wonder if the poem can complete itself and be solid at the end
but it really is, it connects with the reader, especially here with us writers,
most sereous ones doing that exact same thing in practice of everyday life, self realized or not.

I like your poetry:)

[REALIZE]

The way you started off was very low-key and then as I got towards the middle,

"Sorry I shake the table with my typing
Sorry I watch you so
I don't read with you anymore I'm afraid"

I notcie what you are conveying. And towards the end is where you set it off. I like it. Great Write

[Misha London]

this is lovely.
i especially like the last stanza.

[Christopher Tait]

You start off light, but it builds into that last stanza that hits hard and hits home. Really great job writing. It's beautiful and light though with a heavy point behind it. Great work!

[Jesse Dunstan]

this piece progresses like a soft wind. youve set a very cool, sedated scene. the artist and his muse. i enjoyed the last stanza the most, as you referred to the somewhat monastic life that a passionate writer lives. we write, because we have to. this is a good, solid work.