Don’t Speak.

I realize this is perhaps not such a good time to be posting this particular poem, given the season (at last fully changed) and the temperature (solid cold in all good northern places), and the images the poem lays out at first. In my defense, I started it a month ago, or something like, when it was still unseasonably warm and summery for late autumn. I am posting it now because I have at last reached a place of satisfaction with it and want to get it out of my hair. As an aside, I’ve considered submitting work for publication at various and sundry Real Live Journals (which would mean keeping them off my blog, in order for them to be eligible to submit), but I have never actually done it, and don’t know if I ever will. For one thing, I like my own blog, and I like sharing what I create with you here. For another, I am not very patient when it comes to things like waiting to hear back from editors, and it’s the thing never attempted that can’t ever be failed. So, not today, but still maybe someday. And as a parting note, I would like to point out that this poem is actually coming to you with a title.

November 17, 2017

Distance Almanac

Don’t speak
of the weather. Do not
tell me that the leaves have
fallen with the wind, that the air
smells like embers, that
it has rained twice today. Don’t say
that it is warmer than
it should be, this summer
dragging, not uncurling
fingers from these last
clenched days. Don’t tell me
the chance of clouds. The skimmed
current of this small
talk rills, and we are left
without communion, oh, do not speak
of weather, when once
you bled your bruising thought
through the cold, fingerprint-stamp
of your soul on mine, once
you told me hearts can catch
their breath but you
couldn’t even see
stars, once
I stood on your side, when you shattered
palms against this that tears
away the light, that made you
look and see yourself a lock
without a key, invisible, once
you asked me if I
might ever even try
to pray.
if you would speak
of the weather at all, it was just
to say there was no chance
of clouds. Once, if you were ever
to mention rain, you would have only said
it fell twice today, in
your room.


8 Comments Add yours

  1. CKG says:

    Beautiful. I think you have been ready for a wider readership for quite some time…..

    Liked by 1 person

    1. AnnaEstelle says:

      Aww, thanks, Daddy =)


  2. Grace T. says:

    I’d say this one needs to be published. You should submit to Poet Lore sometime. I think they might like you and your things.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. AnnaEstelle says:

      I’ll look it up – I’m not familiar with Poet Lore. I have a little list going of Possible Places That Would Potentially Be Interested In My Work, and I check them periodically to see if they are accepting submissions, and stuff…but I never get past reading the submission guidelines. Honestly, a big part of the reason I’ve never tried to publish is because all my good writing is already posted here, and most places won’t accept a submission that has already been published online. I like sharing my work here, and I don’t produce good work often enough for me to feel like I can just hod a few back to submit for official publication, because then I’d never put new writing on my own blog, lol. Also, though, I certainly do suffer from a case of I-can’t-fail-if-I-don’t-try. That doesn’t help matters. ;) Yet it is very much a personal dream to one day publish a book of poetry, like for-real, through a real publisher. But no real publisher will give me a second glance if I don’t have some things already out there, so to speak. Hmph.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Hasshatter says:

        I hear them say that
        You say that you suffer
        from this.
        I wonder that you would repeat this?
        let these words be spoken?
        this lie be retold?
        Perpetuating a myth that this
        is something one can accept,
        rather than shouting
        in the alleys, screaming
        amid the back rooms and lost places;

        That to have done nothing,
        have nothing,
        be doing nothing,
        is to fail.
        What “they” call failure,
        gives you something to look back on.
        Declares you have tried,
        that you are better than you were.

        And that, for a cause worthy of you,
        is what is worth suffering.

        “This cause is lost? No,
        just the type worth fighting for”

        Liked by 1 person

        1. AnnaEstelle says:

          Oh, wow, thank you for your beautiful words, Hasshatter. You speak with much wisdom, and I’m honored to receive your poetry here. =)


  3. Hasshatter says:

    Your hospitality is most appreciated, as was the writing prompt which I needed to finish this piece. :)
    And thank you for the unexpected, my little free-verse is adulated to be fancied true poetry.

    Liked by 1 person


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