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jordan-joanne-manserPoems
I come with a deep stillness; I was born with a great shyness, a long quiet, a demurity. I feel it in the way a thousand notes play softly in an orchestra, Yet I have no adequate speech to show my appreciation. I sense it in the way the wind blows warmly in the springtime, And I can not begin to describe the beauty linguistically, so I do not. I’ll keep it within my mind, where it belongs. I can tell it by the way I sit alone, Writing bland, thoughtless poetry in the dark in late December, So that even my fingers freeze in uncertainty: To bring the thoughts from mind to pen- impossible. I need to make up my mind, I’ve been told, I need to speak out loud, Show my heart, Wear my pride, Hide my silence- Once in a while, anyway. But I find it so hard, Searching for my voice in the middle of the winter, Like standing beneath a snowy tree, about to speak, But you see your breath and so you stop and watch- I just watch. I feel that coldness, the quiet, the reserve. When I’m boisterous, I regret it. Being loud is fun, until you’re quite again. I’ll speak tomorrow, I think, knowing I really won’t; Maybe the next day, but probably not. But tonight, Tonight I come with a deep stillness, And I revel in it. I have no shame. For deep stillness Is mystery, And mystery is intrigue, Intrigue leads to complexity, And complexity... Is me.
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Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
Standing Beneath a Snowy Tree, About to Speak
I come with a deep stillness; I was born with a great shyness, a long quiet, a demurity. I feel it in the way a thousand notes play softly in an orchestra, Yet I have no adequate speech to show my appreciation. I sense it in the way the wind blows warmly in the springtime, And I can not begin to describe the beauty linguistically, so I do not. I’ll keep it within my mind, where it belongs. I can tell it by the way I sit alone, Writing bland, thoughtless poetry in the dark in late December, So that even my fingers freeze in uncertainty: To bring the thoughts from mind to pen- impossible. I need to make up my mind, I’ve been told, I need to speak out loud, Show my heart, Wear my pride, Hide my silence- Once in a while, anyway. But I find it so hard, Searching for my voice in the middle of the winter, Like standing beneath a snowy tree, about to speak, But you see your breath and so you stop and watch- I just watch. I feel that coldness, the quiet, the reserve. When I’m boisterous, I regret it. Being loud is fun, until you’re quite again. I’ll speak tomorrow, I think, knowing I really won’t; Maybe the next day, but probably not. But tonight, Tonight I come with a deep stillness, And I revel in it. I have no shame. For deep stillness Is mystery, And mystery is intrigue, Intrigue leads to complexity, And complexity... Is me.
Written by
jordan-joanne-manser
American
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
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