"retorting" poems - Hello Poetry

*for T.M.R. our "fellow" southern friend* the southern way, she-poet teaches me via long distance breaking of the braking neural inhibitions of the loudest silences that only humans can mistress photos, stories, Facebook posts how the earth rebirths taking unasked unwitting but wisely both of us to be refreshed, so verily the southern way sharing worldly southern words betraying a more than passing (how I hate that word) expertise in spring colors glorious to every sense, best described as nature's way to humanize what we wordily call hopeful, self-betraying herself by the she -poets innate southern ways calls me northern boy in a true voice, raconteuring, quick retorting always in the midst of d r a wling stories, about all crazy frogs of Columbia County, jumping multiple courses all about she-poets navigating life erratic, half ecstatic yet singularity colored, characteristic of a ninety percent southern Tennessee whiskey blues hear clear she-poets welcoming swirling undertow undertones lying just above the calmest morning water surface glistening words betraying nothing, yet saying all in between, in pauses of speckling sun drops spectacular she-poet has her places in woods, knolls and rarely visited mountains where cold brooks and cold beers southern sooth in ways I will likely, wanting but unable, never learn to hear clear the southern way is never flex, nerve never never bend, smile, still fighting the prior lost cause ignore the cracks coverup until and when the afternoon sun ceases to warm the orchard porch daylighting no longer when no one is around she-poet weeps out loud alone in the southern way and I, northern boy, student witness, having obtained a learner's permit for her teachings re the southern wayfaring ways of living life weep along side in my unsatisfactory northern way, learning that, who knew, tears are also glue anywhere

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Apr 12, 2015

Apr 12, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

She-Poet: The Southern Way

*for T.M.R. our "fellow" southern friend* the southern way, she-poet teaches me via long distance breaking of the braking neural inhibitions of the loudest silences that only humans can mistress photos, stories, Facebook posts how the earth rebirths taking unasked unwitting but wisely both of us to be refreshed, so verily the southern way sharing worldly southern words betraying a more than passing (how I hate that word) expertise in spring colors glorious to every sense, best described as nature's way to humanize what we wordily call hopeful, self-betraying herself by the she -poets innate southern ways calls me northern boy in a true voice, raconteuring, quick retorting always in the midst of d r a wling stories, about all crazy frogs of Columbia County, jumping multiple courses all about she-poets navigating life erratic, half ecstatic yet singularity colored, characteristic of a ninety percent southern Tennessee whiskey blues hear clear she-poets welcoming swirling undertow undertones lying just above the calmest morning water surface glistening words betraying nothing, yet saying all in between, in pauses of speckling sun drops spectacular she-poet has her places in woods, knolls and rarely visited mountains where cold brooks and cold beers southern sooth in ways I will likely, wanting but unable, never learn to hear clear the southern way is never flex, nerve never never bend, smile, still fighting the prior lost cause ignore the cracks coverup until and when the afternoon sun ceases to warm the orchard porch daylighting no longer when no one is around she-poet weeps out loud alone in the southern way and I, northern boy, student witness, having obtained a learner's permit for her teachings re the southern wayfaring ways of living life weep along side in my unsatisfactory northern way, learning that, who knew, tears are also glue anywhere