|
Hayswood Park. 30 juillet 2005
by Lacy D Phillips
I would say my heart is on fire,
but these good words freeze on my lips.
My breath is only the cold wind of self-pity.
I feel expansive, though I shrink within myself;
and I starve for all the salt of the world
and the shrill vinegar of experience.
These moments of contemplation
carve themselves into the dense undergrowth of my thoughts
as the wind stirs the fields as far as eyes can discern.
I am coarse grain yet to be refined by the stone of independence.
I am weak tea diluted by these ruminations
requiring only the fire of requite
to boil me down to something fit for consumption.
Je dirais que mon coeur brûle
mais ces bons mots gèlent sur mes lèvres.
Mon souffle est seulement le vent froid de ma pitiée.
Je me sens expansible bien que je me rétrécisse chez me.
et je meurs de faim pour tout le sel du monde
et le vinaigre aigu de l'expérience.
Ces moments de contemplation
se découpent dans la broussaille dense de mes pensées
car le vent remue les champs dans la mesure où les yeux peuvent discerner.
Je suis grain brut pourtant être raffiné par la meule de l'indépendance.
Je suis thé faible dilué par ces ruminations
exigeant seulement le feu du retour pour distiller quelque chose de digne être consommé.
07/30/2005 Author's Note: Sounds a lot less trite in French. If you can excuse the utter sap of the first few lines (which, incidently, were written in French first and translated to English - unlike the later lines, which were English to French) it's actually not as bad as it seems.
Posted on 07/31/2005
Copyright © 2025 Lacy D Phillips
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Paul Marino on 09/20/05 at 10:16 PM oh my, this was amazing. really, like this is something i would get excited about if i just found it in a poetry book. it's one of those poems that puts that good feeling in my stomach, that poetic butterfly. |
| 
