soulcraft

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for ages I’ve wanted to put this poem on one of my blogs, but can’t rightly recall at this moment whether I’ve actually done so. at the risk of duplication, I’ll put it here now.  this excerpt of a longer poem is remarkable to me simply for what it is, what it says and the way it says it. but it’s all the more remarkable for having been written by a ten-year-old, long ago in 1922.

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I shall be coming back to you
From seas, rivers, sunny meadows,
       glens that hold secrets:
I shall come back with my hands full
Of light and flowers…
I shall bring back things I have picked up,
Traveling this road or the other,
Things found by the sea or in the pinewood.
There will be a pine-cone in my pocket,
Grains of pink sand between my fingers.
I shall tell you of a golden pheasant’s
       feather…
Will you know me?
 
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from I Shall Come Back by hilda conkling

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read…   scealta liatha…     shadowpoems

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2009-2013 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

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lexicon lost

Page one hundred twenty-four

wandering through things lost… again… as ever

the dear, important things lost this time are words. some I rarely hear anymore… out of strangers’ mouths. some I never hear. but these words were part of the years before I was excised from my human family as if I were some kind of putrid, deadly tumor. as if I were worthless, deserving of no love, no respect, no regard. words of forty-five years. I can’t recall them all at one sitting, and so will have to edit and edit this page as lost, missed words come back to mind. words as much a part of my lost family as our meals, our furniture, our house, now also lost.

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you’re standing in the way of progress

you’re a pimple on the posterior of progress

you’re giving me agitta

oh go soak your head

take a long walk off a short pier

standing there posing for animal crackers

like a fart in a windstorm

that was a doozie

that was a blinger

slumgullion

myirror

birthtay

philadelthia

if he was any slower he’d be going backwards

if he had a brain he’d be dangerous

a la casa linga (sic)

numbnuts

padade

licky locks

the great one

the piazza

god love ‘im

bullcookies

ha-past eight

clam up

go top shelf

that frosts my cookies

(more in future)

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2009-2013 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.