# For Leslie Anne



## JosephB (May 10, 2010)

I’ll taste the tattoo on your breast,
the muted green on winter’s pale,
and tongue a lazy trail below,
the place where earthy life begins.

Fall beside me and roll on,
to feel your weight, of our unborn, 
the sister to the angel
who never saw the sun,
and to the child who sleeps
beyond the beaded board.

The mourning dove reminds,
she sings a soft reproach,
how sorrow, patient, stealthy.
can breach the fragile wall.

Hear the liquid pulse, the heart,
beneath your breath, inside the bloom.

The redundant seed, now planted,
uncoupling, still entangled, 
a muted, whispered promise,
of love’s determined shield.


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## Gumby (May 10, 2010)

I really love this, Joe! That second stanza is really beautiful, is this another song?


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## Da Prophecy (May 11, 2010)

The first line seriously got my attention. I definitely get an image when I read that one. Well-written overall. Favorite line: "the muted green on winter’s pale".


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## SilverMoon (May 11, 2010)

Joe, of all your stanzas, I thought your opening was particularly brilliant. And managed with such good taste.

_the place where earthly life begins_


> I’ll taste the tattoo on your breast,
> the muted green on winter’s pale,
> and tongue a lazy trial below,
> the place where earthy life begins


 
A pleasure to read. Thank you, Laurie


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## Foxee (May 11, 2010)

Beautiful and tasteful, Joe. One of the best I've read here.


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## Chesters Daughter (May 11, 2010)

I echo Foxee. "the sister to the angel, that never saw the sun" brought tears, love. I applaud your courage in sharing this, and commend you for its abundant beauty.

Best,
Lisa


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## Martin (May 12, 2010)

It's hard to hit any nails on such a personal piece! Your scenery along with the abstractions drew me more and more in on every read. You manage to create both a sad and hopeful mood.

"The mourning dove reminds," <--- I never heard of "the mourning dove"! Maybe there's a reference I'm missing here...

"how sorrow, patient, stealthy." <--- period typo. Also, may I suggest omitting the first comma of this line and change "patient" to patiently...


Thanks for sharing this Joseph,
Martin


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## MaggieG (May 12, 2010)

> Fall beside me and roll on,
> to feel your weight, of our unborn,
> the sister to the angel
> who never saw the sun,
> ...



This is the stanza that stood out for me. It has a "burning wheel" aura to it


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## Foxee (May 12, 2010)

Mourning Dove for Martin.


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## Galivanting (May 12, 2010)

that first line was enough to make me stop and say, goddamn

absolutely great... i cant find anything to offer as a crit


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## JosephB (May 12, 2010)

Gumby, thank you. No, this one's just a poem. I guess I can't rule out converting it to lyrics. I've done that, or at least borrowed phrases or imagery.

Da Prophesy, Glad you liked that line. That's really left over from when the poem was a little less serious, more of a straight up love poem -- something I was writing for Mother's Day, believe it or not. But it kind of morphed into something more serious. Thanks for reading.

Laurie, Thanks for reading and commenting.



> And managed with such good taste.


Heh. No double meaning there?

Foxee, thanks for read and compliment. Means a lot.

Lisa, Thanks so much. I don't know how much courage it took. It's sometimes cathartic to write about things, so in a sense, it's a little self-gratifying. I don't mean that in a bad way, really.

Martin, Thanks. Foxee stepped in on the mourning dove. It's a North American bird, and I think I've notice British spellings in your things. Could be wrong. Thanks for the suggestions. And I hope people don't hold back just because things are of a personal nature. I post expecting a critique, regardless.

MaggieG, thank you for reading. Glad you liked that stanza. I'm afraid I don't know what Burning Wheel is. I looked it up but didn't see anything I thought might relate.

Galivanting, Heh. Cool that the first line made you take the lords name in vain. Thanks for reading and commenting.


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## Martin (May 13, 2010)

Foxee, thanks. I'm trying to figure out why I just didn't look it up myself... no clue actually!

You may notice both British and other kinds of English in my writings, Joseph. I'm not a native English speaker.

Oh, and in regard to critique, what I meant was content-wise. There's much personal stuff between the lines and though you are very skilled in conveying much of it to your readers, I'm sure some is available only to you, your 'better half', on a personal level... That said I do think your piece has a universal feel to it. It speaks to the essence of our being.


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## JosephB (May 13, 2010)

Martin, I see what you mean. 

I was think of something else. I once posted a poem about the death of someone close to me, and a few people responded to the effect, "well, this is just to personal, it's hard to critique." I took that to mean, "I don't want to hurt your feelings." But I wouldn't post something without the expectation of getting straightforward criticism, regardless of what might have inspired the poem.

I'm relatively new to poetry, and so far, most of my poetry has been about and/or written for my spouse. So there is lot of "inside" stuff. Really, I'd like to expand beyond that, but haven't been sufficiently inspired by other subject matter. I'm trying though. There are other things about which I'm passionate.


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## Lorlie (May 13, 2010)

Hey there,. 

I remember when i was a regular here reading pieces and contributions from you, so it was almost with a courtesy of seeing a familiar name that I opened this poem.
Its beauty and sorrow and hope and love, genuinely made me feel a flutter in my heart for the what ifs, and also for the what we haves.
Truly a beautiful piece of writing that has all the elements of a piece I will be thinking of for a long, long time.

Great read.

Lorlie


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## JosephB (May 15, 2010)

Thank you idrew. I catch your drift. Those lines do seem archaic, by comparison. I think you'll see my next effort reflects you input. I've stripped things down to the bone.


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## MaggieG (May 15, 2010)

Happiness by Louise Gluck

A man and a woman lie on a white bed.
It is morning. I think
Soon they will waken.
On the bedside table is a vase
of lilies; sunlight
pools in their throats.
I watch him turn to her
as though to speak her name
but silently, deep in her mouth--
At the window ledge,
once, twice,
a bird calls.
And then she stirs; her body
fills with his breath.

I open my eyes; you are watching me.
Almost over this room
the sun is gliding.
Look at your face, you say,
holding your own close to me
to make a mirror.
How calm you are. And the *burning wheel*
passes gently over us.


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