Being - Eireann Lorsung

[bennybunny.livejournal.com]

A letter is holy. A story
is holy hands reaching out into the world.
Birds come home
        across distance I can't conceive

and live in their bodies.
Ash in the air. Every place I've been
is on fire with words.

   One day
I throw away all my love letters
without noticing. Mountains

in the heart.
        What belongs
to me? I leave the world
all the time. These arms, these

fingers, this tongue, these feet,
and their bent wings. I know
it will be dirt, the prayers

now in marrow will retake
earth. I will live inside whatever flies.
Burning, the brink of all things.

Comments

[bennybunny.livejournal.com]

The staccato rhythmn definitely lends a poignancy to it. As a writer I sometimes struggle in killing my darlings, there is invariably one stanza too many, to the detriment of impact, probably why I posted some McDaniel, I can sympathise. I am obsessed by decay, its good and bad facets, and this captures the tiniest of moments, of emotions, but in themselves of something of such edifying magnitude, so very well.


There are some more here: http://www.caffeinedestiny.com/poetry/lorsung.html

Google a few, the style so far in my exploration has been fairly similar throughout so I go to them sparingly, so they don't calcify in my heart and lose their magic. But they are special, very much.

[teithiwr.livejournal.com]

This is wonderful.

[aimlesswanderer.livejournal.com]

Great pick. I would like to someday write something like this: tight, and content in itself. Thank you.

[yarrowkat]

ooh. lovely.

[thedorkygirl.livejournal.com]

i especially like how the birds lines are nestled between the words lines. :)