Thursday, July 20, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:7/20/17

Open To Interpretation

Here they come and I my sleepiness feign.
Conjoined they are I hear forever near.
My door cannot comport their worldly reign.
What wealth they have!  I have nothing to fear.

Forever's a long time with one rhyme scheme,
I know, I have my own each time I pass
Through these nightly glass doors to your regime.
Some nights, I, admitting remiss, send this:

A flirtatious hint to you: "Take my hand
And descend with me my rhymes' loosened steps,
And sit with me along the sea's long strand,
Share lunch, least we be thought fasting adepts."

I have you you have I, our selves' plenty
With this wild blue sea's endless bounty.


Notes: not the first time I've gone off on salesmen at the door...I ignore them, I abhor them...terrible rude I think to invade one's privacy with trade...and yet, here I'm about maybe something not much different...I try to soften the knock knock ads here, no eye twisting meme slogans there...'here' being the blog, 'there' being the link on facebook...actually, most time that link doesn't link, or links so briefly, that I'm in the clear...but for those who do find here, my apologies for the trading!...anyway, a normal day without a thing, until they knocked while I was studying out Emily Dickenson's poem 22...having learnt that Shakespeare's sonnets can be web conjured by just googling 'sonnet (pick a number 1-....brb...154)',  I thought to conjure 'Emily Dickenson poem 22'...and that works!...I think Emily has like...brb...1775, 1789, it varies, has the first lines listed, so one could too text search...the Bible of course has this...and along with the texts are the exegesis...which I find problematic...too much the preacher reading out, lowering the text, and going on and on..."Papa don't preach!"--Madonnna...but when things are too culturally distant, drifted away as languages change, or just too damned James Joyce like, I look for help...apparently, poem 22 is about the constraints of 19th century woman hood, which are the same stretching back to Adam, and still persist in most of the world...arranged marriages, narrow limitations...a male dominated, there I was with poem 22, and the Lord's own at the door, and I just went off, on and on! didn't all happen quite like that, but in truth I do traders a favor by not answering the door...a courtesy I'm likely given my own self often...I'm just going to say no, anyway, too!...

"I gave myself to him"

I gave myself to Him—
And took Himself, for Pay,
The solemn contract of a Life
Was ratified, this way—

The Wealth might disappoint—
Myself a poorer prove
Than this great Purchaser suspect,
The Daily Own—of Love

Depreciate the Vision—
But till the Merchant buy—
Still Fable—in the Isles of Spice—
The subtle Cargoes—lie—

At least—'tis Mutual—Risk—
Some—found it—Mutual Gain—
Sweet Debt of Life—Each Night to owe—
Insolvent—every Noon—

Emily Dickenson

That web page includes the dashes, and other idiosyncrasies...since I have such my own self, I understand them...when they are included!...fie on those who grammatically delete them!'s the beginning draft of Wealth...

They come upon my door and I feign my sleepiness
Conjoined they are I hear forever near
That's a long time to walk with one rhyme

Scheme I know I have my own
Each night I wander through
Your black glass doors
Some nights this, I admit remiss,
A flirtatious hint to take my hand
And walk my paths step by step,
My rhymes to rhymes loose steps.

Oh even while you say no and no
I continue another cast
Different from the last
Your no lass to be hooked fast
So we have this ever patient fast
And I bring some lunch to
Share with you upon this creek's long bench
We're always hungry, isn't it a funny something?
And can always share this repast
Rather than some dour nothing.

Sea has fish, sky has birds
In all their variety
I have you you have I
And lowly love's society.




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