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The Thing
by
Robin Ouzman Hislop
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Not rated by the Author.
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Where is your cat heaven, in heaven,
I say to Daphne, white angora by the wall,
Travelling all night I have striven
To unravel the mysteries of the fall.
She snipples her muffin lips at me
Softly in whitest white secret secrecy.
All day I have searched through these spheres
For you to mysteriously appear
& where more or less you disappear.
No fear, Daphne on the floor is here.
I rise to say the stars have ears
& whisper between laughter & tears.
& outside that thing that comes in, the thing,
is no more than the music left standing.
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| Reviewed by C. McGovern-Bowen |
8/6/2006 |
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perhaps that heaven is up a laurel tree???
perhaps the mysteries of the fall veil an empty orchestra chamber???
like this brain-teasing write, Robin.
peace,
Carolyn |
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| Reviewed by Aleja Bennett |
6/14/2006 |
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| IT HAS BEEN A PLEASURE TO READ SUCH FINE WORK. |
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| Reviewed by jude forese |
6/12/2006 |
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| music never defeats its purpose ... very interesting poem, Robin ... i like the texture of the images ... |
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| Reviewed by Andre Bendavi ben-YEHU |
6/10/2006 |
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I enjoyed the reading of "The Thing".
I salute You, Poet.
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU |
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| Reviewed by Dale Clark |
6/7/2006 |
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Robin-This is masterful. Great piece
and yes music is left standing and do
you hear it. ;) Excellent! |
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| Reviewed by George Carroll |
6/6/2006 |
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| Where has all the good music gone. Is it still echoing in space enchanting the angels as they fly to and fro, for good music never dies it has a life of its own that only those attuned can hear. |
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