The Color of Water
Eyes the color of water. The tree I cut down
returns: fallen leaves, smoke, the missing
shade, memory come to reflect
emotion. Once the blue grosbeak
hid in its branches, calling but refusing
to appear, the voice our only consolation.
Now rain streaks the empty space.
Those things we touch often bruise,
but to leave them untouched may harm us
even more. Two days ago the sky cleared.
Changes, how often we see them for what
they are not. An essential falsity. Those eyes.
Words, ever-changing. Shadows of lovers
whose bodies merge but never touch.
This first appeared on the blog in March 2015.
Beautiful!
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Thank you, Atul.
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“calling but refusing to appear, the voice our only consolation….” Beautiful! Such flawless poesy!
You ability to get to the core of things is almost criminal in its ease! And cue my flaming jealousy of your talent in 3… 2… 1… !!
403 stars out of 5 for that line alone!!
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Thank you, Daniel. Acceptance of what is can be difficult at times, but those voices are often enough to carry us through.
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Geez. What do you need me for anymore, when you’ve got Daniel? ^^
I shall not go down without a fight to maintain my #1 Cyberstalker status, you hear me, Mr. Schnee?
😜
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Ha! And that’s Dr. Schnee, Ma’am. Chortle, chortle.
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There is no competition here. Tell you what, stephanielharper… I”ll approach from the north, you approach from the south and together we’ll make a nice Okaji sandwich via a giant hug!
I am a Dr. indeed, but I like to think of myself more so as a kind of musical gynecologist…
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Ha! Okay, Herr Doktor Schnee, I guess I’ll be a good sport and share. Now, if you’d said you were a musical proctologist, all bets would’ve been off…
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As I am not a rapper, proctology is not my focus, meine liebling fraulein!
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Confused as I am by that metaphors latest extension, I think it’s in everyone’s best interest for me to refrain from any further probing, mein lieber Herr Doktor.
I’m sure we’ve stirred up enough “reflections” for our sensei for one day…
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My flexibility, or lack thereof, limits me to naval gazing.
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Lol!
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Nice Poem.
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Thank you.
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Too often we use such adjectives as “beautiful” or “gorgeous” in describing
a poem. Today I would take another path.
Your poem opens me up to the beauty of the world, to the nuances of its
sounds, its colors, its changing seasons, and its silence of a cold winter night
under the stars.
Thank you for the marvelous gift you have given all of us in this poem.
Ron
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Thank you, Obi-Ron. I hope this finds you well!
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Thank you Bobba-Link.
I, in turn, await eagerly your mailing address.
The book is taking up space on my shelf in this
small apartment. (Not really) *g*
Obi-Ron
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Wow.
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Thank you, J.R.
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Your welcomed. Simply beautiful
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“The tree I cut down returns” … indeed, memory can be as powerful as the former tree (or whatever tree stands for) … have had several such actual trees … last year, a beautiful redbud spontaneously died, was cut down, and yet every time I look at that spot in the yard, I am haunted by the presence of what is not there. I’m seeing your poem less than 20 minutes after a pause in the red bud’s “missing shade”. Synchronicity strikes. Thank you, Robert.
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Synchronicity, indeed! I’ve lost too many friends, too many trees, to not appreciate absence.
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this is wonderful
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Thank you!
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I have almost forgotten I’d translated this into Chinese. It is wonderful and remains one of my favourites.
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I’d almost forgotten, too. Great minds, and all that…
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I turned 58 in January, and the sense of loss keeps magnifying in my mind. I take some consolation from Einstein. He said that as he got older he felt that he was merging into nature, entering more fully into the flow of change.
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That is my experience, too.
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Shared this on FB. It’s lovely.
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Thank you, Leslie!
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By the way, I received the promotional card this week. It’s worthy of framing! And I plan on doing just that. My only wish is that it was autographed by you.
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I’m so pleased you like it! I didn’t want to mar it with my unsightly, illegible scrawl.
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Aha! One thing we have in common! I have terrible handwriting.
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No matter how hard I’ve tried, mine has always been a messy, childish scrawl. Now arthritis has made it worse (at least that’s my story). 😀
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Mine approximates that of a 2nd grader with ADHD.
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Mine hasn’t improved since then.
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A beautiful poem, Robert Okaji.
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Thank you, George.
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My favourite part is
‘Now rain streaks the empty space.
Those things we touch often bruise’
This speaks to me
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Thank you, P.S. I’m glad it speaks to you.
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Beautiful!
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Thank you, Radhika.
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The lines that hit me:
“Changes, how often we see them for what/ they are not.”
That could be my motto. (K)
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That has certainly been my experience!
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“I used to be transparent until you touched me” (my latest instagram post inspired by your poem)
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Wonderful! Thank you, Alin.
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This is like a reminder
one of my favorites too
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Thanks very much!
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I love that I read and re-read, constantly deciphering more but immediately got that base feeling of missed chances and wrong turns.
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Thank you! I’m so pleased it resonates for you.
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Amazing!
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Thank you.
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Wow Wow WOW! Hard to chose a fave line among the many, but my picks are: “Those things we touch often bruise” and “lovers whose bodies merge but never touch”.
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I’m so pleased the lines resonate for you. Thank you.
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Most welcome, Sir 🙂
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Wonderful words!
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Thanks very much!
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Beautiful,touching filled with emotions
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Thanks very much.
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