More stuff ...
Well ... I got up to the Dentist's office early and wrote the poem here while waiting there.
This has not been a fun day ... The Wife took the day off sick, so was home hatching schemes which all seem to include us moving from here off to parts unknown to do stuff that she's only 10% thought through. What's really scary is that she's actually acting on some of this stuff, which looks to include quitting her current job to get into a trainee position elsewhere. Some days I think the only sane thing for me to do would be to shoot myself. Damn. Every time she jumps into something like this, she regrets it within 6-8 weeks. Only this time she'll figure out she doesn't like the new stuff after she quits her current job. Of course, anything I try to bring up in terms of "have you considered ..." just evokes tears, because I'm being obstructing, not helping, not doing anything. The fact that what is passing for her "business plan" has holes in it through which you could drive cattle becomes my fault if I bring it up. We're going off to Columbus in a couple of weekends and I hope her friends and family there will bitch-slap some sense into her, because nothing I say or do is of any use. Sometimes "not-doing" is a far better course of action than "doing", but she's always been one to want to move when the windows got dirty, rather than face the task of cleaning them.
Anyway ... the following obviously has more to do with the last post than this one ...
UNABLE TO BE FILLED
waves of loss
break on the shores
of our awareness
in strange patterns
driven by strong tides
pulses of recall
of familiar things
now without
so many years
of constant contact
pressing in lines
molding the form
how with removal
can we act whole?
how in isolation
can we be our self?
these days bear echoes
of days now gone before
they hum to absence
on subtle planes
with tangible voids
and structures of not being
where being ought to be
yet is no longer
surprised by tears
we don't expect
the passing points
that spark remembrance
to rip open wounds
so newly healed
and spin us into longings
unable to be filled
our vector veers
from all these others
our timeline turns
towards different frames
the world still sleeps
and never cares
while we are tense
and full of fear
- Brendan Tripp
05/17/2004
Copyright © 2004 by Brendan Tripp
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{edit}
Heh ... I just realized the "dental pun" in the title of this one! No, it has nothing to do with tooth decay ... as those who have been paying attention may have noticed, I have been snagging lines from these poems of late to title them, and this particular "filling" refers to those empty places in the heart brought on by loss. I figured I'd add this note here just in case anybody else hit that and said "gee, Brendan must be writing about abscessed teeth"!
This has not been a fun day ... The Wife took the day off sick, so was home hatching schemes which all seem to include us moving from here off to parts unknown to do stuff that she's only 10% thought through. What's really scary is that she's actually acting on some of this stuff, which looks to include quitting her current job to get into a trainee position elsewhere. Some days I think the only sane thing for me to do would be to shoot myself. Damn. Every time she jumps into something like this, she regrets it within 6-8 weeks. Only this time she'll figure out she doesn't like the new stuff after she quits her current job. Of course, anything I try to bring up in terms of "have you considered ..." just evokes tears, because I'm being obstructing, not helping, not doing anything. The fact that what is passing for her "business plan" has holes in it through which you could drive cattle becomes my fault if I bring it up. We're going off to Columbus in a couple of weekends and I hope her friends and family there will bitch-slap some sense into her, because nothing I say or do is of any use. Sometimes "not-doing" is a far better course of action than "doing", but she's always been one to want to move when the windows got dirty, rather than face the task of cleaning them.
Anyway ... the following obviously has more to do with the last post than this one ...
UNABLE TO BE FILLED
waves of loss
break on the shores
of our awareness
in strange patterns
driven by strong tides
pulses of recall
of familiar things
now without
so many years
of constant contact
pressing in lines
molding the form
how with removal
can we act whole?
how in isolation
can we be our self?
these days bear echoes
of days now gone before
they hum to absence
on subtle planes
with tangible voids
and structures of not being
where being ought to be
yet is no longer
surprised by tears
we don't expect
the passing points
that spark remembrance
to rip open wounds
so newly healed
and spin us into longings
unable to be filled
our vector veers
from all these others
our timeline turns
towards different frames
the world still sleeps
and never cares
while we are tense
and full of fear
- Brendan Tripp
05/17/2004
Copyright © 2004 by Brendan Tripp
</center>
{edit}
Heh ... I just realized the "dental pun" in the title of this one! No, it has nothing to do with tooth decay ... as those who have been paying attention may have noticed, I have been snagging lines from these poems of late to title them, and this particular "filling" refers to those empty places in the heart brought on by loss. I figured I'd add this note here just in case anybody else hit that and said "gee, Brendan must be writing about abscessed teeth"!