Note:  poetry is a foreign word, yet I was amenable to following the SS rules this weekend for some reason.  Perhaps because it’s easier to do something I’m not expected to know how to do : ) 

Pinpoint07.jpg picture by pemerytx 


her life had been a sad swinging,

the last two years slowing, barely

moving forward and back, the ropes

on the tree branch no longer creaking


she looked away from the expanse

of her life lived, the hopes like magic

becoming reasons for living and dashing,

finally, to the ground above her swinging


back and forward, through eyes of wasting

away, her tired thoughts barely entertaining

the swing stopping, and what would happen

when she fell off, if she’d find herself falling


or rising in rapture, leaving people looking

and not finding a trace even, just as Elijah

left nothing but wondering, and she stopped

her thinking, stared back over her living


the expanse of dust and bits of sparkling,

all jewels found to be glass on closer look, and

she saw from a distance it didn’t matter, saw

herself, like Earth, another pinpoint shining




Photo from Rockhurst University’s website  at http://cte.rockhurst.edu/s/945/facultydetail.aspx?sid=945&gid=1&pgid=1071


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“epilogue” was spun off the Sunday Scribblings prompt “#178 – Poetry.”  Click here for more on prompt #178 from other Sunday Scribblings participants.


27 responses to “epilogue

  1. So much life expressed in the breath of a gorgeous single sentence. No glass jewels; these are rubies. Just beautiful.

    Of course, now that you’ve revealed this talent, you know we’ll be expecting more…

  2. Foreign? Please. There’s poetry all up and down the green hill country of your “prose,” week in and week out. Line breaks may set it up differently on the page, but yours is a mad river running rampant through paragraph breaks. Funny, I got waylaid all day in a tangle of bluegrass: this ballad of yours sure seemed to fit the bill – I could hear it playing throughout the evening’s rounds.

    All poems found to be words on closer look…

    Or jelly in the bath…

  3. great words and a great picture. I am no poetry critic I really like this one. Hope I haven’t put the kiss of death on your writing poetry. seems to me that you know what you are doing.

  4. B
    Me, too, b! And I would like to be and be seen as your blue-eyed, grey-haired beauty of the ages, “…a grace and dignity flowing outward to greet the day; Always a lady to turn heads…” Beautiful.
    Thank you for that and for sharing your thoughts on my post : )

    Thank you, Keith. You know how much I enjoyed your poetry extravaganza! I still hear the Libera soaring, your delightful voice reading… I can hear you read this piece of mine, and some of my stories… I think you should rent your voice! : )

    Thank you : ) That’s quite the compliment coming from your poetic self. I think it appropriate that you’ve become the sweetest in the gale, for even if you ever felt a fledgling, you’re flying high these days for sure. Your site is delightful—the layout, images, poetry.

    Isn’t that a great photo, though! Sometimes it takes awhile to hit on just the right image to compliment the writing, and when I saw this photo, I knew it—perfect! I’m glad you enjoyed this, Granny. I enjoyed your thoughts on it : )

    Ooh, I like how you put that, “…so much life expressed in the breath…” But of course, what else from you who breathes poetry? That brings me to ask if we’ll be delighting in one of your gems this day. I hope so : )
    As for me and poetry, I do enjoy others’ poems. I love Plath especially (but of course), and I have misfiring intentions to study poetry forms and techniques… Paschal does have a point (but of course) and after I’m done wrangling poetic in my short shorts, I may find myself desiring tighter form.

    Thank your for saying, Tammy : ) I thought the same of your poetic ability on reading your “My Answer to Mary.” So deeply touching and inspiring, your answer!

    Another established poet come to visit! Funny how my ego was strangely absent when I dove into this exercise and now it’s rearing its head, all worried, even though you had good things to say! All in all, though, I am benefitting from the encouragement, am grateful for your comment : )

    Alright, you. I know what you’re saying with your lovely green hill country language, and knowing your meaning, I say that you’re right (but of course). I agree that I write poetically more often than not. Still, I’m gonna press semantics with you (crazy, I know). Poetry suggests meter, verse (probably the thing that freaks folks out), whereas poetic suggests only the quality of poetry (ahhh, freedom). Go ahead and set me straight if you think I needs me a good come ta Jesus talk ; ) Meanwhile, after all that jelly-bending, I’ll be here all “Bessemer, blister, crucible, [and] alloy.” :-D

    Thanks, Mister Grizz! Naw, you didn’t ruin some drive to write poetry. If you’ve slogged through my responses here, now you know I have no such desire at this point. I’m full into the basic journey of finding out about me in relation to the art of writing period. I admire many poets, their talent, their poems, have sung the praises of a few poets in past posts, and I’d like to be undoubtedly capapble that way sometime for sure.

  5. QUIN
    LOL! Well, my dear, my car didn’t get towed like yours did and I didn’t have any stress like that, or any other way, when I sat down strangely happy to write this. I can’t explain it. Maybe Jupiter aligned with Mars. I dunno. Because just a couple of mentally crappy weeks ago, if you’d said the word “poetry” with a smile, I’d have handed you a piece that was nothing but a string of expletives arranged like a mushroom cloud!

    Howdy, moise, I was hoping you’d come by, admiring as I was your style and wit the other day. I thank you for the good review here. I see you’ve got a hot one over at your place today. I’ll be over later on to put down my two cents. I’ll pay the balance later : )

  6. I’m the one on the left sitting quietly sipping my drink, afraid to speak, afraid that someone will notice – oh wait! Why is she sitting at the big kids table? Give her some kool-aid and move her along. I’m reading this wonderful piece for the third time. First time was last night before I went to sleep foggy brained. Second was this morning before i had to run to church and then a thousand other things. I didn’t want to dash off something cute and run, because Paschal is right – you do write poetry or poetically whatever word is decided on – don’t know, don’t care. It sings, it singes, and it melts me. Quin, I’m with you – green eyed.

  7. You don’t need no proselytizin, sister: I know Jesus is just alright with you. Poetry may, as you say, suggest all your little accoutrement, but them’s ain’t the poetry itself. Wild as I like to be in most of my poems, I actually harbor a certain fascination for forms and even like to indulge in them. All in all, my respect for and appreciation of formalized poetry has grown considerably, despite my overall disinclination to indulge in it vigorously. Note that formal and formalized are adjectives, descriptors of the thing (which, of course, brings us back to your inimitable thingness), so “thing,” that is, “poetry” is something that exists before the forms began to arise. I maintain that the domains of poetry and prose, if taxonomy of any kind is required at all, suggest different states of mind, different impulses to create. Some would argue that poetry is by far the older of the two domains (and by extension, the older of the mind-states), a shamanistic domain, a domain that suggests, among other things, praise and exaltation and travel through the veils. That kind of travel ain’t necessarily metric, for all that the bewigged white boys of England might like to make it out to be so.

    That said, the jello molds is callin’.

    Even more importantly, you gets to call poetry whatever you wants to call it.

    Love Always: paschal.

  8. The “ings” I love the most. All mixed in with the sadness and the longing and the hope and the back and forths, forwards and back and the truth of being another pinpoint shining. A beauty.

    Don’t blame me, now, this one came easy ;-)

    So that was you, the quiet, sipping one! I’d wondered ; )
    I’m so glad you didn’t settle for cute. I suffer cute. I love beautiful.
    Poetry or poetically…ah, we decided that you can call it what you want because it’s beyond any name you choose to use. It is the thing that makes us tick, that drives everything we can and cannot see, that drives us to its expression in whatever way moves us.
    And therefore no one has anything to be green-eyed about… Thankya Jesus, I say! ‘Cause bein’ envious stresses me out.
    Glad this one gotcha, Dee ; ) Thank you for beautiful and not cute : )

    I love it when you talk all complicated. I agree wholeheartedly. I have put my hands on the laptop and been healed. I know like I know like I know that poetry is that which exists before forms ever did. What’s behind poetry is the same thing that’s behind existence. I see it, experience it, know it to be true. Praise be. Give me an Amen and we be done here ; )
    You’re an amazing creature, brotha P. I see the love and match your raise : )

    The ings are easy aren’t they? They facilitate the rocking and rolling and in this case the swinging. They facilitate smooth movement down the stream of consciousness. No fighting the flow with the ings, ‘cause they got you going with it, relaxing and swirling, reeling, and loving this mess called living. Like your comment was flowing smooth and easy, its own beauty, and I’m thanking you for it ; )

  10. for me, all your writings are poetic. your words, this piece holds a wealth of life unfolding, a richness of of possibility and a pinpoint shinning.

    Well hello! You’ve been gone from SS since #173 Where in the World did you go??? Welcome back, poet extraordinaire! And thank you for this rave review : )

    Ooh, beautifully written, your comment, Miz T Lee. “…a wealth of life unfolding, a richness of possibility and a pinpoint shining…” Yes, yes, you’re a poet, of course! Sometimes I think of you as a big time photographer ; )

  12. That’s how I feel about poetry too. I don’t do it often, or to be more precise, I rarely do it, but when I try it comes out easily and it’s not so bad. Maybe it’s because it’s not my speciality.

  13. been a while, and look what i get here! foreign, did u say missA? to be honest, i have always found a certain poetic quality in all your posts. of course, some say poetry must necessarily confirm to rhyme and meter and what not, and then there have been others who have freely let the words tumble. this is as good as it gets for me. for me, because i never could appreciate poetry all that much. interestingly, i been thinking of this hope thing, and i see it finds a mention here too!
    how have you been? love being here, as always

  14. The beauty of your mini-hiatuses is there’s time to come back and rummage around in what has been. I should have checked earlier, Ms Bessemer Cream O’ Wheat: that is a lovely poem.

    The I is a pine,
    resinous, flammable root to crown,
    which throws its cones as far as it can in a fire.

    Haha, yes, I’m a believer in beginner’s luck or whatever you want to call it. The stuff I desire to be great sucks, and the stuff I approach without care often ends up with the gold medal. Look at the comments I got here. More than I’ve gotten on my stuff in like a year. It’s crazy.
    It’s good to see you around, btw, Ms. Mood : ) You’re a hard one to keep an eye on these days ; )

    What a treat, the presence of another of my oldest blogging friends! So good to have you here, Bum : )
    Yes, yes you were the one that started me on the hope thoughts. And my thoughts on Present’s “arrested development” found their way into this as well, the bit about correlating human lives and picking up a sparkling thing, hoping it’s a jewel but finding out it’s only a piece of glass and maybe not even that. This all is a miniature example of how the universe works, how connected all of us are. Very cool, very exciting to be in this vast mix. And I guess that also answers your last question. I’m good, happy, enjoying a measure of peace for now : )

    And you, Brother P, what would I do without you as a constant, hmm? My mini-world inside the world inside the universe would feel lacking. I would fidget. Things wouldn’t be right. I’d sigh and pace. There would be no blessed revisiting here that ends up renewing all of life.
    That is a beauty of a poem that hits it, it being the core of humanity as I like to say too much, but it says it all so I keep on pressing my luck with it, but maybe this: the one, the common gut of humankind. New but not so pretty. For those reading these afterthoughts and wondering what we’re circling around, it’s Sharon Olds’ “Take the I Out.”

  16. I’ve got some catching up to do, Alicat. I love this poem! It piques my own curiosity with the life/death transition. I second your prose as poetry notion, ala Pasqual.

    Hate that I’m AWOL of late. I last said I was doing better, but I’ve had a set back of computer screen induced nausea. It’s all I can do to get through a work day, I haven’t spent any web based leisure time in weeks. It’s reminiscent of the 2 months of chronic vertigo I experienced one year ago. c’est la vie, right? Hope you’re well, and I’ll be doing some catching up. And hopefully contributing soon. Cheers!

    Hey hey, music man! Had I known you’d be coming ‘round to see me after all this time, I’d have rolled out the red carpet and got the crystal beer steins out of the freezer. I’m glad you enjoyed this poem but your troubles, Lord I wouldn’t wish them on a snake. I s’pose some would say that about me on the rollercoaster—adrift climbing to mental, slowing at the top of sharp as a tack, and down for a measure of peace Whee! and then climbing back up to mental again. You and I, looks like we need to go in for some adjustments, some fine-tuning. Until then, I look forward to joining you on the Cheers! side of life : )

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