{"id":1157,"date":"2008-06-19T19:03:24","date_gmt":"2008-06-20T01:03:24","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/?p=1157"},"modified":"2008-07-10T09:07:37","modified_gmt":"2008-07-10T15:07:37","slug":"poem-for-the-willingness-to-return","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/?p=1157","title":{"rendered":"Poem for the willingness to return"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"fb_share_1\" style=\"clear:left; float: left; margin-right: 10px; margin-top:10px;;width: 55px;\" name=\"fb_share\"><div id=\"fb-root\"><\/div><script src=\"http:\/\/connect.facebook.net\/en_US\/all.js#appId=125029517579627&amp;xfbml=1\"><\/script><fb:like href=\"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/?p=1157\" send=\"false\" layout=\"box_count\" width=\"55\" show_faces=\"false\" font=\"arial\"><\/fb:like><\/div><p>6\/20\/08<\/p>\n<p>Hamburg, Germany<\/p>\n<p>The lack of visible writing<br \/>\nDoes not mean a poet&#8217;s heart has stopped beating<br \/>\nWhen the phrases begin to bleed out in emails and web updates<br \/>\nA time to wonder why I haven&#8217;t put pen to paper<br \/>\nFor my most honest art<br \/>\nWhere my love and fear cannot be hidden<\/p>\n<p>Why do we turn on the things that bring us comfort<br \/>\nThe things that feed our deeper self, that sweep away the selfish<br \/>\nDenying our voice to be heard, for others to have a chance to know<br \/>\nPart of what we really think, how we feel what we see and see what we feel?<\/p>\n<p>Even to step out of the room for a while<br \/>\nThat feeling of not fitting in, language, class, culture<br \/>\nThe signs of your kind behind closed doors<br \/>\nDrifting smoke and wadded black gaff in the hall<br \/>\nJettisoned from a shoe, gathered, carried, dropped, forgotten<\/p>\n<p>Your clothes and face have people change their language mid-sentence<br \/>\nUntil you begin the dance of minimal words and gestures<br \/>\nCaught when your limits show, no shame other than the person selling you water<br \/>\nBeing better educated than you<br \/>\nThe ancient trusses of the looming station reverberate with rubbing metal and bored announcements<br \/>\nAnd you can&#8217;t capture the feeling with your phone camera<\/p>\n<p>Have you been there? Have you seen beauty alone?<br \/>\nDid you wish you could share it or fear you were the only one<br \/>\nWho wanders lost, still alive in some ways, the others gone<br \/>\nSo comfortable in foreign scale, walking at my own pace<br \/>\nMy path would confuse or anger some but alone it is just where I&#8217;m going<\/p>\n<p>Does the sound of the train pulling away make you feel anything<br \/>\nAnything that you would want to admit?<br \/>\nI wonder where my heart is, what it is doing<br \/>\nAnd then a shadow crosses a wall<br \/>\nAnd the light does something new<br \/>\nAnd what is old is new again<br \/>\nAnd then you know that your heart never really left<br \/>\nYou just stopped trying to walk through each day<br \/>\nThe disconnect between your life and love a weight<br \/>\nYou didn&#8217;t want to carry<\/p>\n<p>To allow the song back into your heart<br \/>\nAnd the artist&#8217;s eyes to see<br \/>\nNot a pack mule or a bridge support<br \/>\nLiving, feeling, the need to express<br \/>\nThese angles that give me pause, elements crossed so I can understand<br \/>\nMy path as I wander<\/p>\n<p>No, I&#8217;m not from around here<br \/>\nI&#8217;m not from around anywhere anymore<br \/>\nA well paid vagabond<br \/>\nA word used for drunks, hobos and Walt Whitman<br \/>\nI guess I can live with that<br \/>\nI just want to be able to write my momentary truth again<br \/>\nAnd share the sounds of a train station or the reflection of running water<br \/>\nAnd be who I&#8217;m meant to be.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>6\/20\/08 Hamburg, Germany The lack of visible writing Does not mean a poet&#8217;s heart has stopped beating When the phrases begin to bleed out in emails and web updates A time to wonder why I haven&#8217;t put pen to paper For my most honest art Where my love and fear cannot be hidden Why do [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_mi_skip_tracking":false,"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true},"categories":[7],"tags":[59,129,60],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/peNcU-iF","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1157"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1157"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1157\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1157"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1157"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bittermancircle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1157"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}