You used to feed me
I thrived on your provisions
The loving cup once overflowed
And you kept it filled from your reserve
You showed me possibilities
My imagination ran wild
And I wanted you more than sustenance.
A feast for the mind
A banquet for contemplation
But now we’re both starving
Unable to feed ourselves
On the meager scraps left in our larder
Stop with the metaphors, you say…
But I’m having trouble plain speaking
All those pretty possibilties
Are lodged in my throat
And your indifference is choking me
Header photo via Pinterest.
That’s pretty powerful. π
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Thanks, Beach. Once in a while…. π
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I hear ya’. Relationships can be a real test of one’s patience. As much as I love my wife, there are times I want to throttle her. Of course, I’m certain she never feels that way about me. π
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Hahaha! Of course not! π
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Absolutely, of course not! Yeah right, I’m lucky to still be alive. π
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Aw! At least these things pass! π
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Yeah, like me if I’m not careful. π
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ππ±π
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Oh, Meg! This is heart achingly beautiful. Love this.
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Thank you so much, Kay!
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You’re welcome! Indifference hurts, as does complacency, and lack of follow through. Actions speak much louder than words. It’s cliche, but it’s true.
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Spot on! π
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Beautiful and heartbreaking. π
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Thank you, Eric! I had to pull this from spam, FYI. I’ve been checking regularly since Vic had so much trouble!
Indifference is the worst… So cold.
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Love it. π
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Thanks!
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Love the skeletons: here’s Quevedo on love beyond death —
Alma, a quien todo un Dios prisiΓ³n ha sido, Soul who has imprisoned a God,
Venas, que humor a tanto fuego han dado, Veins who have supplied multiple humors,
MΓ©dulas, que han gloriosamente ardido, Marrow that has gloriously burned,
Su cuerpo dejarΓ‘, no su cuidado; Will leave its body, not its love;
SerΓ‘n ceniza, mas tendrΓ‘ sentido; they will be ashes, but they will have feeling;
Polvo serΓ‘n, mas polvo enamorado. They will be dust, but dust enamoured.
My translation / don’t trust it.
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Oh dear: much room for improvement. I’ll try again tomorrow.
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Well the idea is there! That is a pretty cool photo. I’m really behind on my reading, Roger! Will catch up soon! Also, found a little info about the Jennings connection to Ireland. I might indeed be more Irish than I thought!
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We’re all a bit more Irish than we thought: it’s all those nasty old leprechauns …
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Ha! Or maybe all those Irish families with sixteen kids! Lordy!
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It could also be the Guinness!
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I’m sure it contributed!
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Fuego esta Fire, no? Veins that have a fire…
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Basically, yes. Love is a flame and the remains of the body are still hot with the fires of love. It’s one of Quevedo’s most famous sonnets: Amor constante mas alla de la muerte … a beautiful love poem … along the lines of my love will never die … but oh so rhetorically intense.
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Beautiful! My Spanish is rudimentary too but I can follow it a little better than French. Although my heart’s desire is to speak both those languages with proficiency if not fluency. And oh poetry in either one? Swoon!
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Indifference is the worst. I’d rather someone be angry or disappointed, whatever, but, of course, that emotion is only there because there’s still caring! Fiction, right?
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Exactly. Not caring, not being interested… That’s as hard to take as the negative emotions. And it’s mostly fiction. Definitely an exaggeration anyway.
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Well, I know what it’s like being married to someone who’s not very good at expressing his feelings out loud. And God forbid he had to write something to me. It’s frustrating sometimes…
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Sigh….
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Wow, powerful, beautiful and sad all at once!
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Thanks Rashmi!
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Yes. That last line. I think it’s the worst thing of all… indifference.
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I think so, too. It’s cold. Passive. Slowly malignant.
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Do you do random image searches and then write based on the images you find? Just wondering about the process for your many pieces throughout the week.
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I usually write first and then look for an image. Once or twice, I find an image that prompts a piece. A lot of the photos I use are my own. If you don’t see an image credit, that’s likely the case. (Unless I forgot!)
Now having said that… Recently, I pulled out my father’s 1922 edition of Poe’s Tales Of Mystery and Imagination, illustrated by Harry Clarke. They are some of the most bizarre, gruesome and fascinating works I’ve ever seen. Lately they have been prompts for some of my darker poems and stories.
Happy Friday, Jay!
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Thanks for the insight! I’ve seen some of Clarke’s illustrations – definitely dark.
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You’re welcome! Dark but compelling!
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Just like Poe himself
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Exactly.
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Awesome write. Powerful and so real. Loved the finale.
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Thank you, Drew! I value you opinion greatly!
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This is excellent, I am thinking of your vengeance to the cause of the indifference and I am kinda of scared.
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You only need to be scared if you are the target of my vengeance, Monsieur! And you are not, so… Thank you.
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My pleasure
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We blogging folk
say please don’t choke
we love you Meg
and humbly beg
you carry on
though feeling wan
and feed us with your powerful words….just like those above!
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Oh thank you so much, Peter! Not to worry, I’m ok!
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Heartbreaking, but so beautiful. I love the understated way you’ve done this too.
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Thank you so much. yes, the coldness of indifference is often just as bad if not worse than having it out in an argument.
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I think indifference is far worse πͺ
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Love this! β€οΈ
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Thank you! The pain of cold indifference…
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Welcome
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Loved it!
Check out my blog π
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Thank you.
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My pleasure
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