Your Bijou Jewelled Paragraphs (Bonfire Joyful Perusal – the 4th in a series of “Odes”)

I didn't know of your comment when I commented earlier. Just chance, except that I am impressed that you greet so many with a gentle ply. Although, not tonight in that one case. I think you should ignore your feelings and reverse yourself, for the other's sake. Not to make too personal, whenever and wherever a tentative beginning is hobbling about, any no, no, no can eviscerate. Olya bops me on the head figuratively but regularly for this. And that is what happened. The poem has been removed due to the hesitation that was being addressed and then your lightening clap. It's not an issue of fault. We treat people as we expect others will approach us, sometimes with enthusiasm and chagrin all in one. That approach too needs a permission. I have been somewhat distant for various reasons most of which you know. Perhaps the one that I have not commented upon is the desire not to push you too much. Words are more than poetry. They are our shield (something which poetry typically corrodes) and, in no small part, the twig we lean on to define who we are. Charles is so poignant in that respect, makes my eyes water just to touch the subject. He writes so well, I suspect motivated in part by the beautiful relief that he is allowed to define himself with his work, his words, his story, his very making of beauty. You use words powerfully in these ways: to define yourself, protect yourself, control the chaos around you and find comfort. For you, tonight, comfort was about explaining to another how not to expose oneself to the bogeyman of excuses for attack, while for the other, comfort was to overcome the fear of that very bogeyman. Today, you became the bogeyman (woman) - the bogeyman you yourself find anathema. So you had to become the that fiery thing to have your way. We all do it at some point. But do you want to? So, I leave spaces for you to make up your mind about the directions of your writing, for you have these mixed purposes, and poetry does not always lead you in the same direction as other things. And it is not for me to decide. How much "like" would I have to try and usurp that choice. I do take liberties out of friendship, such as this note, by which the issues are aired and at some level asks your indulgence. For my frustration is that you have more natural talent than you imagine but are so in need of shield words and comfort words, often of your own design, that you rebel against change. Not entirely. I can tell quickly how much effort you put into this poem, and it is personal, graceful and touching. Brian

I am having trouble evaluating a poem which is rather close to home. So, I have prepared instead a small something, in turn, for you. I have revised it as the first iteration was seriously flawed: Anni untouchable red cape with the neckline graced of necklace loops like hill rollings of words, those crescent utterances from keying tongue. Cinnamon powders kiss-blown through air chutneys, curries, feasts for the ear. in a world of toss turvies, too plenty tears too few peers you are of our heart Brian