They may well do in your own head, but the act of writing them down and then sharing them is in itself a form of resistance to the melancholy - otherwise, you’d just be walking around in a strop and we’d be none the wiser!
Many years ago I wrote a poem called “Don’t slip on the ice”.
There was a guy I was seeing on and off and I was making my way away from his house knowing I was going working overseas and wouldn’t see him again for months, maybe forever…..
As I left his house, he said it to me “Don’t slip on the ice” and even though he meant it literally, I couldn’t help but take it to a different level, contemplating whether I’d already *fallen* for him.
Weirdly, his surname was “Fell”.
The first poem was written thinking about that one. The way we talk about “falling for someone” and how it chimes with the physical notion of slipping upon ice with all its dazzle. How we still continue to slip on ice just as we fall for people.
He’s dead now and in retrospect he wasn’t a great love of my life at all…..
these are so beautiful!
Thank you :)
Thank you Julie
Your poems are like Pandora’s box. Always underlying hope that abides and transcends the weight of the world. Always strength beneath the fragility.
I thought this batch sounded really depressing 😂😂
They may well do in your own head, but the act of writing them down and then sharing them is in itself a form of resistance to the melancholy - otherwise, you’d just be walking around in a strop and we’d be none the wiser!
Many years ago I wrote a poem called “Don’t slip on the ice”.
There was a guy I was seeing on and off and I was making my way away from his house knowing I was going working overseas and wouldn’t see him again for months, maybe forever…..
As I left his house, he said it to me “Don’t slip on the ice” and even though he meant it literally, I couldn’t help but take it to a different level, contemplating whether I’d already *fallen* for him.
Weirdly, his surname was “Fell”.
The first poem was written thinking about that one. The way we talk about “falling for someone” and how it chimes with the physical notion of slipping upon ice with all its dazzle. How we still continue to slip on ice just as we fall for people.
He’s dead now and in retrospect he wasn’t a great love of my life at all…..
Yes, our canal has been frozen too. Beautiful though. I love frozen water.