Awakening

Dreams crushed,
broken and chewed.
The Siren's call
false and cruel.
Holding out hope
falsely seen.
A fool keeps
longing deep.
Never to know
joy again.
  - Jefferson Green, 6/23/05

Comments

[Josse]

I wondered if I knew you. I read your poem. For a moment, we journey together, through words and images. I search through deserts, mountains and oceans, to rediscover the one true thing. Here are my thoughts thus far:

Painting is learning to see. To see means to stop. To step out of time, the mediocrity of our fast-paced lives, of always skimming along the surface, always looking outside of ourselves.

This poet says it well:

"Those of us who live beneath this cold mountain
have heard it's voice in our dreams, felt its arms
lift us out of warm rooms and soft beds, up
onto it's shoulders where we are as light as leaves."
Amy Barratt, Canadian poet

Sometimes it's hard work climbing that mountain. Sometimes it's night and we stumble through unlit, unfamiliar ways, our companions silent, chasing a glimmer we have never forgotten.