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Poem for Ari

Poem for Ari

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Published by Robin Rule
poem to my eldest son who is magic & at eight years old was doing 2nd year college work;to the boy who played Elf-Quest in the plum thicket, to the man who writes Code as if it were poetry.
poem to my eldest son who is magic & at eight years old was doing 2nd year college work;to the boy who played Elf-Quest in the plum thicket, to the man who writes Code as if it were poetry.

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Published by: Robin Rule on Jul 26, 2011
Copyright:Traditional Copyright: All rights reserved

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08/12/2011

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To The One Who Runs With Diamonds In His Feet
I keep hearing stories about you running around,Oh, I don’t mean, cheating on yr girl, or betraying yr pack,but walking down empty streets with the moon at yr back,when you should be staring Her in the face.What gives, old friend, first son?Death is just a part of it,they tell us in all the poems and sing in all the songs,so I never thought that you’d be the one to have surprise on yr face,when She came knockin’ on the door with the elixer of poetry in hand.I always carry a little memento, to guide me to where most people never go.In this small amulet: an abalone shell the size of a baby’s earis filled with the sound of a young boy’s voice put therewhen I was a young girl. When the wind moves hard against my cheek,I cry out that boy’s name and push his hair from his lashesthat I may kiss his eyelids and feel the tears fall on my face:Damn it, I say to myself, I will never get over him, just like you’ll never get over what’s-her-nameand why should we, I ask myself. The Muse is a holy Womanand a Holy Boy to follow--
 
You and I, son,We’re good at being faithful to Herwho makes us pour ink out upon the earth,until those lines make letters and a song is born.But that’s not the point. The point is, I am writing you a poem.A poem to a man, a woman writes, from yes, yr mother,but also a woman who understandsthat we both know how to genuflect to the Museand the times we’ve forgotten,there has been no one who we could ask forgiveness from.We always know the right words She insists on hearing and we give this,O holy water O holy mountain O holy desert and starsAnd moon and shadows of fingers who taught us how to writethe holy names of the …dare I say…no I do not dare…I shall only say we know…you and I and we kiss the Hand that gave us power to write the wordsand we give homage to: to the G-d Who made Her worth honoring..And the coinage we pay Her with? Well, poems, of course…like now;I am paying the rent to stay in this body until it has written every poemShe has demanded from my being. And you , my Precious Son,are you even with yr rent? Have you blessed the Eternal Girlin Her Little House where She waits with Her quill, and paper and fine inks?I pray it is so, Beloved Poet-Son Who Writes With a Sword

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1 hundred reads
Mary Yuhas added this note
Wow! BTW, we're allowed to brag about our children as much as we like!
Robin Rule added this note
thanks shyam. i guess youinspired me to write about my children. i am careful not to too much, lest they get embarrassed.
Sal Page added this note
You and I, son,We’re good at being faithful to Her who makes us pour ink out upon the earth,until those lines make letters and a song is born --- how exquisitely said. I sent you a message.
Shyam Adrift added this note
beautiful, heartfelt, excellent!
Carl F Maulbeck added this note
this is so powerful, robin - "a woman who understandsthat we both know how to genuflect to the Muse / and the times we’ve forgotten" - perfect
Carl F Maulbeck liked this

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