Sunday, 5 May 2019

2 Poems by Jonathan Douglas Dowdle

Looking Back

When my mind is a desolate country,
I think back to the words that
Slipped like stones over the water,
Only to sink, into the deep,
Waiting to be lost, or recovered.
We spoke with fire, once,
Illuminating all our angels and devils,
Setting them to dancing,
And became too much ourselves,
Where history carved our stories
On the walls beneath our skin.
But there is nothing left to say to you,
Not in the voices that sang
To shatter the barriers of the world,
Not in the tongues we wrapped
In the fever of our desire.
No. Now we can only drift along
Into the great expanse,
Like stars that clashed, or crossed,
Creating a momentary light
That may last a thousand years.
When my mind is a desolate country,
I remember, at least we did this,
And perhaps, gave birth
To some deeper love
Than we were brave enough to know.


Flawed Magic

I write a word and it erases itself,
Given a new meaning: Your meaning,
We float just above the meaningless,
And by creating who I am,
Tell me who you are.
I write a word and know,
No understanding is born in defenses,
Which is the language of the world.
We create one another to know ourselves,
Of one another, we often know nothing,
We are nothing but
Timeless shattered echoes.
I write a word, and listen,
To all our flawed absurdities, while we,
Like Narcissus, drown in our own reflections,
Learning nothing from our myths,
Or our damaged Gods.
I write a word and it erases itself,
Give a new meaning: Your meaning,
And through that,
I discover you.


Bionote

Jonathan Douglas Dowdle was born in Nashua, NH and has traveled throughout the US, he currently resides in South Carolina. Previous works have appeared or are appearing in: Hobo Camp Review, 322 Review, The Right Place At The Right Time, Blue Hour Review, Whimperbang, After The Pause, and The Big Windows Review.


No comments:

Post a comment