Junta’s Reviews > Astonishments: Selected Poems > Status Update
Junta
is on page 67 of 133
I write in order to comprehend not to express myself
I don't grasp anything I'm not ashamed to admit it
sharing this not knowing with a maple leaf
So I turn with questions to words wiser than myself
to things that will endure long after us
— Oct 25, 2021 07:08AM
I don't grasp anything I'm not ashamed to admit it
sharing this not knowing with a maple leaf
So I turn with questions to words wiser than myself
to things that will endure long after us
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Junta’s Previous Updates
Junta
is on page 105 of 133
DIFFERENCE
Tell me what's the difference
between hope and waiting
because my heart doesn't know
It constantly cuts itself on the glass of waiting
It constantly gets lost in the fog of hope
— Nov 10, 2021 08:23AM
Tell me what's the difference
between hope and waiting
because my heart doesn't know
It constantly cuts itself on the glass of waiting
It constantly gets lost in the fog of hope
Junta
is on page 94 of 133
On the threshold of the poem shake off the dust
the powder of hate from your soul
set aside passion
so as not to defile words
Into this space step alone
and the tenderness of things will enfold you
and lead you toward the dark
as if you had lost worldly sight
There whatever was named will return
and stand in the radiance so you and I
can find each other
like two trees that were lost in fog
— Nov 10, 2021 08:14AM
the powder of hate from your soul
set aside passion
so as not to defile words
Into this space step alone
and the tenderness of things will enfold you
and lead you toward the dark
as if you had lost worldly sight
There whatever was named will return
and stand in the radiance so you and I
can find each other
like two trees that were lost in fog
Junta
is on page 82 of 133
What's it like to be human
asked the bird
I don't know really
It's to be prisoner in your own skin
but crave infinity
to be captive of a crumb of time
but reach for eternity
to be hopelessly uncertain
and a fool of hope
to be a crystal of frost
and a handful of heat
to breathe in air
to choke without words
to be on fire
and have a nest of ashes
to eat bread
but feast on hungers
to die without love
but love beyond..
— Nov 01, 2021 07:34AM
asked the bird
I don't know really
It's to be prisoner in your own skin
but crave infinity
to be captive of a crumb of time
but reach for eternity
to be hopelessly uncertain
and a fool of hope
to be a crystal of frost
and a handful of heat
to breathe in air
to choke without words
to be on fire
and have a nest of ashes
to eat bread
but feast on hungers
to die without love
but love beyond..
Junta
is on page 9 of 133
The time of harvest and the time of poems is passing.
Sorrel, fern and wild strawberries covered my notebook.
Pine cones and dry seeds of trees
mixed with shreds of sentences.
Not a single poem has yet matured.
The crossed-out words return with clamor.
Light glitters in patches on mowed fields.
This hour too will be more lovely in recollection.
— Oct 12, 2021 07:50AM
Sorrel, fern and wild strawberries covered my notebook.
Pine cones and dry seeds of trees
mixed with shreds of sentences.
Not a single poem has yet matured.
The crossed-out words return with clamor.
Light glitters in patches on mowed fields.
This hour too will be more lovely in recollection.
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An unusually powerful, single line. Yes, I cut the update off with these five lines before it got too intriguing. :P I've been going through this very slowly, but I'm sure there'll be some parts I'll enjoy in the second half, as you mentioned.I haven't been able to read much, or rather, haven't been reading too much in recent weeks, but I'm sure I will be a fair bit more from next week! :') Thanks for dropping by.
Well, after struggling with Job, hope you're enjoying this a bit more.