sometimes gossip is an elixir for the covert-curious. But Japanese hedges shaped like pagodas get my attention. rAted! for the artistry!

Your title ...
The plumber has a shack. the address:`
'Plumber Lane' but no pipes in outhouse.
The widow lives on Shady Pagodas Avenue.
There is more to all 'enmity' Petunia Places.
You will please tell all readers the shoe sizes?
`
Love makes us poets and the approach of death
should make us philosophers. - George Santayana.
`
Nobody has ever measured,
even poets,
how much a heart can hold.
- Zelda Fitzgerald.
`
Ya wonder why some spouses
will
not open and laugh while alive
Men
wish women would open to life
and
laugh while the male is still alive?
enmity
mystery
and
pizza time

MM - How you make the time to attend to the many blogger-posts your comment on, and in such a thoughtful manner, remains a mystery to me. Thank you again and again.

Arthur: Your comments offer a cacophony of of images colliding within a kalaidescopic lens that suggest a unique "realityview" in the perennial unfolding.

And: Still waiting to know your shoe size!

The length of the poem suggests a fleeting encounter in and of itself. Connections to laborers just jiggling change (monetary as well as actual situational change) "in their pockets" Change that we Own 'in our pockets' where we hold tiny secrets close to our skins, some valuable, some just lint. Fluff and forever in a piece of cChange.

We caress the silk soft smoothness of "an imagined thigh..." beneath the pockets or in the "reflections of the tranquil lakes"?

felt it,
peece,
dj

DJ: It COULD be the imagined thigh of the widow mentioned....(!)

I agree with you - lol :)

I was carried away in my own little world listening with my eyes to the sound of my writing, so to speak.

peece!
dj

that would be *listening with my eyes to the sound of Your writing*

I am having an off day all around - sry!

peece,
dj

Hmm although it would seem to work both ways - reciprocal My and Your, like the relationships on OS for the most part. We are pushed off center and help add to the turbulent edge between order and chaos within each of us - By us.

...like I said, I'm into poerty. This was a very good poem. Nice imagery, content and a bit frisky. liked it.

As always, love your imagery, and know it has so much to say. I just wish I could laze on a mountaintop fully contemplating the kaleidoscope of meaning it reveals. Alas, I am obliged to wait for the magnificently revealing mythos interpretation--usually one of the highlights of my day.

Excellent. While I do "home improvements", I'm not very good with my hands..,

Lovely imagery. Workmen are great because what you see is what you get! )

A, the widow on the hill, (overhasty in getting rid of the evidence, say the neighbors), so reminiscent of the beatles' fool on the hill, but... finally come fully erotically back to life...a plumber is a fine choice for her: good hardworking man doing the Lord's business, unclogging the pipes so the evidences of her bodily functions can be safely swooshed away...as a Lady would expect, and deserve...the bodily wastes (including her hapless hubbie)...begone...!

kissing him in perfect surroundings...tranquility of the lakes resting between far far easternly symbolic vegetation...their reflections glisten & merge...

but she was seen...the busybody neighbors know...ah, but does she care?

Ester in Bleak House, poor scarred girl, with her mysterious childhood ailments...is there some of her in the widow? is the husband dr woodcourt? did she outlive him, outgrow him?

the gardener has left...he has prepared the garden of love & has been duly paid & dismissed...

(in dylan's "just walkin" on "modern times"
he strolls thru the "Mystic Garden"....
"the gardener's dead" as he strolls among the "wounded flowers on the vine"....but let us imagine he has done his job & been paid)

____
(riz is here.more later)
jim

hey.back.riz sittin here.weird..

watchin "finding forrester" of all fuckin things...!
___________________
Just as in "Bleak House" the lips are flapping. Everyone in everyon'es business: that's life in a "neighborhood". .in a "society"...she is out of that. She is respectable,for she was married, after all...a widow is a fine profession....widows do such things as take lovers...the neighbors LOVE it! that's what they live for, to live others' lives....that's what we do with celebrities, too.....

So....i shall call her Ms. Ester...she foud an easterny bliss with her plumber....it's left to our imagination how it came out....he might still be making housecalls....but...

see, she HIRES them...on her hubby's money...that is what makes it right...she employs them....money down for job done. that's the way it is done.....what she does

BEHIND that facade is her bizness...a new color for her house...i would encourage you to try to imagine what color it was BEFORE & what after...what kindof house? anyway.....talking out of my ear here...

there is a theme of MONEY down for job done. Good honest men vs. bourgeois gossipy sentiment...hired help. Also the fareasterny symbolism intrigues me....was this her reposeful cure, to "go zen" awhile? her fierce erotic nature, only implicated (she "killed" a husband! he couldnt take it...??..)

is NOT really zenny, though...it is set in a money economy, a WEstern one....but lucky she, is aloof...and able to maintain a good status, a house on the hill...

OF COURSE the imagined thigh ishers...and she grants it knowingly and freely to them....she sees their glances, and gets satisfaction, and understands the "game" here...it is healthy and harmless...no, more than "harmless": it is generous...to give these men with only change in their pockets a sweet place in their sensual minds to go as they labor...

as they labor...

for her....

Jim

Then again, it is possible that the men have already "labored" (on the widow's behalf), thus explaining the jingling, 'pocketed' change....

My many thanks to all who commented. DJ and James: Again, you reveal my own poems to me, which, in a sense, reveals my own s/S/selves to me, which is a form of constant "un/covering," which brings us back to the Apocalypse (German-style).

Did I happen to mention that I live on a hill?