ah late. perhaps some nightowls will listen to this gorgeous song.

Lovely poem, lovely song. I'm feeling a little scattered tonight myself.

Oh my, two of my favorite night owls.. thank you for coming by and yeah New Years brings lots of ashes..

Thanks so much iq, knowing your taste in all things good, I take this as good.

Damn night.

Kim. Night. indeed.

Down
down
in
time
yes

ablonde incredible song and sentiment. ty for coming by.

Gorgeous song. Damn gorgeous poem, Rita .... but oh so very hard those memories for you.

Morning here in England, but that doesn't make your poem or Elton's song any less poignant.

"someone forgot to draw the curtains"

good writing!

This morning I read this four times...
~r

Ahhh.

Adore the song and your poem. A perfect telling of nonperfect things. R

So right Rita.
Jus' so right.
It fits so well here.

really like this one Rita, and I'd never heard that song before.

Rita. Rita. Have been thinking of you. Wish these words felt so far away instead of drawn from within. Are these the nights we push dreams far away. Remnants.

Scorched earth?

"we trip on stilted words and glances"

love this image

Love all of it, the B & W image, your poem, the early Elton. I got my first kiss while Elton's first album was playing. Memories indeed.

Rita--what a beautifully rendered expression of the painful gap between the what-it-was-then and the what-it-is-now.

Read last night, and came back to read again...beautifully melancholy.

Had a few mornings like that myself, Rita. Evocative and well done.

I haven't heard that song in ages. I love it and your poem.

you drape your words well
in images and form
the emotional and literal
tip toeing
over

some leave you counting the stars in the night~
if you ever find out why, please let me know...

excellent, rita - the poem, the art, the song. it's a 'late' thing, isn't it, that meeting halfway?

Wow! You... AND Bernie Taupin.

Almost too potent.



Even if all we have is remnants and regrets, no one can take it away. I have a lot, but it's all mine.

Hangin on, hangin in and writing about it. You are another one that keeps the plow in the ground and leads the way. Love that about you. Thanks for sharing, rita.

Old Elton, beautiful...
ashes, regrets, I can relate to....
may the new year bring you your favorite dreams : )

all remnants and regret.
Yeah, there have been mornings after like that.
R

Ah . . . yes . . . remnants . . . each word is so perfect, each line so poignant . . .

A day when you post your poetry is a good day on Open Salon. This is simply wonderful in its spare and visual rendering.

Ain't it the truth, tho. You've captured the "morning after" feeling perfectly.

Tumbleweed Connection is one of my favorite albums.

Beautiful, Rita, Poweerful, sad. Even in the morning. There's NOTHING like "Old Elton"

One of my favorite songs of all time. Vintage Elton.

linda and "Lil' thank you for kind words..
ScuP: from you, appreciated greatly TY
Joanie, my early morning person.. TY for re-reading before your day.
Gabby AAAhh, Elton... yes.. TY
PM: non perfect can be good or not TY
Mission and Anna1 the truckstoppers have come by. Regret, remnants things that go Bump in the night.. TY
Jules: oh, little one.. never heard old Elton.. he really was incredible before he became a parody of himself. Check it out.. TY
Gwoolie.. maybe. just maybe. cold earth maybe.
Jane I appreciate you came back twice, to listen. For some reason I spend a lot of time on the music, it's meaningful when someone gets it.

This really spoke to my soul. R.

I get this one. Sometimes the remnants and regrets are the only things that last.

Really lovely..it all comes together in the end..

Vanessa when you pick out a line, that just soars for me, thanks.
Scarlett, how you captured the mood with a tiptoe..
GreenHeron, I may have mentioned, I spend for some reason, a lot of time on the photos and music, fun for geeky me, that you notice, as an artist, well Thank You.
Jerry, perfect comment. Yes. TY
Sophie and BRedux, common thing these melancholy NY's mornings.Grey too. TY both
Catch, not sure. Want to be one of them hey, don't we all
Femme, the line between half way and gave away is close. But you are so right on.
Charlie, I love this comment and wish I could have included it in my best comment post the other day. Head down, plowing away. Life isn't my friend. Look forward to some CT poems.
OOAL Owlie, with thanks. Owlie, haven't seen you around much, hope all is well.
.

Sarah, that's a big compliment. Thank you for always coming by.
Matt nice to see you here. Tumbleweed was put out in 1970, I was 10 but friends listened in basements at 16yo, on vinyl. So good. Morning after, not so much.
Tril and Kathy, as you said Marlene, Old Elton is sublime. High Flying Bird another oldie but goodie.
Nana so sad, but true friend. Fire up some explosives, that'll make us feel a bit better :) smile emoticon ..
Cindy thank you for thinking so.

I just love the way you write your poetry and good chose of music.
ASHES AND ASHES AND SADNESS could not make the bird fly again

the phoenix dies consumed by the Sun, to ashes of those reborn, after burning his body, like a small animal with no limbs, a very white worm that grows and is housed in a round egg, as if a caterpillar becomes a butterfly, until ceasing to be featherless becomes a blue eagle that flies the starry sky.

the sun is fading into winter's grey abyss as i read your poem; the mood is not lost.

sad poem, rita. ='( }
i think judy collins may have covered this song.
rated

A wonderful melancholy poem, you are such a talent.
rated with love

What a lovely poem and a nice song.

Jeep Accessories

the sun is never reticent...it is the eye
that is so, as you know,...
looks in eye are momentary and mean nothing and everything
and all that mental shit
in between...

the stupid f-er who forgot to draw the curtains
is like the sergeant at arms who forgot to
open his mail,
the notice that said, duty done, nothing more expected of u
except protection.

no protection, ever, when the eye sees not the sun
that explains all glances with a wink and a smile.

the past is to be cobbled, and shoes are being pounded into
existence, but even pinocchio had to
complain once in awhile.

simonede friend thank you for some lyrical verse..
chuck my old friend, hey.. we know a little something about the darkness fading dont we.
Cyril I have a lot of judy and have never seen this song covered by many but thanks for the read gnome..
Romantic: how nice you think so. What a compliment, humbled here.
Dhenz, I don't need Jeep stuff but come on by.

Amazing. Beautiful and amazing. Your grand art captures the grey angst like no one else. Were that our lives were some other lives I would wish that you did not suffer so for your art, yet there are no other worlds nor other lives so we suffer here, now in this world. The fine beauty of your poems transcend any and all pain.
Rated
Grand song I've not heard in too many years.-Thank you.

Mr Shine: Pinnocchio indeed. Your right about the curtains.
Scylla: although I write about sad, most times after it is written it is gone, so thank you for caring for me. Saw a program the other day on Hawaii, it looked so beautiful and warm.

Remnants is endearing but Pistachio and Ms Bojangles need their place in this world too.

I like this! reminds of years past, sweet and sad. Great song...I'd not heard that one before, thank you for sharing it!

This was elegant. Superb. It made me think of Hispanic poetry. So I got out the English-Spanish translator:

Deseo
Pude recoger los pedazos de la noche anterior
y de improvisar
la mirada en tus ojos

alguien se olvidó de las cortinas

el sol está brillando, reticente y frío
sobre nuestras cenizas y los restos
que viaje en las palabras y miradas sobre pilotes
pasar por encima de un pañuelo aquí
un colchón que

esta mañana gris de su elección

todos los restos
y el arrepentimiento.

I am going to ask another Open Salon poet, "catch 22" what she thinks.

Not sure what you meant Algis? come back and explain?
Debby glad to turn you on to this pretty old tune, and thank you for reading the poem also, welcome here..
ASH: THANK YOU! what a novel idea and I take it as a great compliment.. I love Spanish and don't speak it either. Would love to have it read aloud to me.. TY again..cool idea.

nobody "forgets" to draw the curtains.
Sometimes the sun is hijacked
and made to come in
gray.

choosing, as you say.
choice is often given to others as a gift, i have noticed.
i wish i had retained choice.
choice is willful, and my will is ever-ill, or so i was told.
by whom?

mr. shine you make a good point, when you feel someone has chosen to hijack the sun from your day, you have effectively given the power away haven't you? Thanks for that reminder.

I think this may be my favorite so far. lovely

These are beautiful and I am amazed at both of them for different reasons. Thank you for sharing, they go together so well.

Ah, Rita, your words are like a fist clenching my heart. Remnants... regrets... **sigh**
Beautiful, lovely, wonderful... how did I miss this one until today? So glad I stumbled upon it. You are a master of words, my friend. A true master.
R

Thank you Caroline, quite a nice compliment.
Razzle: glad you liked the poem and music.. welcome here.
Thank you Veronica, nice of you to stop and say so.
UB fist on my heart, poetic way to say it.. thanks Kim.

"we trip on stilted words and glances"

I know that feeling well...thanks for the escape...

Oh, Rita. Do you know how much I love that Elton John tune? I find it incredibly haunting. And a perfect fit with your piece.

"this grey morning of your choosing..."

Y Herron: Your welcome and thank you at once.
Beth: Glad to see you here, and that you enjoyed the song also, old one but fine one.

I have read this three times and loved it more with each reading. I had never heard that Elton John song before. This was poignant, glad I came looking to see what I had missed.

Thank you pastvoices, that I turned you on to this old and gorgeous song I feel happy.. that you like my poem and came back to read humbled.

Rita, you do this better than anyone I know. This is lovely. I think we've all been there a time or two.

Thanks Faye, glad to see you...

Great. What happened before last night is another thing I would love to hear about.

ah Algis you are sensitive enough to know the night before is always full of secrets..

This is one of my favorite songs.

Your poem was stunning, stark and real. Very powerful. Thank you.

if you don't mind, i'd like permission to lift this off the OS page & save. maybe for quoting (with citation of course) in the future.

such an emotive and very well-written piece you have here rita.

Thanks for visiting Mary T...
Snarky, it is an oldie but goodie huh, TY.
Renatta: I 'd be flattered if you did, good to see you back and thanks so much.

I missed this earlier. Very nice. Hadn't heard Elton John singing this in a long time too.

Thanks Sheba Marx... welcome here. What a cool name!

I love Tumbleweed Connection, possibly my first album loves. John has never been the same in my opinion since his very first albums. Remember Madman Across the Water?

CCW, I feel much the same.. Madman was brilliant. Thanks for coming by..

You are a master at portraying melancholy, rita. Incredibly skillful at it.

The song is just as impressive in the morning as it is late at night.

Thanks Steve, melancholia is a natural turn of events for me.. who knows why. Glad you came by, I enjoy your take on the writing.

i wrote a complaint to os editors:
why no mid january, nor late january,
nor first february
RITA?

i got a response six days later:
"the sun is shining, reticent and cold
on (her) ashes and remnants"...

oh okay. as long as she is gratefully dead.

she needs to be high on cocaine, ridin that train.

caffeine would do in a pinch.
someone oughta dose her a few thousand milligrams.





"

i wrote a complaint to os editors:
why no mid january, nor late january,
nor first february
RITA?

i got a response six days later:
"the sun is shining, reticent and cold
on (her) ashes and remnants"...

oh okay. as long as she is gratefully dead.

she needs to be high on cocaine, ridin that train.

caffeine would do in a pinch.
someone oughta dose her a few thousand milligrams.





"

i wrote a complaint to os editors:
why no mid january, nor late january,
nor first february
RITA?

i got a response six days later:
"the sun is shining, reticent and cold
on (her) ashes and remnants"...

oh okay. as long as she is gratefully dead.

she needs to be high on cocaine, ridin that train.

caffeine would do in a pinch.
someone oughta dose her a few thousand milligrams.





"

there ya go: 3 of me, as if one wasn't disturbing enough.

I like three of you James. I got rid of some posts. thinned out the portfolio. We're down to just the remnants...

caffeine is to cocaine as a spotlight is to moonshine...

Hi rita

this is an exceptional poem. You create a spaciousness here.
A roominess for you to pick up those remnants.

That yeaning to return to a time where all the pieces
fitted together is universal I think. Yes, we try to
keep the picture, but that moment is now this moment,
and from here, we can only “cobble” the memory of it.
Meanwhile that which has fallen apart lies at our feet.

In the harsh light of day, “the look" in another’s eyes
can seem like a ghost.

After intimacy may come the awkwardness of words.
The “stilted” everyday language that cannot take the place
of feeling and direct experience.

Is the “gray morning” of your choosing also?
The subjective color of our emotions can be projected.

A delicate and subtle poem rita. Finely wrought
and deeply satisfying.

eric

very intutitive reading Eric, thank you for this. again, you caught the nuances that I felt when writing this, many bring their own perspectives that don't match up and I enjoy that too, that someone found something interesting or that spoke to them. But it is such a good feeling to be understood on the level that it was written. The grey morning of your choosing is because I felt it didn't have to be that way, it could have been different, and all the ackwardness the comes with wishing those things. Thank you again for a perceptive eye.