Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature with over 20,000 daily subscribers and over 8,000 archived posts.
Michael Simms: Leaving Walden
Is it true the distance between atoms
is proportionate to the distance between stars
and the world we know is mostly empty space?
When electrons pass each other
do they entangle, keeping
a connection as they travel away,
a connection so close
they mirror each other’s motion
even on opposite sides of the world?
If so, why did Mother leave us
and move to a city far away
where she said she was always cold?
*
I don’t know my mother’s last words
but my sister’s were I decide
Thoreau’s last words were
Now comes good sailing
followed by two lone words moose and Indian
Henry David died at 44. My sister at 49.
Everyone dies soon enough.
Unlike Henry David, I often quarrel with God —
or at least the God I knew when I was young.
But this afternoon walking home
through a stand of sunlit mountain laurel
I pause to give thanks
for this one small life
Copyright 2023 Michael Simms. From Strange Meadowlark (Ragged Sky, 2023)
Michael Simms is the founding editor of Vox Populi. Originally from Texas, he has lived in Pittsburgh since 1987.
Discover more from Vox Populi
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
What a gentle, delicate, evocative piece. I didn’t know Thoreau died so young. This life, a mysterious journey for us all.
LikeLike
Yes, a mysterious journey. Thanks, Deborah!
>
LikeLike
All of Strange Meadowlark is beautiful and strong. Thanks for bringing this one into my day once more.
LikeLike
Thank you so much, Luray. Your poems are beautiful, so I treasure your praise.
>
LikeLike
wonderful! I have translated it into Chinese
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Yongbo! I am honored.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s a beautiful poem dear Michael! I can relate to the following lines,
“I often quarrel with God —
or at least the God I knew when I was young.
But this afternoon walking home
through a stand of sunlit mountain laurel
I pause to give thanks
for this one small life”
my concept of God, has also evolved. Lately I picked up another name for God after reading about the Medieval Christian Church. I suppose these scholars, after much thorough research and discussion on the nature of God, wanted to be as precise as possible, so they noted another name for God as ” The Essence of Goodness.”
As I get older, I find I am less academic about my thoughts of God, and I find myself giving thanks and having gratitude for my life’s journey. At such times my thoughts and memories roll in as an image which keeps turning and scintillating with much beauty, as if showing the depth and the points of light of well carved gems; and as it turns, there it is also interlaced with bruising, injury and pain.
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a wise and beautiful response to my poem, Luz. Thank you!
LikeLike
Thank you, Michael. This makes me wonder about all the last words I never had a chance to hear, including my mother’s.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I imagine my mother’s last words may have been something like “I love you.” She was the kindest person I’ve ever known.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ve always been fascinated with that datum–that the only nothingness in existence in the universe is the (rather large) area between the nuclei of atoms and their orbiting electrons. As a child, I would try to picture nothingness. What color is it was my question, and if it has a color (black) is not that something? The novel “Dr. No” by Percival Everett does a fascinating dance with semantics around these very questions, but your poem very firmly walked me away from all that. Thank you, my friend.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Matthew. The more we learn about nuclear physics, the easier it is to believe in God.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Loved this poem. I, too argue with God.
LikeLike
Well, I try not to. After all, it’s not an argument I can win.
>
LikeLike
The big “why” and “yes” of life, so often (or seemingly) at odds with each other, coming together in a stunning & final “en-tango” in this poem. Brilliant, beautiful, Michael–thank you!
LikeLike
Oh my, thank you so much!
>
LikeLike
Powerful poem, Michael. Thank you for sharing it. The weaving of public, private, and mythic life.
Kim Stafford
LikeLike
Thank you, Kim. I admire your work as well.
>
LikeLike
Love those Milosz-like “Gift” moments. Thanks, Michael x
LikeLike
Milosz-like. Hmmm… I have to think about that comparison, thanks for the nudge, Adrian.
>
LikeLike
Lovely to read your poem. “I decide” stays with me. Sheer power.
LikeLike
Yes, Elizabeth was taking back her power. She decided how, when and where she would die.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Although you are much more elegant, this reminds me of an old poem on my blog, “Gods and Genies”. When I wonder if my thoughts are not focused on endings lately, I can go into my blog and see I’ve always been that way. I so enjoy waking up to Vox Populi and love this poem.
LikeLike
More focused. Sigh
LikeLike
Thanks, Barbara. I always love your comments on VP.
>
LikeLike
Thank you for sharing your own fine poem. I too often think about, wh
LikeLike
Those blooming, sunlit laurels are for you, Michael — for your moving poems and for what you so for poetry and us all Vox Populi readers…
LikeLiked by 2 people
Oh, Laure-Anne, I love your poems so much. Thank you.
>
LikeLike
Feels like home, Michael, thank you !
LikeLiked by 1 person
Michael, my wife died six years ago, with four of us at her bedside. One by one she told the other three: I love you. The last spoken word of her life was to me: Flowers. I think of it as a true prayer. I’ve taken care of her flowers, both the literal and figurative, ever since. Thanks for evoking that memory of her, but also sharing your poem, rich with imagery and thought. Like many of your others, it helps me pay attention to this world, the beauty and the broken-ness.
LikeLiked by 4 people
What a beautiful thing to say, Jim. Thank you for taking care of the flowers, the literal and the figurative ones.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Michael – I grew up in a small town in the mountains by a small spring fed lake. Your last four lines took me right back to there, to the feelings of Grace ‘there’ often connected me to. On the Laurel Path around that little lake, w/ portions of it winding through thickets of both wild mountain laurel and rhododendron. Your reminder ‘just right’ – surprisingly full of feelings/thanks.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Jackie. In Western PA, the slopes of mountain laurel are a thing to behold. Walking through them, especially when they’re in bloom, is a profound experience.
LikeLike
This is beautiful Michael! Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, David!
LikeLike
Thank you for a beautiful poem Michael, deeply touched by it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike
I always appreciate your comments, Noelle.
LikeLike
Michael: My mother left and my sister is gone. I set this poem down and read the one before called “Love” and find such resonance in them, between them. Some day I am certain we will share an afternoon in person (over coffee?) and talk about life, these things about this world that makes us, makes poems within us, a terrible loveliness we must live.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Sean. From your poems, I know that our family experiences have been similar. My mother and sister are both gone. I’ll spend the rest of my life mourning them and trying to understand their lives.
LikeLiked by 1 person
“they mirror each other’s motion
even on opposite sides of the world?”
Glad to come across your thoughts, they really resonate with me today, thank you.
And my mother’s last words (to me) before her very last words; just a three word text on my phone.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Helen. It’s nice to see you on this page. Please keep coming back.
LikeLiked by 2 people