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Memo for Destroyer Poet A LINDA: 3 20 p m, 23rd April 2013 Paris, France

MEMO for Destroyer Poet A Linda: 3. 20 p.m., 23rd April 2013 – Paris, France If you are Red I am Brown If you’re not Then as one concrete painter using phonemes to another Now we speak in the common-denominator tongue Of those who went across oceans Yours you took across the Bering From the frozen solid roof of the world The common step-mothering-tongue And the common heel-bone Take this memo down I tell myself For my long-lost sister Now weary with chilblains And walnut warts from the long trek Tell her you’re sorry You took so long Tell her you read excerpts of her outpouring In a lone-lost cave overgrown with moss lost without cause Mixed with the growls and coughs of shaggy beasts And the lone mountain lioness’ scowling howl at the stars In a dry season Tell her you’re sorry not to have returned the compliment For this’s the Way of the Community That each rushes to fulfill a sacrosanct duty Tell her I read your spiraling lyrical threnody of the Soul’s age-old Odyssey through the bony interstices of breast-beating moans and groans Right there where it hurts most in the guts I saw how your people lifted themselves on their fists after their arms and knuckles looked gnarled I saw the claws of the lone eagle clutch your soul in one fell swoop down concertina centuries And make you swallow your tongue wailing in cloistered valleys of lilacs and magnolias to the rhythm of crescendo stamping feet and besetting winds cacophonous through wildly flapping wigwams I felt the ancient beat of your pulse in the huskily refined whisper of your verse come seething harpies unleashed at my throat I saw wild stallions sleek and shoddy manes aloft come steaming and fuming down mountain sides your fathers tamed I saw generations of silent sturdy women kindle fierce fires while brawny braves rode away on bare-backs to bring the venison back I now hear your gentle voice in dulcet drops tinkle down waterfalls of your manifold genres Yet I do not hear you cry Nor do I wonder why You are made of that stuff of breed That can traverse ice without steed And scale Himalayas down continents To reach the other side of impediments And lest I forget let me tell you this Your lyrical voice will linger long in bliss. Every good wish. Sincerely, T. Wignesan

Copyright © | Year Posted 2013




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Date: 4/26/2013 10:10:00 AM
a beautiful tribute to the lovely Linda. I agree with Delysia. respect to you both 'DX
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T Wignesan
Date: 4/27/2013 4:00:00 AM
Hi Domino X ! Pleasure to have you come around, especially on this jaunt. The kudos are taken in in the spirit in which they are meant - without doubt, by all the three. Hope to see you around soon. And as for the Loch Ness limerick, my utmost thanks. I'll dedicate it to you, if you don't mind. Every good wish and many, many thanks. Wignesan
Date: 4/26/2013 9:32:00 AM
If Linda be red, I too am brown, like you. A beautiful tribute to a worthy poetess. I'm moved by all three pieces of writing: your poem, Linda's comment and your reply thereto. My utmost respect to you both. :)
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T Wignesan
Date: 4/27/2013 3:53:00 AM
Hi Licia! You're most kind and far too generous and zero-ed in with words, much like your own poems which I'm enjoying reading. I don't much care for returning compliments, for such a practice perpetuates the kind of favouritism going on in the critical world for far too long, but I have to say it out loud, you have innate gifts with the kind of ironically titillating and rhythmic verse you produce. EGW. Many thanks. Wignesan
Date: 4/24/2013 9:17:00 PM
One deserves to hear and feel all the sorrow the Native Indians surpassed eons ago. My poem's about The Europeans when they arrived on the east coast and initiated the decline of the Native Indians. The entire villages were wiped out by many diseases and pneumonia to which the Indians had no immunity holds. Many Natives were forced to leave their traditional hunting and farming lands, they suffered malnutrition and death and couldn't re-establish equally. I truly love the poem, I wish many took the time to see how we have lifted our souls from the core and back. My great great great Grand-Father from my mothers side of the family was an Native American Indian, he died in the early 1890's . He was from the Sioux tribes. I learned many stories during my younger years about their struggle for survival on the North American Great Plains. This is a wonderful and lovely tribute. I am very touched by the poem. Goodnight~ Linda
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T Wignesan
Date: 4/25/2013 3:17:00 AM
Tell yourself, Dear Sister! "You can beat me, harass me, shame and humiliate me, take my kith and kin in chains, crush my bones, even ignore me, gouge my eyes, pluck my heart out, drag me through mud, slime and quagmire, but you cannot break my spirit, for it is not of this earth!" Write that EPIC of your people which is waiting to be given voice! EGW - Wignesan