The poetics of accountancy
are arcane to the heart --
a hand on the abacus counts
affection that can’t be bought:
the clatter is familiar to the bookkeeper
comforted by the low cost
of a caring smile and still,
the hand on the abacus counts;
a clatter that is familiar and then,
the drumming
of restless
fingers on the desk,
eagerness then anger germinate
poisoning the masked heart --
behind the ivy, the doubt…
Oh the poetics of accountancy
are arcane to the heart.
And I'm remembering my Poetic Forms classes-- how I used to drum my fingers on the desk while reading to count out syllables. I thought it was a great method--didn't see the malevolent stares, or notice the vampirish vibes aimed at me until my teacher tapped ME on the shoulder. Yikes! What anger! I should have known-- should have known that finger-taps and poetics don't always jive. But drum-beats do. AWe, my precious! My precious!
It is sad that humanity's main pursuits are all about numbers (money) as opposed to what is within the heart/soul. Thank you for sharing this meaningful and thought-inciting write, Axilea. Love, peace, and best wishes,
"...and fumble in a greasy till...romantic Ireland's
dead and gone, it's with O'Leary in the grave'
those words of Yeats ring in my head when i read this,
Axilea; your style here is more relaxed, more direct
than usual and very powerful; no, we can't calculate
the heart..
'a hand on the abacus counts
affection that can't be bought'
The "poetics" of acccountancy is irrelevant in a world
in which poetry is measured in numbers (or metrics)that
spring from the mind and the heart, as you have shown
so often in your poetic flights. -gene.
Reviewed by Peter Schlosser (Reader)
Reviewed on April 14, 2011
seems like we're torn between two worlds, as if we're hybrid creatures forced to work like automatons in this ancient system of control, numbers, schedules, clocks, deadlines, etc. this cuts against the grain of our true selves as spiritual earth creatures with a proclivity to create, make music, write poems, perform, be one with nature, harmonious with the universe. poetics of accountancy, arcane to the heart indeed, pornography of numbers in other words. good poem, enjoyed!
All are mysterious. . . . . .
therefore so many secrets are kept
and buried
not wanting them to resurface.
Enjoyed - thank you for sharing what in your heart.
Questions, unquestioned discoveries, and answers in parable and rhyme…. This collection records a journey starting with a 1960s retrospective and the first man on the moon, moving to a new millennium welcomed in with a terrorist spin, family crises,
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Sheila
Always love your stuff. --Charlie
stimulating poem, Axilea ...
Regis
Blessings,
Christine
dead and gone, it's with O'Leary in the grave'
those words of Yeats ring in my head when i read this,
Axilea; your style here is more relaxed, more direct
than usual and very powerful; no, we can't calculate
the heart..
'a hand on the abacus counts
affection that can't be bought'
how good is that? it's perfect.
John
in which poetry is measured in numbers (or metrics)that
spring from the mind and the heart, as you have shown
so often in your poetic flights. -gene.
therefore so many secrets are kept
and buried
not wanting them to resurface.
Enjoyed - thank you for sharing what in your heart.
db
time to
cash in
one's chips