Your writing is so intensely descriptive and engaging. I feel as though I know the people you write about after reading your work.

Very tight and fabulous poetry, Jude.
Take care,
Sherry

A good antiseptic in doctoring our "life's cuts and scrapes"...this character has not only delivered the people the letters that keep their lives updated, but he delivers dreams to his own letterbox cubbyholes which I imagine is stuffed with old envelopes with ink faded addresses, letters of encouragement written to him while he was still developing his Bronx style prosaic. Transition is the price of a stamp from the high-button shoe days of 2 cents to almost 50 cents today. He's seen a lot come and go, and now it's time to retire his weary bones and focus on the heartlight which is understandable lingo of the poet who knows his own words. This is very traceable, Jude...it finds you and defines you.

Love,
Sage

A "jude gem" if ever there was one! Love your perception!;-)

Love,
Eileen

He is a man of reality and mysticism, he is real and ethereal, he is a living poem that recites itself within the dreams of others.

I am intrigued from beginning to end with this one and particularly love the last stanza. ~ Morgan

That famous line about, 'The postman only rings twice.' come to mind. This appears to be about a poet, maybe not. There's that longshoreman from San Francisco,or the griity newspaperman from Chicago, Studs Terkel,... but they weren't poets.

A fine tribute, in any event.

Ron

So makes me think of the two Dylans: those enfants terribles who defied all attempts of various coteries and movements to define, contain or own them. And what must it have been like for you, as a small child, to perhaps wander through Washington Square on a summer Sunday afternoon and witness the gathering together of writers and musicians such as Ginsberg, Kerouac, BD, Stephen Stills and Richie Havens all swapping notes? To catch the vibe of bebop beatniks metamorphosing into hippies via folk and political activism? To hear Judy Collins busking (from the Italian “buscare”: to seek, prowl, wander in heavily-laced boots!) in the streets of Greenwich Village or outside the White Horse Tavern? And don’t tell me you yourself haven’t “performed” in Bleecker Street, Senor!!

To go through life incognito (rather than imperceptible, perhaps) whilst disseminating some sort of message might have been the original wish of all of them, but, for all their associated fame or notoriety, I doubt they would consider themselves ideologically or personally changed – challenged, maybe, but changed, no. Like the subject of this poem, each would consider him/herself be his own man or woman, identifying with or fighting for the common cause or letting their freak flag fly.

I particularly love the final three strophes of this poem., contrasting the preciousness of those mainstream, “establishment” “glass voices” with the “outsider” desultory puddles of unspoken words. And the two physical extremes of residing unseen in both dreams and trenches of the progressives. This, to me, is almost a mirror-image of your “old” poem, Kinship, where you discuss and point up both the similarities and differences between those who find themselves to be intrinsic ideological conduits, knowing what it is to both link and divide. Great work, Kartero! :)) xx

nice work, the emotions are well expressed and the charcter development pulls on the reader.

Nice piece again Jude..fine fresh work... .
carry on,
stan

ahhh, the blinding light of the humble wayfarer...
always rewarding, jude.
cg

This is absolutely gorgeous ~
Full of the kind of humility and spirit that changes lives.
Blessings,
Christine

this is one of your best!! so cloak and dagger, i love it. amazing how your mind works, incredibly creative, and yes, always know when the postman fails to show up. that's when i notice, at least.

The voice of the common man, and the ear of the poet listening to the nuanced unspoken tourmoil of the his soul. Bless Ya!

A mesmerizing piece, Jude. Loved it. Found myself relating right off. Hugs,
Sheila

Reminds me of me...but I do know better...e

Jude....
Your poem brings to mind the movie "The Postman only rings twice", it has underlying messages of many thoughts that pop into my "vivianna" imagination. I would like to think that dreamers are the very best breed of man, and that without dreams there is emptiness and loneliness. I love the second to last stanza, "
slammed along prominent streets of glass voices, reflected in puddles of unspoken words"...
It is those unspoken words that are heard the loudest. the last line of this poem states the depth of which it was written, only noticed when he cannot be seen, that does not lend itself to the phrase out of sight out of mind, because a soul can indelibly leave it's mark on another's even if they never have laid eyes on one another. I am going on and on, but that is what your poetry does to me..it stimulates and brings me joy to read your golden pen full of deep thoughts and deeply probing meanings.

Sleep well, and dream those dreams that help your soul to soar!

Peace, light and love,
Amber