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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355782" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Gouge, Adze, Rasp, Hammer</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">So this is what it's like when love<br>leaves, and one is disappointed<br>that the body and mind continue to exist,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">exacting payment from each other,<br>engaging in stale rituals of desire,<br>and it would seem the best use of one's time</div><div style="margin:10px 0">is not to stand for hours outside<br>her darkened house, drenched and chilled,<br>blinking into the slanting rain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So this is what it's like to have to<br>practice amiability and learn<br>to say the orchard looks grand this evening</div><div style="margin:10px 0">as the sun slips behind scumbled clouds<br>and the pears, mellowed to a golden-green,<br>glow like flames among the boughs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is now one claims there is comfort<br>in the constancy of nature, in the wind's way<br>of snatching dogwood blossoms from their branches,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">scattering them in the dirt, in the slug's<br>sure, slow arrival to nowhere.<br>It is now one makes a show of praise</div><div style="margin:10px 0">for the lilac that strains so hard to win<br>attention to its sweet inscrutability,<br>when one admires instead the lowly</div><div style="margin:10px 0">gouge, adze, rasp, hammer--<br>fire-forged, blunt-syllabled things,<br>unthought-of until a need exists:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a groove chiseled to a fixed width,<br>a roof sloped just so. It is now<br>one knows what it is to envy</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the rivet, wrench, vise -- whatever<br>works unburdened by memory and sight,<br>while high above the damp fields</div><div style="margin:10px 0">flocks of swallows roil and dip,<br>and streams churn, thick with leaping salmon,<br>and the bee advances on the rose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Chris+Forhan">Chris Forhan</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355782" data-title="Gouge, Adze, Rasp, Hammer de Chris Forhan" data-description="So this is what it's like when love
leaves, and one is disappointed
that the body and mind continue to exist,

exacting payment from each other,
engaging in stale rituals of desire,
and it would seem the best use of one's time

is not to stand for..."></div>
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