Saturday, May 09, 2009

Sunday Scribbling #162: Healing

Image: "Opening" (Tina Karagulian)

Love's healing, no? (Sonnets)

Ask

Tarry not, tis a bounty kept
in hearts, bright hearts -
none gathers brightness more -
ask sun, ask moon, ask
kestrel perched on
ashen wire in grey sky not gray.
reason spoils the joy
a simple boy knows well,
gainful simplicity,
unruly as chestnut
loosed in blue.
I did not look twice
and will no longer: love
nays but the wary: me she kissed.


Green of Hearts

This was essence thought beyond pale
incense that you blew 'cross bare arms: thus
need is identified, never to be
announced as parting: disclosure
kissed by all the bodies I bring you. I
am - I was - heart-severed, a green lunatic
returning to portion sustained
and echoed not. You were called &
guessed the simplicity lurking, not here, but
underneath the white stone rosary. It
lay to us to read the signs, though for you
inclinations are signs in and of themselves.
Ask me, my love, if the darkness of your eyes
nears mine own echo, and in the trailing, answers.


Nay Swelling

Go and be merry:
what wilt thou, sweet wag,
yearning into autumn's plenty?
Near the heart a tree stands,
evening's light upon light limbs.
Tis love warms, waters, feeds -
'haps, too, swells the heart -
ache of time worn thin, current
nearing, magick beyond silent palm.
Didst come to worry? Nay,
ride white dawn as roar the mighty,
ope heart as ascending orb -
rampant against cerulean blue -
yestreen's naught: tis now the dream warms dreamly.


Whitewood

Trailing dreams like stars,
imprint dawns. Her name
neither stills nor lengthens, it quickens,
as hand to fin, hand to mirth,
kalends to an idle heart.
April burrows -
ravenous - as night
asks here? now? why
give back that which
utters peace? As
linden I am sent, leaves
imbosomed, gathered, no
accident of birth, but starred, sent
nevus upon the nick of time.

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24 Comments:

Blogger AD said...

i think i have said it before but i will say it again!
mannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn awesomeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Happy SS

http://2short2sweet.blogspot.com/2009/05/time-heals-no-wounds.html

12:27 AM  
Blogger floreta said...

you do a good job with the language in Nay Swelling.

2:08 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Thank you, AD. That is one awesome shout out.

Floreta: Glad you caught the vibe. Sweet wag was a favorite...

7:06 AM  
Blogger alister said...

Simplicity lurking, yes, certainly not in your own waking hours, but perhaps under the white stone rosary of your peaceful sleep, your nightly return to blissful nothingness. Oh stop it. These are beautiful, Paschal, more of the traditional sort of confusing I’m used to in poems. More of that sun coming out directly after rain, at the end of the day, a temperature change making for sweetly, excitingly eery fog over the pond and the through the trees, and above it, the most beautiful sunset, all of which is more than the eye can hold, a job only for the spirit to unfold. And that is the story of how your sonnets were received and how they reside and do their good work in me : )
Miss A

5:31 PM  
Blogger anno said...

In the land of dreamy dreams, sweet words with just the right touch. I feel better already.

6:06 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Thank you, Ms A: You'll find me on the other side of the pond: it sounds wonderful. Something in your closing line made me think of the grace of Berryman and his hushed letters to Mistress Bradstreet.

7:52 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

I am glad for you, Ms Anno. Glad, too, for your eyes and ears. Peace in those dreams.

7:53 PM  
Blogger MichaelO said...

Oh, how I search for salient words after reading one of Miss A's comments. You ride the stream of consciousness so beautifully, Paschal. Carefully placed contractions, words like orchids, seldom seen but full of erotic wonder. You have the gift, my friend.

10:30 PM  
Blogger Jeeves said...

Very nice one:D

11:36 PM  
Blogger gautami tripathy said...

Pleasure to read all!

cat story

3:45 AM  
Blogger jsd said...

All of this 'goo' is wonderful: "Ask me, my love, if the darkness of your eyes nears mine own echo, and in the trailing, answers." - absolutely caught me.

6:50 AM  
Blogger Tumblewords: said...

Sadly, I can think of only one word in response to this lovely work - wow!

1:51 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Michael: Thank you for your good words. I'll take a sentence like this - Carefully placed contractions, words like orchids, seldom seen but full of erotic wonder - any day. Mil gracias.

3:46 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Jeeves and GT: My thanks to you both.

3:47 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

jsd: Glad you wuz caught in the goo...

3:48 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

TumbleWOW: A WOW from you is a wonderful treat...

3:49 PM  
Blogger Beth said...

The last time I visited, your poems -- indelibly artful and beautiful -- were so edged with sadness, but these spring sonnets ring with hope, so lovely, absolutely lovely.

6:16 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Beth: The sadness of that last batch is certainly deep in the aquifer, though I'm not sure whose voice (or voices) they bespeak. These ripple - ever - across the surface of the mountain lake...

7:32 PM  
Blogger Tammie Lee said...

Each poem; wonderful.
Ask was magic!

11:15 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Tammie: Glad you liked. Welcome back to the Big Sky.

11:28 AM  
Blogger present said...

What sonnets are; are these.
I love the patterns of sonnets and that they are of love (and healing)yet the challenge is to create lovely collections of sound, images and feeling, as you have done here, so well.

3:58 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

present: Thank you, my fine co-traveling sonneteer.

7:51 PM  
Blogger San said...

Tina's painting is a lovely accompaniment for these sonnets, their contemporary sensibility couched in Elizabethan cadence. The asking is perpetual, rhetorical. Let unruliness rule! Long live the green lunatic and his dreamly visions. "Dreamly" as a last line--perfect.

All four have an inevitable pull--"starred," as you say. Heart as destination.

3:06 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Ms San: Thanks for the dreamly read. Not exactly our godmothers' Ted Berrigan sonnets, but I liked slipping inside the shapes of them...

5:54 AM  

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