Sunday Scribbling #174: Anticipate
[bloom turbulent]quartzite: flash of a diamond mind
under her crown of glory.
enter wavelength, down the stairs of
empty worry. never the wary captive,
never the ancient doom, she
cries a sun bold, nubian strong
yearning into midnight’s dark yearning,
nearing the wested ways of ample bloom,
turbulent bloom, volcanic estuary,
halving the distance between points
inward, points astral, points ferried by
all that binds fierce to birth, face to worth.
[Twinned Water]
somewhere in your triumphant jubilation
there lurks the imp of wisdom -
a young girl whose heart’s brain
collects leaves the size of people,
elegant in her silences,
yearning for truth. you say that
flight is no longer in your plans: you
resist the notion of wings on your back,
even as the quill pricks your skin.
elation is your calling:
doubt, dismay, your double foes,
erased from the conjecture of your genius.
near the brink of pacific waters
there waits a twinned fate,
housed in delight, bursting,
a sunflower whose crown is zealous, whose
love is dappled green.
[this blue]
still not there I want to tell
you when my face twisted
looking up from beneath lake Ontario
tunneling in darkness
a babe in dark morn, pink wrapped &
even now my heart is spilling without
words, better the beating organ
on page, stilled by pain
collision of fiction with story
this is no place &
yet am I here
this is no place &
yet I have traveled shit
& catfish & rotgut booze &
still no place & yet we are living
this blue chapel our one hope
each with what we carry
will you dream me back to a
mouse dream, will you stagger
my faults without worry,
will you fill my heart with
balm, o my wee bright poetic
champion, wheelwright of the western
gleam. My sun, too, has brightened my day
on breast asleep – my beloved, too, her bright blue shining.
wreak havoc, heart: break day, bring down
mighty doom, bring down gwyneth’s
dream of plenty.
[less green]
quiet
in the middle of the night
derived from sighs
tenderness
bravely sung
an island full
center of incandescence
desire
two syllables long
ridden from sleep
in the voice of one who weeps:
nothing shall move
we embark
belief wanders west
a dilated silence of oleanders
the green of your dilemma
vibration beneath sky / beneath journey
shadow of dreams
exploding
(tomorrow’s decision built
beyond green dream)
nothing shall move
embarkation complete
in an hour more grand
than turbulent
an hour less green than you
[burning after]
loosen the nots loosely knit
all the western suns sunning
tarry, merry tarry in my long limbs,
inching the wild ways of mercenary
nesting, can you forgive, oh please forgive
all my solar sins, my lost
moons in midnight eclipse.
i who will roam your heart
far far far beyond memory’s lance
at the pass of noon i am
more than my mouth can say, twittering
impish fool that he is, twittering.
lay down beside me, down all the downs you have lain
in fire, in seed, in water of your wyldwoman burning
after, your wyldwoman burning mind.
Labels: variables
posted by murat11 at 9:52 AM
9 Comments:
The black background and brightly colored text make me picture you wandering through a dark treasure cave, shining your light in that cranny and this nook, finding gold and bright jewels. This whole piece shines and sings and moans and is weighted down with so much emotion. It's good that it is here on the internet. I don't know if paper could hold it. Maybe YOU are the wizard :)
I wandered through this garden and picked some blooms to tuck between some pages and keep.
I won't say this is beautiful..that does it no justice.
Dee: I love your images, and you are way sweet, amiga.
Standing ovation on this one, Murat. I read it three times early this morning and was speechless. Read it again now. It just washes over me with all kinds of images. Magnificent! And all fit in with the picture. Amazing!
Thank you, Teresa. If I'm not working up an original piece for the Scribblers, it's fun to go digging around in the attic to see what connects to their prompts. At this point, there's so much in inventory that reading some of these things is like reading them for the first time.
This is a beautiful series of poetry!
Gracias, jsd.
I'd love to see that attic!!
quartzite: flash of a diamond mind… I love shiny things… You hold them up so well to catch the light…
a young girl whose heart’s brain collects leaves the size of people… Listening to very early Wayne Dyer tapes loaned to me by a doctor who thought I needed them… One of Dyer’s clever stories, one of the things I remember is one of his teachers saying, “We are going to make a leaf collection…” Pretty… Silent… Flight, floating like leaves…
even as the quill pricks your skin… "Hello. Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me…" You are coming through in waves, but I hear you… I hear you.
lake ontario… Just forty minutes away, I am supposed to be there right now but there was a misunderstanding and anyway there is no toilet paper at the cottage… And I am not pink but prettier red-laced with all your bleeding…
this is no place & yet I have traveled shit & catfish & rotgut booze & still no place & yet we are living this blue chapel…will you…will you... Gladly… But every day is new, like 50 First Dates, for chrissakes… Just make a video tape, “this is you and this is me and here’s the balm…” It wouldn’t take long, to be perfectly clear…
an hour less green than you… How could that be?
down all the downs you have lain in fire, in seed, in water of your wyldwoman burning after, your wyldewoman burning mind… So be it…
Magnificent, Paschal! Beyond all of your magnificent poems, I am certain. And my strange responses… When you write strangely magnificent, surely you must expect it.
Duchess: Mil gracias, hermana. This liturgy of responses you've written goes on the wall: a gorgeous mural for the heart.
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