from the king's view:I sit as most kings sit
alone
at home
with idea and pen
thinking not the sins
of parchment
delivered in wax
church gold
but of legacy
of legacy crafted
of sword
as much of quill
what is done
is done
as the picked
apple
grows no
more
but lives
on the tongue
before the waterfall
of memory
consuming fact
with fiction
a welcomed
digest
upon our humble
seat
8 comments:
Sixteenth poem in the KKB (king-knight-boy) series.
as the picked
apple
grows no
more
but lives
on the tongue
before the waterfall
of memory
consuming fact
with fiction
You, birthday boy, are a metaphorical genius, I'm in complete awe at the nimbleness of your expression. Wow!!
(tbc)
metaphorical genius, doesn't sound quite right, but you probably knew what I meant - genius in your use of metaphor. If there were nothing else and I had only read this of yours, I would have fallen as deeply for your writing talents.
My dear Autumn, you always know just what to say to make me smile. Thank you. :-)
If this is true, then that makes me happy. :-D Hope you're in the midst of an entirely wonderful day. Love you lots, x
Tis true, true as breaking dawn, true as the quieting din of dusk.
The lines that I wrote in quote still absorbing reflection, an enticing mingling of images (metaphors) each so rational and astute, it isn't until one slows down the presentation, considers frame by frame so to speak, that the distinctions between them are considered, and only then in just how incredibly well these seemingly random metaphors in conjuction with one another, substantiating one another, and thus the significance of the what is being said, so it seems as reader, is all the more demonstrative. I know that I say this often, your fault, not mine, :-D, be that as it may, this passage within this poem (particularly as a part of the whole, and not to take away from the whole) is crazy good. The singular realities not obscure or mysterious, of crafting legacy, the want and need to leave something touchable behind, to leave a mark, to have mattered, to be remembered, of the irreversibility of action taken, of history told and retold, chinese whispers and falling behind, and of every story taken from life and retold filtered through the mind, fictionalized, singularly simple and direct, creatively so, abundantly, but tumbling in succession the constant and grand skill of expression is, in a word, dazzling. I love the way these metaphors paint such vivid pictures in the mind as one reads them, fresh apples and waterfalls alongside parchment and quill. Dazzled.
Sunshine, there are days I feel I could live alone on your comments. Thank you for the gift you give me so often. One day I'm going to write a poem worthy of the sentiments you so graciously leave.
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