I held his head to my chestand wondered if always
it could be
as now,
his fragrant hair
all the meadow
I'd ever need
I traced the outline of his ear
that fleshy question mark
and between my fingers
smooth as nickel
rubbed his thumb-flat lobe
for luck
Nestled among my curves
like valley river mist
his breath gently
soughed warm humidity
as I hoped
one day
his namesake would
And could I would
nourish this circle
pert my roseate buds
aching my want and need
to give and be given
to nurture and nurse
and grow the strapping fields
lean and lithe
to the sun
hard as hammer
upon the nail
brave as farmer
before the plow
bright as eyes
within a poem
a lifetime lived
when we were whole
and our limbs full
of dreams
and each other
as I held his head
to my chest
8 comments:
For now, in a word, A*mazing!
A masterpiece.
(Will be back after a night's sleep, so much to say, writing and content, since Kate asked her question, I've longed more than ever)
My dear, you are much too kind. But there's nothing wrong with that. :-)
A masterpiece is what it is. This is so strikingly lovely for an abundance of reasons, and for them all I loved it. To set about defining those reasons is an impossible task given the multitude, but in attempt to start with the title coming from, as is the tendency, one of the most appealing phrases within the work as a whole. There are a thousand and more, thanks to the subtlety of the English language, ways in which one might have expressed what you have here in these couple of lines, but the delivery is superb, luscious in imagery, colours and dreams and fragrance, the words painted the kind of scene one might imagine in a children's book of fairies, extremely connotative, synonymous illustrations sprung forth, one a reflection upon the other, to create miles of landscape born of the sentiment and images you so promptly created. Rather than paint a picture back, a list of some of the immediate connotations: meadow, fragrant, dew, blossoms, spring, cultivation, spring, like the spring of your words, images, upon the reader, the season of Spring, floral, fragrance, spring of rushing water, running, nurturing, blooming, colours rising into the blue above, dreamy and soft, rising colours, rainbow, heaven touching earth touching heaven, nature and beauty reflected in one another, as man to woman, as love to love, cultivating, nurturing, inadequate list given the poetry of the picture, in sound too as breath and life and breeze and nature create a harmony. Like a living still it becomes, framed by the question within, and I came to see it as such :-), framed in gold, outline in tact a world alive of substance so to speak. The expressiveness of this first part of the poem is as awakening and poignant, as impelling and beautiful as the essence. Sigh, wrote this hours ago, posting to start again.
Dearest Sunshine, your comments are the flowers in my blogging meadow. Forever spring, flowers wild, forever bringing me more joy than a bucket of jello. :-D
Thank you.
I thoroughly adore
'I traced the outline of his ear
that fleshy question mark, the comparison so ideal and apparent, yet I had never thought to describe its shape as such, I just love the, well, the poetry of this phrasing, sends shivers both at the cleverness and the sudden desire to feel the softness of a lobe between my fingertips, or to feel my own receiving this attention. Your writing could never be just one adjective, at all times there is a massive bubble filled with words, increasing or decreasing slightly in prominence depending on the particular post that is currently keeping me company, at this moment, as I read that second stanza, the word that is most outstanding is Exciting. The very idea, the very thoughts that brought about the rubbing of his lobe for luck is darned near turning my mind to a mush, a gleeful frenzy would be a more detailed description thereof, of that state, explosions of delight, of excitement, so much so, I really don't know what to say to this, except to repeat that I loved it.
My dear Sunshine, I feel as if your commentary shows me my work anew and I experience it all over again, as if you have uncovered some aspect of the post that I've failed to see in the right light. Thank you.
There is such a breathtakingly appealing symmetry to this post, a humming melody, perfectly smoothe, which in itself lent such vividness to the images that were painted, the flow of water, the buzzing, the soaring, the curves, the movement, it would, if I had to chose just one, be the aspect of this poem that is most remarkable. You deliver the whole package, when you write, poems that communicate in every language available, each delivering the same message, words, sounds, images, style, tone, mood, all those various categorizing labels that those who know more about poetry than I do would be able to define your use of much better, all I know is that when I read a poem such as this one, it feels like warm rain across every inch of my body, one feels drenched, consumed, immersed. Awestruck. By the absolute loveliness. I could have fallen for this poem based on the usage of And could I would alone, but coming to the end it is just one of dozens of reasons. I did love that especially though. :-)
tbc
I want to lie in a field of clover, overlooking the clear ocean on a spring day, just down from the sandstone cottage, and listen to you read your comments. Sigh.
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