I lie in my oceanmy bed
adrift
hazy in morning mind
unfettered
of the day
spinning freely
I watch
equally amazed
and terrified
this thing
moving
so swiftly
within me
so effortlessly
and I wonder
with fear
at it
and at what
is observing
it
because there is
a doing
and a watching
and it is
in
me
this duality
and I cannot
tell
if it means me
health
or harm
I cannot tell
if what
is two
should
be
one
if
what is
fractured
was
once
whole
if somehow
I am
broken
15 comments:
When I woke or was waking this morning, mind open, eyes not, the first stanza of a poem appeared to me. I kept repeating it, trying not to let it slip away. But before I could turn to pen, it was gone, like a raft on the ocean gone before the clean line of the horizon. So instead, you get what is posted here. Something very different.
I've known the broken bones of a bed, rasping against the spine. I've known its sea, unfathomable. I've known it enough to know, it holds you rather than you holding it, and its hold is a matter of perspective. Breaking is a chance to heal the contents, and its container.
Holds you...
Hold me. Be my vase. My cistern. Warm me with words. Absorb the heat of the sun into your porcelain and transfer, transform my cold waters with your embrace. Wear me as clay wears the potter's hands. Spin me as if a lathe, and shape me as light shapes the valley, filling it with hue and breath and the wind chime of leaves, the bough of birds, home to squirrels, canopy to a warren of rabbits. Breath life into me with the history of your lips, with hands that have repaired of hammer and nail and splinter, of eyes that hold a library of love, of letters spilled from the heart, of ink that stains my aching soul as the nave colors the penitent. Can you do this? Can you hold me this way? I'm not asking. I'm on my knees begging.
If then, on your knees, I shall dampen the light. Since we are bound for company soon, and while I've a notion you wouldn't mind the slant of eyes upon us at all, you are indeed in the proper positioning for revelations better extolled where pitch and privy are only felt, with lips extended, in dark's sanctum and surmise.
Only then will you know, the irrevocable capacities of my hold...
Slat your eyes as whips upon my forgiving flesh. Be my slattern of verb and word. Flourish braided pizzle dry as lightning. Singe the air of tallow blown, and breath as the wind through the dark vale. Spread what does not spread and enter where no one dares. And as axe fallen upon felled wood, let me hear the crack of your intent.
Open your mouth...
I am going to swoon. This is WAY better than any of those British potboiler movies I watch.
I was to write a comment about your poem but, as the first stanza in your mind, the comment took flight as I was reading your exchanges with S. I found these exchanges as interesting as your poem :)
Your duality sounds undetermined. |Not yet written.
Limes, and just think, no commercials. :-D
Jasmine, welcome to DT. S has a way of bringing out the best in me and I'm very thankful she takes my hand when I extend it. Her skill as a poet is nothing less than sublime. The light is always on here--feel free to stop by anytime. :-)
how free the mind roams when it's unrestrained when sleep hasn't quite relinquished its hold...
Very true Shadow. Thanks for the visit and the comment. Always welcomed and appreciated.
I will join in on the swooning here...
Consider me well swooned?
Cat, swooning is appreciated and encouraged. :-D
My dear S, my lips part of heart's desire, red as ruby they beat. Flow your wine into me. Flare my nostrils with your bouquet. Take my eyes into yours, my chest your plain, my hair, your savannah. And plow my fallow sternum, ply my cleft, let your warm waters fill the dry bed of my lake and bring, again, life, as dusk brings night.
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