All That Is Left

Icarus never saw the edge of the world,
a deep peaking crevasse, echoing
into chambers, the holy vessel
of the physical heart, asking
the question of ages year after year
(who am I?) never really listening
or deciphering the answer.
There was a boy who was born
to be watcher, a listener
a seer of many worlds, all possibilities
the smallest reducible point of
matter, measuring the value
angle of angelic precipice, (I
will go up into the mountains)
a line in time.
We drew it into the fabric,
tomorrow, halfway ( I will walk
to the edge of the meadow)
towards twelfth night; there will be
a blue moon. A new year
beginning in the middle of wreath-making
whole blistered palms, bonfires
of ancient day in the dark winter nights,
the sun already risen, it whispers
to the sap so slowly, so as to gently
and not forcefully awaken the wood,
Rebuilding, shooing out the damage
of old intentions, old world mistakings,
shushed, like a butcher's broom --
resurrections trembling in
a quaking gratitude and
renewed understanding (taking only
what is apparent and given)
about this animal body I wear,
it must no longer just walk about in me.
I will throw in the towel,
parchment, sage ( I will pray)
the pine needles of the mountain
I will burn all away. I will disregard the smoke,
the signals, tongues, shadows,
on Plato's allegorical chalkboard;
I want to rub the charcoal ash
the bodies I have shrugged off
like cicada shells, snake skins,
hang nails, sunburned epidermal
roots, and between palms, make coarse
powders, spread the death (I will
burnish this vessel)
of my old skins, sins and lively
saltiness into the snow. Now
cindered. Now clean.
all that will be left of you,
adya wrote
will be a tendency to shine.

Reviews

[Samuel Ferris]

i really like this poem, i have to strain my eyes to read it all because my computer screen is piece of ____, but over all i love your language and all your metaphors, there "the signals, tongues, shadows, on platos allegorical chalkboard," i love it, im not sure i get the full reference, because i havent read the cave perhaps. But i love the juxtaposition of objects and what they seem to me at least to represent. Im interested in who adya is, i googled it and not much came up. Im also curious as to the source of your continuous stanza, stylistic technique. At points i felt it needed a breath, but then the power of your metaphor and metric kept me in it. It reminded me some what of john adams violin concerto, or the dude that just won the grawmeyer award from lousville(Brett Dean). Kinda like continuous variation form. Probably one of the better poems iv read on here, or by any other poet iv never heard of before. Icarus is also a reference of pure badassery. Actually i think the only thing i dont like is the title, it doesnt seem to do the poem justice to me, it describes it very well, but didnt do much to hook me immediately. Other than that, Bravo.

[A Glow in the Pit of My..]

I'm honestly terrible at leaving constructive reviews, but I just wanted to say, again, that I truly enjoy your style and your way with words. It leaves me with an ache in my heart - maybe one of inspiration to continue writing, myself.
I also noticed your "continuous stanza" (as another user put it) and agree that it almost leaves me breathless, but, it creates this urgency that keeps me devouring every word until I've reached the end. And the ending leaves me with so much satisfaction.

[W.k.kortas]

One of the hardest things to do is take large concepts and make them accessible; most of us, in the attempt to do so, oversimplify and generalize them to the point where so much is lost that we end up with the bones but none of the meat. What you have done here--and do in the general run of your work--is to connect the universal/mythical (represented here by Plato and Icarus) to the personal, to show the fibers that connect the personal "us" to the "us" of all mankind. You do so, and make it look easy--and that is far from easy.

[Emily B]

all that is left . . . I love the shining