I am not dead Yet, My inferences doubt my existence. Things seen, forgotten tomorrow; Would my hands move, Would i see, Hate the meaningless reasons Behind the curtains. Brown days, boils in hand; The sword of the dawn, Lives in all of us. Hard, gusted; Rotten flesh in the rains to see tomorrow. Yes, it is summer.
A well-rendered existentialist sensibility. The difference between a Euro existentialist sensibility and Zen, Taoist, or Advaita Vedantic, is that the latter forms of enquiry run deeper and don't assume Life needs reasons -- or that Life is determined by form only.
In other words, a contemplative disposition transcends the fretting of the mortal figure to intuit the a priori Ground. One is correct to suspect the veracity of a mere egoic lifespan, but it's nothing to worry about. There is a grace to allowing Consciousness to permeate you without getting in the way. It isn't even that difficult to directly observe that thoughts and feelings and phenomenology are arising in Consciousness.
We are wise to shift from the tormented logic of the figure to the seamless intuition of the Ground.
Your "sword of the dawn" reads like a scythe, but it is also Awareness Itself.
In this your like a lock waiting for a key, there's so much mystery swirling around this, and who doesn't love a little mystery? The metaphors you use make my mind churn, because they're beautiful and meaningful. I hope to read more of your work. Thank you for sharing.
-Cathrine
Seems your feelings are simmering, or, perhaps, merely waiting to be brought alive, brought into the sunshine.
So many of us wait for a moment for a kind of rebirth, of being taken back to a time when we were truly happy and satisfied with how we are ..
This is a dark, sad piece of writing, perhaps your dreams could be kinder and give you more reason to wake every day .. not easy, true, but in your own hands.
'I hate the meaningless reasons
Behind the curtains.'
I am not a very good critic, yet I am flattered that you want me to review your poem.. i come from a line of writers, whom never make sense with shard thought process to the reader, I write free verse, filtering what can to be some people a grammatical curse,
so for you to tap me on the shoulder my friend is an honor..
You complexity is that of guru with seasonal sickness. Mantra styles technological to the prediction jurisdiction, of feeling flesh bent on returning to the world immortal by word choice coziness. My favorite lines are "Brown Days boiled into hands"
and yet you answer the reader's questions at the end to solidify the up and downs of earth and sky style, "Yes, this summer."
Ground shaking, your comma and semicolon placement leaves me thinking you have done this before, and know the proper temptation of word aesthetics synthetically present, challenging a dream language to statuette stanza..
I for one write in a none verse style, but that can be confusing to the reader
, intellectualizing the property of Anglo English in stead of the ebb stone ancient carvings used with precision, cave dwelling divisions,
I stab to my head, living this addiction of flow, following the brain chemical wave crescent to the poignant sound of an echoed mood..
Your dress rehearsal language
wears the pauses and rhythm like
you tailor the need to be heard,
but only appease the thought of adding a little fabric more from your soul
it's not your skin getting ready for the big show.
it' the connection we as writer's must up hold.
not placid angel returning to have free will again
her
wings are not met to broken down into dialog...you my friend have more to say verses what you display...connect the dots of your eyes to the folds in your mind...good stuff
Theres not much i can say that hasnt already been said. Its abstract, complex, and absolutely fantastic. I loved this. Im definitely adding it to my favorites. I never would ahve expected the outcome of the poem to be that way. i loved it. Beautiful work!
I like the consequences in it. it begins with a realization and YET - There is so much because of the realization, but YET again. it is summer. Wonderful.
"Gham hota hai jahan zahaanat hoti hai,
Duniya main har sheh ki keemat hoti hai" - Javed Ahtar.