The Siren's Call

a collaboration with Eilis

I sit at the lacerated feet

of the mad old woman on the rocks,

note pad in hand, waiting for her poetry

to drip and bleach salt grained

tainted words on page

after virgin page until poems flourish between lines

(the faintest of lines)-written in a language unfolded from the infinite

apartments of the moon. The mad 

old woman bows in recognition

of that shared poetry, of that shared

 poetry of the damned,

and the language unfolds from the infinite

apartments of the moon, spirals

like condors in flight, heading

for Death and a feast

of delirium poetry, sand dreams

of decadence and intuitive decay. Singing moon

song singing, with impervious shards

of roving delight. With the noise

of Ocean and the sound

of the drip, of the drip and     an echo

of the infinite apartments of the moon. Lacerated

feet bathing in silver fitting reflection,

bouncing cloud like dreams;

salted wounds proving feeling

still holds sway over even the maddest

and oldest of hearts

Reviews

[Einstein Noodle]

well done .. seamless indeed! the imaging dark and alluring as Sirens should be .. but she is a mad old woman .. love it! i like all the repetitions you used .. just right says i .. and apartments of the moon .. how brilliant ... the concept is sparkling ..i want to live in one ;) but there is pain ... and the cutting of feet ..salt spray on the rocks .. vivid .. reminds me of cutters desperate to get the pain out from inside .. and i like the ancient qualities i read in this .. powerful says i!
E.

[gram linski]

thanks E, the repetition and the apartments of moon, were all Eilis, seamless indeed, I know who wrote what but on reading, it is like one mind spooky says I, lol,

[Einstein Noodle]

yes ..it really is! not easy to accomplish .. great outcome your two!

[barleygirl]

This poem is so deep & complex & rich & powerful . . . it makes my recent "Deep Sea" bumble sound like a shallow splash! I envy you two, your abilities to delve into areas of meaning & life that never even cross my mind. The opening image of poetess with lacerated feet slams with intensity & wake-me-up sensations, plus how this singular imagery of old woman repeats differently. I love all your dynamic imagery that shows us how poetry can be a harsh mistress (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[gram linski]

poetry is a harsh mistress, Margie, she has spanked me many a time