Sacred Ground

 

 

The air is bathed by western wind

on the head of a silver cloud

whose raining hair is scented fresh

as spring in a burgeoning shroud;

and feathers flank the gnarled old tree

whose branches waved their last farewell

when lightning struck and burst in flame

as though a timber straight from hell.

 

The sky swirls into skirts of storm

that unravel in shades of gray.

One seed that wafted into nest

has now blossomed into display.

It sings among the tangled vines,

the notes written on sheets of air,

and breaks the silence of the morn

with its ever hopeful prayer.

 

Yesterday the birth of hindsight.

Today the wings of what's to come.

Tomorrow a chance for freedom

with the dawning millennium.

We're born to die in retrospect,

chasing the wind into the wave

on echoes of eternity

that lead us blindly to the grave.

 

There is wisdom in the journey

that is retained when we return.

When a woman swallows the moon,

the heart of darkness starts to burn;

and each man shall rise in glory

from sacred ground that gives him birth

spreading wings like God's Great Spirit

over emerald peaks of earth.

 

 

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Susan]

this is almost like a very powerful vision with the vivid images presented here. very beautifully penned and well written..

[David Lewis Paget]

Now that is a real departure for you. Where have I seen that rhythm before? Your descriptive lines are like flashes of some vision that imprint on the mind of the reader. There is also a hint of rebirth here, something that I subscribe to myself. Nicely penned,
David.

[Pax Analog]

Just beautiful, darling one.

"There is wisdom in the journey/that is retained when we return./When a woman swallows the moon,/the heart of darkness starts to burn;/and each man shall rise in glory/from sacred ground that gives him birth/
spreading wings like God's Great Spirit/over emerald peaks of earth."

This reads like a gleaming monument of gold lettering on alabaster. Exquisite testimony of a superb devotee of divinatory grace.

I savor these extraordinary lines, especially the woman/moon/darkness/burn/man/rise/sacred ground/birth/wings/Spirit cycle. This stately symbolic sequence also contains discreet (and discrete) seeds of erotic transformation.

As with me, your Arc of Eros is deep Life Itself, that seamless sublimity of desire and aspiration in all its forms.

You fully embody your glistening words from start to finish -- "The sky swirls into skirts of storm" is alliterative natural elegance at one with the web of Life.

Your "Sacred Ground" title of course summons up "Sacred Lovers" an old song title of mine, and "Clear Ground," a more recent song title of mine. All by way of enjoying the golden braid of our ongoing symbiosis of lines, titles, themes, spirits.

The overall effect of this sublime poem is one of an elegy to the past and lost possible opportunities, and a prayerful affirmation of resurrected Life in the infinite Now.

Reading your embodied verse is to commune with liquid sunlight, filigreed streams from the finest simpatico soul-mind I know.