Longing for wisdom, for a more enlightened world, to feel the connectedness of all things. Time is a string folding in and around itself.
Somewhere
in the mist of this night must lie a memory, a breath I took while
sleeping, that could fill this...void. The green path stretches
far...too far to dream, almost.
Still beyond this fog I see a
hand outstretched- fingertips curled to beckon me onward, lips
pursed to blow me wisps of fairy dust that I might hurl myself at
last upon this shore where wisteria curtains drape, ivy spills
itself over walls of stone and where, beyond the rolling hills, a
canyon lies where no man shouts at the wind to hear his own
voice but feels instead the silent expanse of sky and soul as it
ripples through the parallel layers of time that he has dared
to mount- red, rich clay whose pores hold secrets tight within
their ticking metronome trapping every voice, every trickle all
the flipping fields that have rocked them through midnights of
blue exploding with globes of sparkling ancient eyes that look
back through rivers of time and glitter Morse code down upon
infants with their eyes closed
This is sweet and dreamy. Strong poetry and insights, wonderfully romantic piece. I liked
to hear his own voice, but feels instead the silent expanse of sky and
soul, as it ripples
through the parallel layers of time, that he
has dared to mount-
red, rich clay whose pores hold secrets, --- because sooo airy! Sweet and upon existance.
Kristy, I've been putting off reviewing this, mostly because I keep getting caught up in it, and not being able let it back out of my head. I get caught up in the dream, and can't connect things - maybe I'm not supposed to. I love the imagery and the language throughout, but I especially like the first three lines. Perhaps, I get caught up in the search for truth - I see it all around, but maybe I don't recognize it.
I'm curious about your line breaks, I can't find a syllable pattern that explains the enjambment, starting the next phrase at the end of a line. I kept wanting to pause at the end of the line, especially in cases like this where the word also makes sense as part of the previous phrase.
red, rich clay whose pores hold secrets, tight
In spite of my questions, I still find this immensely satisfying.
Insanely beautiful. I am know my opinion must be lost in the others' praise, but this was just beautiful. I lost my breath - no lie - when you said "beyond the rolling hills a canyon lies, where no
man shouts at the wind
to hear his own voice, but feels instead the silent expanse of sky and
soul, as it ripples
through the parallel layers of time" Just so amazing. Well done!
I liked this poem, I enjoyed the images that your words painted. I felt the passion and the longing that I think that you wanted to convey. It was very romantic as well, and who is not a romantic at heart. This was a very well written and picturesque piece.
Few are the dreamers who yet dream . . . and hope. Visionaries in modern society, I wonder, are they truly rewarded (unless their visions have some practical application that fuels progress)? And yet, I believe we all thirst for something beyond the material, practical, and necessary (though no more so than this otherness we crave). I've spent my whole life trying to figure out just what that missing element is, what it consists of, and what it means. I'm not sure that I'm any closer to an answer, but in the seeking, one finds . . . something, in oneself.
As you so astutely recognized here, it gets passed down to the next generation, in the hope that maybe, just maybe, they'll dream a little . . . and find what we've missed.
all the flipping fields that have rocked them, through
midnights of blue exploding with globes of sparkling, ancient eyes
I love those words, this entire piece was written in a tone that I just fell in love with. This is a magnificent piece, and one I'm glad I read, because it's some of the best stuff I've read in a while. Great job.
Hey that was really nice, I do appreciate the ethereal feel to writes like this of gassy stars and dreams and time, dreaming of a memory, its just lovely the thought of a baby dreaming of a memory. I read this out loud and often I find with people I cant do that smoothing because people write to their own beat lets say,, but this read fairly well to me Thanks for the send I enjoyed it
This had a magical quality which captured the illusion of fairy dust very well. The dreamlike state explored was mesmerizing and haunting. I especially liked the glitter morse code section.
I write. Read me.
We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, la.. more..