Pick Up Sticks~

They planted a chestnut tree

The lining of the womb came into bud inside the soil

Cell clusters coaxed the dark roots to flourish

Blood ribbons tied themselves around each ring

Years passed

Every natal holiday I broke off a branch

It fell in a rambling puzzle behind me

My footsteps became leaf patterns

My journey a briar closing at my back

One day I came to a precipice

Before me was sky

An offering

I looked back over my shoulder

My sticks a trail of breadcrumbs

An insistent melody in the woodland of my soul

I turned to retrace my path

The briar wound roses through my hair

Each time I bent to pick up sticks

 

At the beginning the chestnut tree

A stack of kindling on my back

A kerchief of roses

I remembered the scent of my gypsy heart

Japan tattooed at the corners of my eyes

I built a fire for my sticks

My smoke telling stories to the night

Dawn picked me up on a breeze

 

At the precipice

Sky waited

I gave in to my nature

I gave in to my myth;

A thousand years later

A man found bones

Beneath a chestnut tree

He picked up the ivory sticks

Put them together

He stood there for a long time

Not knowing what to do with what he had found

 

The man planted a chestnut tree

For his first child

A puzzle of bones around the roots

 

Myths never die

Someone always leaves a trail . . . .

 

 

 

 

copyright:2010vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Reviews

[JelliFyshKissUs]

Oh my god! I wrote a piece like this called "maple tree". There is no way I can publish it now. Your words and images trump everything I could have hoped to say. You knack for implementing nature in your writings as an acrylic stroked canvas makes me melt with envy. What a trail of beauty.

[FireWoman]

Leaving poetic offerings, rose petals & yourself to nurture the Earth childrens future, lovely, thoughtful writing~ This reminds me of the saying, "Take nothing but memories leave nothing but footprints."

If only we all left a positive mark.

[Matthew Kult]

Forgive me Selene, I am a bit unfocused today, but this was a great I love the story based around a spot and the tree. Everything you write has such vivid imagery, I felt like I was the girl at the tree, with a small fire to keep myself warm. feels like home.

With Love,

Jaidyn

[Pax Analog]

Sticks and stones and bones and Styx.

And the pathless path is smoke and mirrors and wind's waft into the clear blue sky of dawn.

The mythic mode arose in a pre-rational time, and while holding ritualistic meaning is also noted in the hangover of literalism we find in religiosity to this day. Myths WERE taken literally, originally, which is why there was literal human sacrifice instead of a metaphoric understanding of egoic surrender.

In hindsight, POST-rationally, it is possible to arrive at transparency via jigsaw imagistic ritual. What intrigues me is the tonal differentials of spinning imagery from an always-already transparent stance, inverting the slant of performativity.

The strangeness of the ultimate "goal" is that nothing actually leads up to it. Anymore than the ground the trail grooves on leads to the ground.

In my experience, the crazy-wise aperspectival mode bashes myth both as imagistic meaning and illusion straight back at the pitcher, so to speak, because of the short-circuiting nature of the always-already Awakened state for which there is no actual approach but the shattering of all else.

So I can read this piece for the charm of its imagistic components, w/the whiff of transparency; as part of the sense of the living psycho-archeolology of collective cognitive modes -- magic-mythic-mental-aperspectival -- and as an itch to scratch re musing on core apprehensions.

My favorite lines:

"I remembered the scent of my gypsy heart/Japan tattooed at the corners of my eyes/I built a fire for my sticks/My smoke telling stories to the night/Dawn picked me up on a breeze"

I also read "Pick Up Sticks" as a parable of incarnation. And keeping in mind earlier musings, incarnation can be viewed as a situation to evolve beyond or a chosen bit of theater for avataric descent into form for the purpose of divine play.

I'm sure there is much that could be said about every single image, but that is always the case.

An atmosphere lingers of gypsy and Japanese flavors, of growth and structures, of just passing through, of nascent possibilities, of epiphanous grace. . .

[TAO]

Indeed...and so spoken by the very embodiment of myth :) I find I have to be able to tune out every single thing around me to enjoy your work; this was only the latest attempt where I found myself becoming annoyed because I couldn't really absorb it without absolute...tranquility...even now, I'm plotting my revenge against my refrigerator for its incessant humming, and ruining the very good thing I was trying to enjoy. Even with that minor distraction, I was still able to capture...something... Well done? Of course, goddess. So well done; here's to the Ali of Poetry...

[Intern'l Shultzfeather]

Lining of womb came
CcC? Liked the blood
Breaking free into it, puzzle patterns, Sky choice. Asking to be tracked?
Killer hrtng intricate feelings, love the grind. Big time Boppin' and Blowin"
Hurrah Boring Myth who helps me sleep.

[Ed Hart]

if this isn't a beautiful and heart warming surprise to accompany my tea on an autumn afternoon...a delight for any child-hearted passerby

[Aven]

you belong in the myths... like butter on toast... :)

[My Fair Lady]

Oh wow. Mesmerised by your imagination and also feeling schooled in the gentle way of a parable story. How like you. Love me some Selene. Just Sayin' :)

[Kesha]

A very lovely write, an enjoyable read as always my dear, your writing draws the reader in, very nice, keep it up! :)