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sacred
it was the night the music raptured inside my eyes
turned to powder, covered my walls and then the
chairs and tables. the room was shining.
the mask comes off sometimes and then a face appears
from nowhere,
he is weeping,
he is bleeding,
his heart in disarray,
he looks a little like Jesus, a bit like you,
the cosmic God throws audacity into the fire
in it, hope must be reborn,
i get high with you, our sex is older than our
world, we light each other with the elements
of earth, there is joy in water, there is fire in the
air, our bodies speak of this
then turn to temples
of ash and dust.
Editing stage:
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Comments
pleiades
Sat, 2011-12-17 18:39
so often, your poetry moves
so often, your poetry moves me by measures
i don't quite understand cerebrally, but
seem to totally get intrinsically...for me, that
is the best kind of poetry...the kind of poetry i just love
a connectedness that needs no formal understanding...it just is
i absolutely love this A...
the title...
the beauty within...
the sadness...
hope...
redemption...
so many thoughts and emotions it stirs
very rarely do i feel certain parts of your
writes need special mention, as the sum
of parts make the whole, but these lines...aaahhh, A, they are gorgeous;
"i get high with you, our sex is older than our
world, we light each other with the elements
of earth, there is joy in water, there is fire in the
air, our bodies speak of this"
i've been reading quite a bit of you recently..
is it just me?...is your work subtly taking on "something" extra?
wildheart, indeed
love
p
wesley snow
Sun, 2011-12-18 22:17
Yes, her work is taking on something extra.
There are few things more satisfying in life to me than "watching" a poet go through a growth period. I suspect Kaila will be extra fun for a little while. Too bad we have to do plateaus also. wesley
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
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Kailashana2
Mon, 2011-12-19 07:01
Perhaps it's *my work*,
Perhaps it's *my work*, perhaps it's *your growth*. One never knows, does one... since it always take two to see: a subject and an object. In the act of seeing/being seen, however, there is no division.
;-)
Thank you both, hugely appreciated your appreciation of my appreciation of you!
~A
author commentwesley snow
Tue, 2011-12-20 11:44
Agreed.
When a poem is being read it is not the poet that is judged, but the reader. wesley
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
http://www.neopoet.com/mentor/about
Esker
Mon, 2012-01-02 23:50
poetry is the magic
falling through vision
read through fingertips
heard through speakers
occasionaly read aloud
by the craft maker
but it swirls in imagination
and echoes in hearts
rises like a bird at dusk
against the dust of heavens
glitter...