I once rejoiced in glories
Cells that screamed, “Alive!”
Beauty’s scent, liquefied
in bubbling hopes,
pooling brooks
and me,
a chuckle-smoothed stone
bare but for a halo of moss
draping spores
across the landscape.
Endless eyes
to the hummingbird’s throat.
No mouth to offer
nectar.
Author notes
Written June 14th, 2006
In a list
A contest entry
- Self Portrait by Cat.
1500 points, ended June 21, 2006, 21 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 22 of 22
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Excellent!!
good thematic elements and beautiful imagery, I like your style in this poem -
In reply to sgking123 -
In spamming for points with your copy and pasted comments, I find it even more reprehensible that you would dare plagiarize the comment of someone as perceptive and well-spoken as Blayde (stoneage). Though copying may be seen as flattery in some circles, among writers it is known as stealing.
At 38, I would have hoped you had known better than to started your short AP career with such an act.
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A lovely poem; I particularly like your use of liquefied; Liquefaction is one of my favourite words.
Chris. -
Hey Bronze is a pretty hair color too, the Fox wears it.
Congrats, my Dear Jane. 
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Don't know how I missed this gem before. Many congratulations on a well deserved trophy.
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I second all that Gina said. It's a terrific way to find other writers whose work you like. This is so spare and yet so full of image and meaning at the same time.
Some extraordinary use of language indeed.
Congratulations!
D -
and so i come to read you, for the first time .... (congratulations on your trophy) ... part of the beauty of these contests - those particularly run by poets of a certain style and integrity (i think) - is that i get to discover all these wonderful artists i would never otherwise ...
bubbling hopes, pooling brooks and a halo of moss ... paradise ! ... i love the space created ... and the pleasure of being within it ...yet, for me there is a hint of sadness, struggle even ... hummingbirds spend a lot of energy in being ... and they are so tiny and excrutiatingly beautiful .... >>> GINA -
Oh I know and she should.....she has a way of saying things can make you feel it so profoundly! And I don't like to see her sad even for a moment. The mother hen in me comes out!
Edited on Jun 20, 9:36 because ''. -
Wow, Michelle, you got stuck into your thesis. Still, a poerm is a flash of insight worked through. Why shouldn't Jane have such a view, even if fleetingly. Ron
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I once rejoiced in glories
Cells that screamed, “Alive!”
No mouth to offer
nectar
If there are lines more poetic than this...I would seriously doubt it. I loved this piece that is bookended by these two gems.
David -
Hey, I like this. I love any thing that brings us home to the earth. There is no beauty in human form which can surpass a simple stone, at best equivalence. This poem speaks of beauty, stones are not mountains but weathered pieces, yet always part of the mountain, the mountain only a stone on earth, the earth a stone in heaven, what a great poem, you made me think so much. Nothing is of greater value to me.
Blayde
Edited on Jun 18, 9:41 p.m. because ''. -
oh how I envy you your babe -- an innocent brimming with curiosity.
mwahhhhhhhhhhh! -
like a slim knife he cut through the bushes last night around 8
love you.
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Oh lisa, lisa, LISA!!!! Not at dusk but at 3:00 before the dawn, like a tuxedoed ballroom dancer my fox crossed the path of my bleary eyes as I sat on my step admiring the stars. Back and tail as straight as an arrow... each step floating into the next. I don't believe he even moved the grass. If my arms were twice as long I could have stroked him along his length and curled my hand around only half of that full bushy tail.
He wore your face... and left your smile hanging in the air.
clappa clappa clap!!! I'm three years old again. -
Thank you muchly, Miss MC.
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... and in your comment I again find reason to rejoice. They are like the nectar of the gods, offering spores of their own.
I've missed you and your ... words.
Leaves me to wonder - am I the AC to your DC?
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and me,
a chuckle-smoothed stone
bare but for a halo of moss
draping spores
across the landscape.
yeah, i like this-
m -
what happened to your mouth? Does one often offer nectar from a mouth? Does the hummingbird have no mouth? (this would be anatomically consistent with hummingbirds I have seen)
Perhaps the words have dried up. That happens. It has happened to me, many times. Gurgling up a load of semen often makes for an excellent substitute for nectar (even words, if the metaphor applies).
a chuckle-smoothed stone is, as i am sure has been pointed out, quite a smoking phrase, and sneaky enough not to be overly cute.
Lovely poem. How are you, snugglebuns?
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Fabulous last two lines.
... Loved it all actually, of course, I did. I rejoice to read you. Sneak out right now, dusk someone is bound to be lurking about --
I saw the baby fox the other night. God what a cutey. All round and fluffy. Thought of you.
Good stuff. xo
me. -
I agree with Lyndon in that your metaphors are full of imagery. Yet, my entire being screams in disagreement. There seems to be a quiet resignation. An undercurrent of melancholy. At the same time I want to wag my finger and say "how could anyone who writes as beautifully as this have one dead cell in their body?" Aww shoot..... this makes me want to scoop you up and give you a giant hug! Bring you an ice cream cone and watch it drip down your arm. Give you a Tootsie roll pop and count how many licks it takes to get to the middle. Sure we can't hop to hopscotch, but we can still throw the potsy and walk through it. We can still kick the can, be it the can on the ground or the one that just cut in line at the supermarket. Yes, I have a halo of moss on my shoulder, a perfect place to land while you catch your breath. A chuckled-smooth stone (God I love that one!)let's you know you've been and still are ticklish. So I say, open your mouth and let this hummingbird share it's nectar. For when the well is running dry that's what friends do. "If I had a hammer, I'd hammer out danger ~ under my shoe! I'd beat it to the ground, listen to the sound. ohhh ohhh.that squishing sound. all over again.
~Michelle~
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Excellent creation
"a chuckle-smoothed stone" - This is the best image I have seen for a long time. "No mouth to offer
nectar." completes the memory of joy with a negation. There is little the green sap of nature; the babbling streams and the hummingbird's quick beating wings (andheart)can offer as we grow old and cannot spring from rockpool to rockpool any more.
It is in vain if we figuratively expect the nectar of youth for rejuvenation. I think this poem is significantly successful. Thank you Jane. Ron 
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Your body may not be the same as it was but your mind and soul are. Still bright and alive. Your words reflect that vibrant echo of days gone by. I'm still trying to figure out the last verse. The only way I can interpret it is to think of you as an infant with no way to feed on life's goodness. I may be all wrong but oh well that's how I read it.
Sincerely,
Leo Long
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