The candle light reflects upon the glazed tables
Upside down fire, showing truth and lies
And bubbling pints slowly reveal horizontal lines of white foam
And we all turn towards the sound
and the sound turns towards us
And for these brief moments we are connected
Through our tingling palms
So lonely, so isolated, it’s just me in an empty room
and all the silent ears around agree
The drums remind me of my ancient humanity
The guitar takes me back to reality
And the dimmed candle light joins the music and I together
The red curtains like the sheets I used to roll
My naked body in with him
The candles- our last dinner- the one you made
for me and I found so romantic… the weekend before
You turned me away
The music takes me there, yet by the hand
Caressing the inside of my wrist… oh so gently
Where the drink runs through and heats up my veins
I slide my fingertips along the curve of my pint
Like you used to slide your hand along the curve of
my hip… loving my femininity.
The singer shares her memories, and I share mine
The hurt, the past that we stand on… we are connected
In this moment.
And in this moment I am brave, I am beautiful, and
I finally love me.. how I want my someone to love
me. And my pen flows in ripples… it’s part of time
In the realm we cannot see… in the realm of Irish magic.
If my love were to see me now… he’d see me at my best,
perhaps it would be a moment like this that he’ll fall in
love with me.
The ink never looked so beautiful. Never so pure.
The curves of every letter… I form with my pen and
Think of touching my lover with such care and familiarity
The shine on the guitar strings.
Beautiful- such beauty that could bring one to tears
So intimate- as if I were dancing with him… in a crowded
Room but we are alone- together at last
Hope is so beautiful, Love, how I miss you… It’s
taking so long to find you, I’m so impatient- you
know this though, don’t you… yet, Oh Love.
We will be great, won’t we?
The curls in her hair… fall like my tears- moving
to sadness and happiness together
My hands are heavy, my pen is light- my fingers grab it forcefully
but gently- afraid to bruise it’s smooth skin.
The paper makes me think of your skin- how soft and smooth
little hairs letting you aware of my fingertips stealing.
The piano player is forceful… expert, but forceful. His lover
is a subordinate moaner, but a siren of a moaner.
Oh how Coleridge must have felt after his dream
of Xanadu!!!
The world so hazy yet so clear- who can explain
such clarity in the absurd… in the mysterious unknown.
Levi how I
wish you were here-
you’d understand
Oh! The beauty in my drunken scrawl
It flows out of my hot sweaty palms-
Nervous- nervous of the intimacy. In this
Moment. I’m in another world- a world where
I am in love. Where I am beautiful in my own
Right… the star- the ingénue of the Laura stage.
How I’ll laugh at my scrawl, my beautiful, crazy,
Scrawl- I’m so crazy in my own right.
I’m an artist in my own right.
Oh how they make fun of me…
How I’d make fun of me- doesn’t
Matter- In my fairy world.
The blank page… how I want to fill it
The floor.. reflecting but nothing else… only revealing scrapes of hundreds of
Drunken feet and stilettos
Her voice was wild yet controlled- reminded me of the heart
The flame through the glasses- it doubles
I look down and smile at the lined paper- ink soaking in
from the other side… my hair framing the pages in little
swirling flames… I look down at my lover… see his
face smiling up at me. eager to kiss my tingling
lips- how we love each other.
Honesty
She talks of the golden days… and I’m taken back to the tropics
• Where the leaves are thick with water… and little
Beads of perspiration- the shining sun
• My glory days in Hong Kong- water babies
• With Sarah… dreaming of living off the land.
Only applause breaks my concentration of thoughts
Like Coleridge, eh?
My body is vibrating, rejuvenating, it’s alive and flowing
Like I’m the POSSESSED!
THEANGER AND EMOTION FLOWING
The swirls meet you face to face
How I am so not myself, yet so myself,
- artificially tapped into another realm
- possessed by Calypso- from
- another realm, another time
Undone… naked, exposed
*I really hope that my handwriting is legible in the
Morning
• How white are my eyeballs?
• Can almost see the magic in the air… almost!
- He grabs a flame… brings it towards him, perhaps
He meditates, perhaps he prays… but he stares, and
He contemplates- and here, in this space, he
learns
• My breasts are exposed- my womanhood,
Both hideous and beautiful for all
the world to see… to scream, to own,
to be… to exist in the breath of one song
• How the darkness… the dimness enchants
me… allows me to focus on one thing at a
time- true sign of an artist.
I sink
I sink
I sink
I’m not here anymore… they have brought
Me somewhere else.
• I’m in the world of Laura
• And I smile
Author notes
I wrote this last Tuesday while at a pub listening to a series of very good live muscicians. I normally don't drink much, but pint after pint I sunk into an extremely emotional and artistic state, and I pulled out my notebook and wrote my raw thought streams. During the trance, I felt like Coleridge when he wrote Kubla Khan under the influence of laudenum... totally entranced. I even mention him in my poem. I reread my thoughts in the morning and was pleasantly surprised how decent it turned out in it's raw state, so I didn't alter it one bit.
I tried to mimick the my handwriting and how I formed letters and spaces as much as possible... because they are part of the poem.
The title is even modeled after "Kubla Khan: Or, Vision in a Dream. A Fragment"
So this is me... the thought streams of Laura J. And as Coleridge believed- a fragment is just as beautiful as the whole.
*** For the contest- I know this isn't a short poem like you requested, but I decided to enter it anyways... this contest seemed to work with my poem perfectly other than length. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission?
Link to the Coleridge Poem on Old Poetry-
http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/463-Samuel-Taylor-Coleridge-Kubla-Khan--Or--A-Vision-In-A-Dream--A-Fragment
A contest entry
- Make Them Smile- great Old Poet inspiration by Peteskid.
2000 points, ended March 15, 8 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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Fantastic (Go hiontach)
I really love this poem, especially because certain lines 'i can almost see the magic in the air' make me think of certain things:lines. I've said it before, you are an inspiration, and your writing has more power in it than you know. Thank you -
Fantastic!!! I see the connection to Kubla Khan. There is something to be said about the personal freedom that results from lifting inhibitions. This poem was the essence of Laura and I loved it. I felt like I was there in your place. Perhaps because I have felt similar emotions, your imagery took me directly there. I loved the lines, "So lonely, so isolated, it’s just me in an empty room and all the silent ears around agree." It's as if everyone else does not exist. They are simply there, not listening, not caring, leaving you alone with your thoughts that they cannot, of course, hear.
I enjoyed the format as well. The bullet points and ellipses towards the end are a wonderful addition. I'm sure the original manuscript would be amusing to see. (Exactly how many pints did you have, my dear?)
It seems to me that Ireland has had quite the inspirational effect on you. This effect as well as your ever-constant intuition and introspection has led to a marvelous poem.
Good work!
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Quite a write ...
and I suspect that Coleridge would have liked it too. Well done and done well.
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[Edited comment after OP Notes
I feel like applauding too...you predictably picked Kubla Khan by Coleridge and I read your comment there too.
I think this is quite special the length makes it so the writer must do many things to keep the reader engaged, i was engaged. I sense the ambiance of the place, the idea of the pub music and the voices, the relaxation...and how the mind picks and chooses the sensations and the way to sort and interpret, this was most vivid here, a remarkable thing in and of itself.
The phasing in and out of the scene to memories, wishes, feelings, touches [which seem to have their own set of memories inside of us]...and the sense of longing; but longing that reaches into the ether and finds something to appease, I think of Coleridge here too, after the OP notes, I read the poem again. It seems your reflection here is to an experience you saw in the Coleridge piece, the mental journey of a most fertile , creative mind. Yes, i think you would get a smile here. Thank you for this fine entry into the contest and best of luck in the judging...PK
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Thank you for the in depth comment... I'm glad my poem kept you engaged.
I just provided the link to Old Poetry and my comments there. I forgot to do that before, didn't I? Take Care
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