The soft moan of morning touches my ears
so I enter a bowery where the trees have eyes
and the beast is forever ensnared inside the thistles
that he has made with his own unknowing hands.
Black Elk embraces my willing ears with a prophecy
of gentle green leaves, grandmothers place unborn
children inside cradles where denomination
and the harsh decadent woods of discrimination
are abolished, washed away by the cleansing
softness of an April shower.
Oh my love, let us leave this world of trouble and trial,
let us kiss the fern’s benevolent mouth, let us
abandon the dark holler where the miscreant
malcontents with their crooked crowns pound upon
anvils decorated with monetary flags and broken bottles.
I’m so tired of drunken showmen and tarantulas
who torment the inner cathedral of my mind
with their sticky webs of godless thought that
attempt to molest the valentine’s day of the soul.
I long for an orchestra of cicadas who play harmonious
saxophones, a chorus of frogs who chant painless
mantras from the edge of an uncrippled lake
where I can bury human misery beneath the snow
of society’s continual wintering.
Oh take my aging hand, there are joyful swirls
of gladness far away from that which we are
running from, there is a place where all the spirits
of clemency gather . . . let us drown ourselves
in the sweet honey of softer mouths and watch
as the black limousines slowly fade away,
staggering like wounded ghosts toward their final
destination of desolation and discombobulated
double talk.
So take my hand because the ancient eyes of trees
are winking at me while the green Buddha
of the planet sits quietly in an eons old meditation.
A contest entry
- IMAGERY - Prewrites Welcome by Heavens Child.
575 points, ended April 20, 30 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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Brilliant
Your images are so intesne that one could see trees opening their eyes...I love the way you blend the political and mystical, and this communicates across cultures. Even the references to contemporary life could travel beyond the time and space...a true poetic achievement!
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This is such a beautiful hopeful poem I think I shall save it and read it when I'm feeling in the need of something serene. It reminds me of Keats (everything does mind you I think I have an obsession problem) with his wish to "Fade far away and quite forget.......the weariness the fever and the fret...here where men sit and hear each other groan" (I can't promise thats the exact wording, Ode to A Nightingale). There's that distinct wish to get away from all the smallness and pettiness and sadness of the world and go somewhere peaceful and isolated. The imagery here is too good for me to really comment on, I accept my deficiency in writing critical comments on the actual structure or language of the poem itself but I shall instead voice my appreciation of it with applause.
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You are most kind . . . although I myself write with the Beats or the ancient Asian poets in mind, I understand your so called obsession with Keats. When I was younger I was completely engrossed with Shelley, particularily with his life. He loved Keats like a brother . . . two poetic lives with so much inner torment and tragedy . . .
Marc -
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I must admit an ignorance of ancient Asian poets or indeed Asian poets at all except for excerpts that I find in a few novels concerning India (and I assume you mean Asian in the sense of Buddhist countries as the title implies) If you have any particularly favourite examples of such poetry I'd be interested in reading them (assuming they are in translation :-))
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Try Li Po, Tu Fu, Han Shan or Tao Ch'ien from the Chinese, or my personal favourite Ryokan from 18th Century Japan, or perhaps find an anthology of Asian poetics at the local library . . . They wrote with a simple beauty that I only wish I could master, however because of the state of this sorry old world I have a tendency to bang rather loudly and forcefully upon the paper these days . . .
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Sadly this is so often true of the creative minded and intelligent, people look around and see the world how it is. It shows in so much poetry through the ages, I find hardly a single poet that hasn't got one or two poems mourning the world or society. I shall indeed check my library for some of these poems while I still have access to the university's vast stacks of information.
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This is incredible poetry! I don't know what else to say except this is so beautiful. Best wishes and thank you for entering.
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Thank you so much for the silver goblet, much appreciated . . . glad you like this piece . . .
Marc
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I just love you Marc! and your work! ha! ha! Amazing my friend.
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Thank you for your kind words, poet of the tender and blistering vernacular . . .
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Whenever i need to hear the deeper voice of the soul, i come to you and read your "musings" (as you call them), Marc...and i go away with music of leaves, the bravery of trees, the softness of rain.... Beautiful... thank you, my friend.
~ Nicolette
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