Just Words?
Yes, I too would like to hear some words from others here -- any words ...
but perhaps the rope has to be jerked a bit
that the bucket may swing and strike
the chimes of creation
hidden in the well.
I am reminded of a professor in a Creative Writing class years ago who said,
"enchanting imagery in words is not enough -- they must eventualy have relevance."
So, taking this as a challenge I wrote this and read it to the class.
Under the amused glare of 20 students he replied, "Just don't make a practice of it."
DRIFT of SAND
The hourglass is now broken ...
and the endless sand sifts through hopeless fingers
of clutching despair to gather up the falling jeweled tears.
Shadows on this moonless night ...
block and distort the chant of footsteps on dusty steps
that lead upward to the depths of ever silent clamor.
Strings of a shattered flute ...
beat and subdue pulsed sanguine heat of frozen veins
from this heart pierced by the discord of untuned desire.
The roaring din of starfall ...
distracts from meditation and swirled mind of patchwork hues
that seek an answer from this spirit’s claim on soul’s view.
The measured tread of chaos ...
challenges the willful claim on self’s possession of this nothing
that slow consumes the mortal pride so fearful of surrender.
Circle parallel tracks of time ...
within the balanced juggling of reasoned wit and terror
that prays upon the loving need for this compassioned sigh.
Silence now please echo in the turmoil of my mind.
posted by Anonymous @ 4:39 PM
4 comments
4 Comments:
Ah, but faucon, I can find relevance in those words! That is the most fascinating thing of all . . . one person’s relevance is another’s nothing and one person's nothing is another's relevance. I used to love it in poetry writing classes when people explained what my poems meant to them and I discovered it often had nothing whatsoever to do with what I put there in the first place. The reader takes from a poem what they need to find there, it sometimes isn’t at all what the poet imagined when the poet imagined. Thus is it mystic, thus is it unexplainable, thus is it magic.
I’m not sure I agree with your Creative Writing teacher anyway. Not all art has ‘relevance.’ Sometimes it just is. Thus it exists, thus is it art.
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Across the miles
I cannot see your face
or know your voice
but art, your art
becomes mine
by being here
where I find you, Fran
Poets are the creators of myths. The myths of the ages are carried down through the generations by the poets and we all take from them what we will.
Vi
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