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Aberjhani

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The Bridge of Silver Wings
by Aberjhani   
Rated "PG" by the Author.
Last edited: Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Posted: Friday, July 06, 2007

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From The Bridge of Silver Wings

Dear Readers,

Please enjoy the following story. I’m happy to announce it is now available in a new book that you may view and purchase if you wish by clicking on The Bridge of Silver Wings

About a year ago during this same month, July, I sat down to write a short simple thank you note to fellow poets and writers who had graciously wished me well on my birthday. To my surprise, the intended short simple note came out of my pen in the form of the following poem: 

 

ANGEL OF GRATITUDE

 

Each, shaped from a heart

divine––such is the nature

of your humble wings.

 

Love, Mercy, and Grace,

sisters all, attend your wounds

of silence and hope.

 

You are the good twin

and the bad. Not arrogant,

but jubilant…sweet…

 

With grief or without,

your flight commands awareness

of joy beyond pain.

 

Holy starbright of

infinite heavens, for these

tears––I do thank you.

 

Just the fact that it was a poem was the first big surprise. The second was the style in which it was written, a variation on the haiku that I had never used before. Had my muse taken on the form of an angelic presence to gift me with a unique way to say Thank You? Or had an angelic presence paid me a visit to play the role of my muse? I smiled at the possibilities, posted my Thank You poem, and life went cautiously on about its modern-world business.

 

So how astonished was I when another angel poem materialized just a week later?  Very! This one called itself Angel of Grace. I don't recall a specific reason for its composition, only afterwards feeling deeply inspired--almost pressured in fact--to dedicate it to the English poet Kate Burnside and her family. Since we have never met nor even chatted, this dedication stunned Burnside at least as much as it did me.

 

These angels of poetry, I thought, have a nicely wicked scary sense of humor.

 

Angel of Grace forced me to confront the possibility that even though I had no intentions of writing additional poems about the influence or presence of angels, some additional poems might nevertheless have every intention of making themselves known to me.  To date, 14 such poems have formed an alliance with my pen and senses.

 

The manner in which they continue to manifest intrigues me to no end. Predictably, the most violent among them was Angel of War. I did not like the concept of an Angel of War––probably because of the ongoing atrocities of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars––so tried to resist the act of physically writing a poem about one. This struggle not to pick up a pen and write clashed head-on with an intense compulsion to do exactly that. For more than a week I found myself engaged in this psychic battle. Any time I wrote a stanza in one notebook, just to get it out of my head, I would later write somewhere else a question challenging the nature of war. This tugging back and forth eventually gave the poem its final form of haiku-like stanzas followed by angry questions.

 

The Angel of War experience was a weird one that I did not have time to contemplate long because––talk about some serious irony––the next week the Angel of Peace showed up during a storm that knocked all the lights out. Every time I went feeling through the dark to do one thing, I would grab a candle or flashlight along with a pen and paper then stand wherever I was and write instead. Both Angel of War and Angel of Peace are currently featured in the July 2007 online issue of Poetry Life and Times .

 

By the time I wrote the 13th poem, The Poet-Angels Who Came to Dinner, earlier this year, I no longer had energy or room to doubt that I was involved in the creation of something at once singular and abstruse. The intensity of the writes continued to bug me a bit. Or maybe even a lot. Sometimes the words came like ecstatic utterances, sometimes like songs whispered from another time, like actual angelic possessions, or like mental files that had been downloaded while I slept and then printed via my pen as soon as I got up. I began to wonder how long they would go on.

 

As often happens when puzzled by something on the level of ordinary consciousness, the answer to my bafflement came on a higher level of dream consciousness. In what I describe as a dream-vision, I saw dozens, or possibly hundreds, of angels above an ocean lined up across the sky in the form of an arc while I stood staring at them from the shores of a beach. The tops and tips of their wings glittered with the brilliance of silver starlight. The pulse and glow of this light seemed to hum a song that I was sure I had never heard before and yet that I recognized immediately, despite being unable to say what it was. Suddenly, my father appeared beside me in the dream––pretty much the way fathers are known to do. I asked him if all those angels lined up across the sky in the shape of an arc meant that I was going to write a lot more angel poems?

 

“That’s part of what it means,” he said, “but you’re thinking too educated.”

 

“Thinking too educated? How?” I noticed the silver of his hair was similar to that of the angels’ wings and that his speech was more fluid than when he lived in his world.

 

“You say they’re forming an ‘arc,’ like something beautiful but not with practical purpose. They’re really making a bridge. Wait a minute, that’s not the way to put it either. They actually are a bridge. You only see the angels on one side of it. There’re just as many on the other side. Now, Son, you know you ought’a recognize that bridge.”

 

“Ummm, really, why should I?”

 

“Because you were born at the foot of it and you’ve been walkin’ across it all your life. If it wasn’t for all those silver wings spread out to help you on your journey, you would’a been dead or someplace screamin’ in a nut house a long time ago.”

 

“Well that makes sense. Why didn’t you tell me this before you died?”

 

“It wasn’t for me to tell. It was for you to make it to this point in your life so you could see it for yourself. That way you can’t argue against it because the truth is a living part of you.”

 

Before I could ask another question, I woke up. In that soft haze between full consciousness and fading dreams, I saw something else. There was my father standing on one bridge paved with feathers of gold; and there I was standing on another paved with feathers of silver. From where he stood, he smiled and waved. I woke up completely. Sitting up on the side of the bed, I grabbed the pen and notebook on my nightstand. Remembering the image of my father upon that bridge, I wondered if he had been a poet and never told me. Getting a better grip on my pen, I started writing.

 

by Aberjhani Having a Harlem Renaissance Rent Party

© 7/6/07

 
 
 
 
 


Reader Reviews for "The Bridge of Silver Wings"


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Reviewed by Poetess of The Soul Sheila G
I enjoyed reading all your articles here *( mostly of presence of holy angels within and around)
I think the more you delved in to your conscious about them, they fluttered closer to your muse and we all got to enjoy the treasures you shared!
Thank you Aberjhani!
Your heart is pure!
WArmest Blessings! and PEACE!WArmly, WArrior "Spirit" Lady Sheeeoox
STay Positive!
STay SAFE!
Reviewed by Randall Barfield
intriguing. don't ever go to bed without that pen and pad on the night table! we readers would be the losers.
Reviewed by Karen Vanderlaan
beautiful and so well written-your work is truly inspiring
Reviewed by Tinka Boukes
Thanks for sharing this insight!!

Love Tinka
Reviewed by m j hollingshead
well said enjoyed the read
Reviewed by Georg Mateos
Another times, another state of consciousness and a pen flying over the paper like a delicate Tinkerbell to write words that amaze.
Very well done indeed.
Georg
Reviewed by Sage Sweetwater
From this Native American controversial artist, a woman's (century-spanning) novelist, to the Skylark's THE BRIDGE OF SILVER WINGS is an experience equivalent to the highest peace of mind. My firm consensus, the dreams are more of a wakeful consciousness - inner imagery (Jungian) which journey at their own gait, which is telling the Skylark that the bridge is a "crossover"...the silver wings are a livid reminder to him to not "pigeonhole" his creativity into one genre - he has many crossover pieces attuned to the diverse intelligentsia audiences - his patriarchal figure speaking to Aberjhani from above - for all this angel mystery is intense, it in fact, perhaps is a witnessing to a renaissance of Aberjhani's memory of another time and place. We have witnessed Aberjhani write light-as-a-feather-ether angelic psalms flow eloquently from his quill and turn it earthbound HipHop modern-esque-ESSENCE - a broad range of writing (not so unlike myself). His controversial IS HIPHOP THE NEW HARLEM RENAISSANCE series at MySpace is a must-read - and then he gives it an even different spin on the literary turntable, his fresh, stylus quill in the path of flight of my favorite series by Aberjhani ASTONISHING TALE OF THE GODDESS AND THE SKYLARK: Storytellers and poetic scholars arrive by studying lineages and cultures. I think THE BRIDGE OF SILVER WINGS is further confirmation in which the angel writings were/are "assigned" to Aberjhani to give to the people to build a bridge of national identity/diversity in a hostile world...look up to the heavens and count the stars - the angels intervened - Aberjhani would write about the people and fulfill the promise to the angels...open to interpretation and now the angels perhaps are reconfirming Aberjhani's gift...(Sage Sweetwater)
Reviewed by Kimmy Van Kooten
"Listen to the Whispers"...this sounds too much like my "happenings" and it seems to be making perfect sense that they are working in your life as much as they have mine...Check it out oneday...under my short story postings.
Being I can't vote for myself at Poetry Life and Times...I voted for the other best poet! LOL!
Love and Peace~
Kimmy~
Reviewed by Andre Bendavi ben-YEHU

"... . I started writing." Yes, indeed! And You did it when the wings of grace allowed You to fly over the gates of imagination to open the doors of creativity.

I have enjoyed this inspiring composition... "The Bridge of Silver Wings"
is a mingling of beauty, grace, art and sublimity.

I salute the author of this masterpiece.

In admiration,


Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
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