Never ephemeral are your deeply considered words, Axilea. Here you lay them lightly yet carrying so much weight and meaning that settle brilliantly on our minds - and mind's eye. Almost like a prayer, a spell, a mystical experience of altered consciousness which leaves us changed like the moment of waking dream. I feel a sense of questing, journey, restlessness here and the physical experience reminds me of fitful sleep where, tossing and turning (like in your imagined seas), you alternately kick the covers off and pull them on again - just when the winds of dreams and their "throbbing blue ink veins" cool the skin producing a sudden membrane between the two conscious states. Excellently understated and elliptical as always. With my love and seasons greetings. xx
Wow, Axilea! I'm still shivering with wonder, chill, and awe. I love the whole concept of being a recovered "island in a sea of ephemera". Great use of "cover" throughout, from cover-uncover-discover, and later, recover. I love the word "plainsong" unseparated, and the play on vain and vein.
I imagined every wind its own breath, breathing across my skin, and started shivering. Every word spoken/breathed/written/muttered is another droplet in that ephemeral sea-- a wounded sigh unwound, wending its way to wind around something--unwound itself somehow in its own wind...waxing wordy...
And finally, the ending lands and sticks permanently. Great conclusion. Thanks for sharing the porthole with us all. --Charlie
that awakening on a cold livid skin
conjures the harshness and yet the essential
truth of what is, things as they are must always
reign after all else has beeen covered, uncovered,
discovered and recovered;
an island once - does it ever become the mainland?
i love this poem, Axilea, and it's a joy to see
you posting again after so long
Our journey, life, viewed through a porthole; of course. I mark your return after a long absence and note that it is a fitting one. Spirits on a journey through space and time, human figures, bodies a life form. Breath condensing on the porthole of a common dream is interesting. I wish you love and peace my dear friend. Jon Michael
Reviewed by Gianetta Ellis (Reader)
Reviewed on December 13, 2012
Wow, Axilea - this is absolutely beautiful! I wish I'd written it. I love it. I connect to it - every word and the spaces between. THIS is the reason I missed the den. THIS is what inspires me to create at my highest and most authentic level. A new favorite.
It would be an honor and a pleasure to be sharing that porthole with you, Axilea; actually, I have just done that by reading your verses. Thank you for sharing this gift. Love and best wishes to you,
a common dream is the perfect porthole for "the throbbing blue ink vein" to express itself through "the vivid contrast of pleasure and ache of heart and day .... warm protection indeed ...
Remarkably evocative. The allegorical inferences are palpable (fortunately), adding to the impact. I once had a significant other who was both a ballet dancer AND a poetess. Wow! What a synergy! Speaking as a sea wave, I've always loved portholes...
Cheers, -K.
A Collection of Voices from Around the World is more than just a poetry compilation. It is a partnership of poets from around the globe brought together by an internet poetry forum. That forum, poetrypages.com, has been the home of many a fine poet s
This is my personal inspirational book of poetry. It contains many poems written for family, friends, and relevant life situations. Hopefully you will find some that will encourage and inpsire you in whatever arena you are found in your circle of l
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I imagined every wind its own breath, breathing across my skin, and started shivering. Every word spoken/breathed/written/muttered is another droplet in that ephemeral sea-- a wounded sigh unwound, wending its way to wind around something--unwound itself somehow in its own wind...waxing wordy...
And finally, the ending lands and sticks permanently. Great conclusion. Thanks for sharing the porthole with us all. --Charlie
conjures the harshness and yet the essential
truth of what is, things as they are must always
reign after all else has beeen covered, uncovered,
discovered and recovered;
an island once - does it ever become the mainland?
i love this poem, Axilea, and it's a joy to see
you posting again after so long
john
Blessings, xo
Christine
Regis
Cheers, -K.
budd