In the misty calm after the storm,
inside the perfect raindrop dripping
from the index finger of a lofty blue babe,
one of Shakespeare’s young and rose-lipp’d cherubin,
doing a balancing act on the temple façade,
there stands Marie, lady of exquisite beauty,
her face framed in fiery auburn hair,
her emerald eyes as brilliant as the nearest star,
her full lips a seductive invitation
to the tall knight dismounting his silver steed.
Sir Will plucks a golden snapdragon from her hair,
takes her in his arms and places her on a bed
of shamrocks. They tremble as their lips meet
under the watchful cherub hovering above.
Their liquid world, except in moments
of gentle updraft, is, like the moon, a captive
of the earth’s pull. Marie and her gallant Will cling
to each other in a lifelong embrace, each
aware only of the other’s warmth…
until the droplet touches earth and evaporates
in a pool of blinding light.
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Blessings and Love - Micke
JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
Always,
Myrna
Have a great day
The Buzzard
EDWIN
Their liquid world, except in moments
of gentle updraft, is, like the moon, a captive
of the earth’s pull. Marie and her gallant Will cling
to each other in a lifelong embrace, each
aware only of the other’s warmth…
until the droplet touches earth and evaporates
in a pool of blinding light.
Satisfying as always. - David
the metaphorical liquification of souls.....coming together...finding and believing and dreaming in one another. .. .
the softness youve rendered is palpable and something feels liek a gregorian chant inside this; i hear humming and dewdrop[let]s. .. .the hum of earth, the hum of monasticism, the hum of lovers inside each other, and beside themselves as everything reveals the simplicity and the profoundness. .. .
of life and love....
so much captured and captivated
> <
ness
this poem gives me delightful chills of sensations
Love & Blessings
Vickie
stunning pen, Gene.
Carole~
Palette befittingly rich in color! Say it again: Yum! <3 'Pea <3
A journey.
Georg
Yes, Gene, our moments are that fragile, delicate and ephemeral, the exquisite beyond the solid wasn't meant to last long and the pools of blinding light, magnesium in intensity, evaporate all too quickly. This poem pushes me back in the chair in the best possible way.
John
I never read the original, but this
'modified' version rears back on muscular legs.
The cherub is my hero in this one.
blessings ...
In Rape of the Lock, Alexander Pope satirizes French Rosicrucian and alchemical writings when he invents a theory to explain the sylph. In a parody of heroic poetry and the "dark" and "mysterious" literature of pseudo-science, and in particular the sometimes esoterically Classical heroic poetry of the 18th century in England and France, Pope pretends to have a new alchemy, in which the sylph is the mystically, chemically condensed humors of peevish women. In Pope's poem, women who are full of spleen and vanity turn into sylphs when they die because their spirits are too full of dark vapors to ascend to the skies. Belinda, the heroine of Pope's poem, is attended by a small army of sylphs, who foster her vanity and guard her beauty. This is a parody of Paracelsus, inasmuch as Pope imitates the pseudo-science of alchemy to explain the seriousness with which vain women approach the dressing room. In a slight parody of the divine battle in John Milton's Paradise Lost, when the Baron of the poem attempts to cut a lock of Belinda's hair, the sylphs interpose their airy bodies between the blades of the scissors (to no effect whatsoever). The chief sylph in "The Rape of the Lock" has the same name as Prospero's servant in Shakespeare's The Tempest: Ariel.
Additive magic of the metaphysical and a quicksilver transporter through the bead of The Raindrop, Gene...and size doesn't matter, mythology comes in all sizes and shapes...oh, the stuff rain drops are made of...and transform into...
Love,
Sage