"...the books we need are the kind that act upon us like a misfortune, that make us suffer like the death of someone we love more than ourselves, that make us feel as though we were on the verge of suicide, or lost in a forest remote from all human habitation - a book should serve as the axe for the frozen seas within us."
from a letter of Franz Kafka to Oskar Pollak
UNHOLY SHRINE
Sharp-pointed words prick my eyes
with sight, searing and releasing.
a quiet light enters - silent, reverent
- with soft and gentle bare-foot tread;
stands blinking in this impenetrable ink
of the soul.
This black pit the place where sacred life
has been spent entombed.
Lifting the lid on some nameless casket,
the stranger inside awaits identification.
Feeling enters, travelling along the burning fuse
of fresh-awakened nerve-ends.
The pyre is lit; undiscovered forests
of submerged self scream out
their unknown anguish.
At last the unfed spectre freed within
feasts on the sweet morsels of pain
that are hers
Out of your myriad of brilliant poems, this ranks with the best you've ever done--sharp imagery and intense wordage brings this poem vividly to life! Yes, I'm saving it (thank you).
Sometimes the walls of the crypt become to high to see over
and each brick is placed by those let in the front door
but slamming it as they exit
you have reached that dark place within us all the one built of shadows and pain
Love this write, Kate!! "sweet morsels of pain" can be the path to our deeper and most authentic selves. Perhaps this is why some seeking God through the centuries have chosen to ritually whip and cut themselves to artificially enduce enlightenment. To feel. Don't believe that works, however. The stripes that are cut inside of us--leaving us open and bleeding to truth--are those that open our eyes...
Back in those days, when the Vikings put their dead on a boat and let it drift out to sea as it burned and consumed the soul within, their hero was so honored. The darkness in this write is fed by the fire within.
Wow sweet Kate this one is deep and scarey, not sure if I catch full implications of it all but for the most part it leaves me feeling a kinship with the girl waiting to lift the lid on what may be inside the casket. Sorta like a modern or gothic Pandora's box. Great work as always Kate.
Early Works is an exhaustive compilation of the first decade of the poems and stories of Z.B.McClure. Included are family photos, rare personal photos, photos of 1st draft manuscripts of many of his early poems. Also some biography and memoir materia
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of submerged self scream out
their unknown anguish.
Pround dark write...this is very creative stuff from you...clap clap clap....love n luck.....BHUWAN!!
Very dark, old girl.
Out of your myriad of brilliant poems, this ranks with the best you've ever done--sharp imagery and intense wordage brings this poem vividly to life! Yes, I'm saving it (thank you).
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. :)
Alrisha
and each brick is placed by those let in the front door
but slamming it as they exit
you have reached that dark place within us all the one built of shadows and pain
of fresh-awakened nerve-ends"
sometime the pain is beautiful when it inspires such profound imagery and insight ...
mermerizing ...
thanks for sharing
Pops