You are neither a phoenix hatched out of paradise
nor an eagle carved from golden distinction.
Your stature poses oddly between crow-sized
and hawk-like, denying the genus to which you belong.
And poets gazing upon you do not frost their tongues with praise.
Your color is irresistible for reasons that are unholy.
Your eyes cast nets that liberate the imprisoned.
Where you command power is from the chair of your song;
your trill annihilates and recreates my heart at will.
Symphonies spill from your wings like genesis
pouring down in torrents from the lips of the sun.
If I am a god of some notable stature, it is only
because your soul has given birth to my love,
your wings revealed to my breath its purpose for being.
From VISIONS OF A SKYLARK DRESSED IN BLACK: please click here to download a free excerpt from the book
By Aberjhani
"symphonies spill from your wings like genesis"
feels like something I know about
loved the picture and poem
nicely done
Chrissy
Open the wings, open the heart and embrace the love of our Creator!
Love & Light always and in all ways,
Joseph*
Ron
beautiful
the power of love
If I am a god of some notable stature, it is only
because your soul has given birth to my love,
wow
In gratitude and admiration.
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
profound work..marvelous thought process and incredibly unique approach..mmmm..as per usual I am in awe..sigh.:)
Saved this one..Thankyou!
Vesna
Paul;-)
Love Tinka
Sandie Angel a.k.a. Sandie May Angel :o)
As I have already said, this muse is startling.
Chanti
I'm always in awe of talent like yours that
just seems to flow with ease from some
special place within , that only few have
which makes you a rare and laudable poet!
Thank you,
ET
(((HUGS))) and much love, your Texas friend, Karen Lynn. :D
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
I'm returning to Savannah for Thanksgiving. Perhaps you, me and my daughter Mariah Rowse (here at AD) can have tea somewhere.
Susan
I suffered for young birds, for young rabbits caught in the mower,
My grief was not excessive.
For to come upon warblers in early May
Was to foeget time and death:
How they filled the oriole's elm, a twittering restless cloud, all one morning,And I watched and watched till my eyes blurred from the bird shapes,--
Cape May, Blackburnian, Cerulean, --
Moving, elusive as fish, fearless,
Hanging, bunched like young fruit, bending the end branches,
Still for a moment,
Then pitching away in half-flight,
Lighter than finches,
While the wrens bickered and sang in the half-green hedgerows,
And the flicker drummed from his dead tree in the chicken-yard.
******
So, you're in good company, Aberjhani. The skylark and Ted Roethke, high flyers both.
There is something about "How the Sky God Confessed Love for the Skylark" that piques the desire to find those wings we all have hidden and spread them out and fly.
Light and Wisdom ...
Richard Lloyd Cederberg
Elizabeth
I would also like to thank you for taking your time to read and review my work.
Bom Bhole!
Roshan
Xxx dove
Debra
Quite exceptional work from an exceptional artist..
Peter
Susan