From beyond a closed garden
distance speaks
the language of loss
reminded through the whistling
of greyish dusty leaves
Sounds travel early in the afternoon
in the aftermath of syncopated
dances, ap-proximate moves
of separated yearnings
for contact
paradox
lemon drop on sweet wound
The jar of clichés
and misty souvenirs
fuller each day
fragments of the world
carried like painful
gallstones
while daylight travels
brushes tired buildings
that hoist illusions of life
Distance moves
like a dress that hangs
on the balcony
and through the folds
its shadows and lights
write ephemeral music
that finally reaches the soul.
Soulfully delightful read. I enjoyed the metaphors of health and distance and moving and all. Makes one think hard about life as it stands right now too. You are one of my favorite poets here on the den. Just too busy always to get to yours when I sign on. Sorry for that. cause you really have great messages in your verses.
I want to tell you that your last two stanzas are my favorite, but the truth is, Axilea, the entire poem is wonderful. You write with power, imagery and intelligence...your use of language amazes me.
Axilea,
Your thoughts ring clear, this poem resonates with my inner being. Lovely choice of words, I especially liked this stanza,
"The jar of clichés
and misty souvenirs
fuller each day
fragments of the world
carried like painful
galstones
while daylight travels
brushes tired buildings
that hoist illusions of life"
Very powerful and creative way you wrote this. I really liked it..
Peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"
This conjures up such beautiful images. To me it is like a painting of a country scene...in black and white or sepia tones...but that has somewhat bleached colors either fading into those sepiaish tones or trying to come through those tones.
This is one of my favorites of yours. The music of it resonates within me.
Cryssa
Here's a soft-sounding poem when read aloud (which I always love to do with your poetry) and yet grasping its meaning is like trying to hold a monday in your hand. I love the paradox here that distance can reach you...I'm trying to wrap my mind around that--can see glimpses of it, but just as I approach clarity, it illudes me, but I love it all the same.
I love how you separate your words for further meaning--like "ap-proximate"...again, the distance (or actually in this case, the nearness) is accentuated. Then too, the title "di-stance" reiterates the separateness of stance from the two, and then later, the dances--not quite in sync, but both dancing, and once again, in the folds of a fabric, distance speaks again, but this time in shadows and lights-- two opposites working together to create something beautiful, like Chopin's music--a melancholy that heals sadness.
There is hope after all, that the little bits of rubble inside our minds/hearts/souls that we keep collecting will eventually find a dustbin. Perhaps there's a kind of music that melts them too, as it does distance.
Axilea,
Yes, I am one of those tired buildings and it's not just for me a jar but a room full of cliches and "misty souvenirs" (perfect, that); this strikes and plucks long, deep vibrating chords. Exquisite!
John
I'm always in awe of the way you use such sharply-focussed and imaged descriptions: "paradox lemon drop on sweet wound" - yet weave them seamlessly into flowing constructs of language and concept. The movement through that dress hanging on the balcony certainly shortens the distance between the head and the heart as they grapple with life's duallisms and dichotomies. Contact made here! :)) xx
Reviewed by ~ H (Reader)
Reviewed on June 16, 2009
Fantastic poem Axilea...I too love the last seven lines in particular...it flows beautifully. Love Holly
That music is in constant movement between and around the temporal things and memories that hold us with gravity to earth. But it is through them that the music can be heard. Oh love this. That last stanza is superb!
The second book in the telepathy series. It contains more ways for the up and coming telepathist to experiment with the sending and receiving of thoughts and is at the end of the story about future telepathy people found unexpectedly chosen by the go
The second book in the telepathy series. It contains more ways for the up and coming telepathist to experiment with the sending and receiving of thoughts and is at the end of the story about future telepathy people found unexpectedly chosen by the go
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
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'fragments of the world"
Beautifully…
Sheila
Your thoughts ring clear, this poem resonates with my inner being. Lovely choice of words, I especially liked this stanza,
"The jar of clichés
and misty souvenirs
fuller each day
fragments of the world
carried like painful
galstones
while daylight travels
brushes tired buildings
that hoist illusions of life"
Very powerful and creative way you wrote this. I really liked it..
Peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"
Regis
Be always safe,
Karen
This is one of my favorites of yours. The music of it resonates within me.
Cryssa
Excellent work, Axilea, leaves much to ponder.
I love how you separate your words for further meaning--like "ap-proximate"...again, the distance (or actually in this case, the nearness) is accentuated. Then too, the title "di-stance" reiterates the separateness of stance from the two, and then later, the dances--not quite in sync, but both dancing, and once again, in the folds of a fabric, distance speaks again, but this time in shadows and lights-- two opposites working together to create something beautiful, like Chopin's music--a melancholy that heals sadness.
There is hope after all, that the little bits of rubble inside our minds/hearts/souls that we keep collecting will eventually find a dustbin. Perhaps there's a kind of music that melts them too, as it does distance.
Distance approaching--I still love it. --Charlie
linger over the language of this beautifully crafted poem.
-gene.
carried like painful
galstones "
one of the many powerful images ....
hugs
fee
Yes, I am one of those tired buildings and it's not just for me a jar but a room full of cliches and "misty souvenirs" (perfect, that); this strikes and plucks long, deep vibrating chords. Exquisite!
John
Peter
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in America, Karen Lynn in Texas. :D
Lin