A woman's art... captured with such beauty. You know, Axilea, often after reading your work, I take a deep breath...or maybe sigh a little...it's that good.
Your poetry winds its way through and always leaves me feeling as though there is that elusive hidden meaning locked inside...It is a beautiful feeling though! :~)
Cryssa
Axilea,
Crafted and layered, a carving of personal vision...limbs of tree and human fuse, are one and the same; we are with branches after all and share living and breathing...but there is here, too, what is unique to female gender: conception, carrying, giving birth. It isn't a question of covering so much ground as evoking it exquisitely. I love this poem, one of your finest.
Graceful and full. I think she felt somewhat like I do--smug at the thought of producing something so beautiful, and at her age, too! :)
I love trees. I think birch trees are my favorites this year. Poplars are all chatty, and plum trees are kind of frumpy and motherly, but birch trees-- they're so...so sheltering, not in a weepy way, like willows, but graceful and sweet, like my mother.
July came in August this year,
and the birch trees...
the birch trees are wilting.
They cut off her arm,
where her leaves went numb,
and shaved her lover's rakish hair.
and the white of her bark
was left with the mark of
paper-peeling scars, sap-bleeding.
I put my arms around her middle
and will her to make it through this cruel summer,
because July--
it came in August this year,
and the birch trees--
the birch trees are wilting.
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a beautiful line
shines at her feet,
I sense her smile"... a lovely ending.
Regis
Arms, branches, embraces,
wrapped up in the reviving wind -
winding fusion under the sun’s
warm complicity -
a woman and a tree.
and time disappears:
when time becomes weightless
and carmine paint on the canvas
shines at her feet,
I sense her smile.
- David
Cryssa
Poetic justice at its best...Simply captivating and beautifully constructed....
Crafted and layered, a carving of personal vision...limbs of tree and human fuse, are one and the same; we are with branches after all and share living and breathing...but there is here, too, what is unique to female gender: conception, carrying, giving birth. It isn't a question of covering so much ground as evoking it exquisitely. I love this poem, one of your finest.
John
hugs
fee
I love trees. I think birch trees are my favorites this year. Poplars are all chatty, and plum trees are kind of frumpy and motherly, but birch trees-- they're so...so sheltering, not in a weepy way, like willows, but graceful and sweet, like my mother.
July came in August this year,
and the birch trees...
the birch trees are wilting.
They cut off her arm,
where her leaves went numb,
and shaved her lover's rakish hair.
and the white of her bark
was left with the mark of
paper-peeling scars, sap-bleeding.
I put my arms around her middle
and will her to make it through this cruel summer,
because July--
it came in August this year,
and the birch trees--
the birch trees are wilting.