Such a thin membrane to face the world with. Because of our frailties we had to invent clothing. Also that shame thing passed down to us when we hid from Gods wrath. Our collective conscience would cringe in shame for our psychological nakedness; for if we knew the wrath of our Lord, our clothing would not be enough. Perhaps I'm reading more than was meant into your poem, but the skin can be read like a stratified record. It tells our age, what we have done and where we have been. The remnant of smiles rests in the subtle wrinkling around our eyes, the crink of light forehead lines tells of our laughter and our sadness. Excellent words here Axilea. Bob

Very interesting -- have you started to look deeper within- removed the shell and seen the real beauty- the contents is more valuable then the context.

stan
the alston x'perience

here's mature self-awareness in both
thought and articulation and not frivolous
self-consciousness.. f s-c would be so easy
given the theme but your work, Axilea,
is way above that - serious without being
pedantic or heaven forbid - preachy!
not just the poet but the reader feels this,
this intimate skin, our largest organ, our
complete blanket
excellent poem

john

It's magic the parts which make us. An interesting poem.

Tantalising and seductive, Axilea, presenting this most intimate and beautiful of connective tissue in all its inside/outside glory. 'Tis truly one of the most wondrous substances of which we are made, coming together (as it does) in so many forms, colours and translucencies. A worthy celebration, extolling the virtues up-close and personal. What I like most is the way this skin-portrait breathes through its own pores, challenging the reader to look beyond the "skin-deep" -thing and to realise just how much it feels, thinks, acts for itself and uniquely. So, in answer to your question: please inhabit it to the full and continue to revel in its remarkable properties and life-giving bloom. xx

Extraordinary poetry. Such an outstanding concept. Covered head to toe. You're born with it. . .so in the end the scars of life are recorded on it. I like the way you put your question mark. They roll and flow one into the next. Excellent!

db

Amazing, it is! Skin, our largest organ, so taken for granted; but just imagine life without it! We humans have pretty vulnerable encasements; we have to rely on our wits to protect ourselves from all sorts of dangers.

I'm reminded of what we used to call "skin eggs". (I was raised on an egg farm.) Close to molting time, chickens sometimes lay eggs without the shells. Through the thick skin, you can actually see the yolk swimming around in its liquid sack-- pretty cool, but it always did remind me how like those eggs we are--okay, a little less opaque-- I mean, it's not like we can actually see our heart and lungs through our seven layers, but one stab, and we're pierced; our liquid gushes out. The shell, it's the egg's bone, worn on the outside, giving structure, protection, etc. So there you have it, we're inside-out eggs, every one of us. So we should never be offended when those egg-headed males call us "chicks"! See, that just means we made it out of our shells without breaking. --Charlie

interesting how we let some get under our skin, while others make it crawl... and if beauty is only skin deep, we are glibly dismissive of the overly superficial veneer others might parade about in. Nonetheless, your poem, with its rich imagery and rare redolent rush of blood, just beneath the surface of our radiant blanket of bluster and blush, ... your poem, I say, probes to caress the contours of our craniums in a crush of skin on skin entanglement that permeates the plush pallor of our lithe, supple skinetic lives in a waterfall of somatic words... well done, as usual, Axiliea... (and don't be too hard on dear Odin, sweets! He was probably just trying to give you the skinny on your poem in his customarily loquacious way)... ha! I'm one to talk, aren't I... ;) ...by the way... I just got the play on words infused 'within' your title! Now I'll have to read it all over again to uncover all the hidden meanings... kind of like a palm reading? eh? Never know what I'll uncover 'with skin'... Lovely write, darling.



Roger

I just sat back and enjoyed the poem

skin aside, it is the structure of this poem that fascinates me...three times the author asks an impossible question to herself, each time drawing the reader deeper into the issue. at last--the question is turned directly to the reader, creating a sense of intimacy that only a perfect poem can achieve.

I want you to be comfortable in it!!!

Chip Bergeron

you live this life within it is all you can do and cherish every moment we have
budd

Dear Axilea MU, I understand you very well, I had the same stuff with my skin, But I learned during the years that everything changes. You put it very well. Love Emile

Well, abandon SKIN. Therein rests the essence of your piece. It is VERY arguable that the flesh constitutes far too much of our consideration. Not to denigrate the enjoyment and completely natural value of the flesh, BUT, only the unconscious would give it the kind of credence it now enjoys. Balance of the inner vs the outer is is vicious conflict globally. Would that our world society could spend a balanced modicum of time with both. Until that takes place, can we afford to spend so much time concerned with the shortfall of "skin's" achievements? Many would think not.