Makes me thinks of lines from Mr Peraza - boy, when it rains in NYC it really rains, no? Like that same night of the Bocelli Central Park concert, too.
Square falls of mighty waters
drown out the city’s din,
anaesthetise pain’s roar,
transfigure dust and devastation
down, down and away.
What is flesh but deluge and vapour;
spirit, if not power and cleansing?
... We all may know that a tortured soul can be far more piercing than anything mere physical pain can inflict and this reminds me also of the promise made in Titanic (which I watched on Wednesday - as if I need any MORE psyching up for Belfast in February!): to always go on and to never give up, no matter how hopeless things may seem. For those who are "wait, waiting" still for the plurality of life to complete their longing and vision, your words here will bring both comfort and a sting. That singing storm IS indeed a deliverer of "awful beauty" and we are somewhat powerless in mere frailty of flesh against its force; however, the spirit is strong: double exclamation marks!! :)) xx
Sometimes that eddy cannot be seen from the surface and we unwillingly get dragged into the vortex and pulled to depths we never had any intention of going to. How much power we give another should be our choice but if we miss something we should have notices, we can end up in a bad situation. Great words, Jude. Happy New Year.
Take care,
Sherry
Well I guess life can feel like a storm drain when either by choice or by chance we are forced to funnel the emotions of others through our little world. Patrick
Interesting that we both wrote about dreams last night. I have not been able to sleep lately, my dreams are filled with the deep seeded desires that I have buried for very long time. Your poem, ignites what my dreams have been doing to me as of late. Quite intensely felt over here on my shore.
This is fantastic, Jude. An awakening to the fact that what you think you want, and what you are waiting for the good to unfold is being smothered and drowned by unworthy sentiment. I so like this poem.
Contraband Marriage, traveling along the hemline of loving after incarceration, is a love story written in lyric and free form, set in reality with a different ever after.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
drowning dreams.
a fine write,
carolyn
from under a mushroom...
a storms intensity
*Jude* which you, oh dear
one,have captured in your poem
Lady Vivian
Chip Bergeron
Regis
to become the enchanting dream you were waiting for
Lady Mary Ann excellent !
Square falls of mighty waters
drown out the city’s din,
anaesthetise pain’s roar,
transfigure dust and devastation
down, down and away.
What is flesh but deluge and vapour;
spirit, if not power and cleansing?
... We all may know that a tortured soul can be far more piercing than anything mere physical pain can inflict and this reminds me also of the promise made in Titanic (which I watched on Wednesday - as if I need any MORE psyching up for Belfast in February!): to always go on and to never give up, no matter how hopeless things may seem. For those who are "wait, waiting" still for the plurality of life to complete their longing and vision, your words here will bring both comfort and a sting. That singing storm IS indeed a deliverer of "awful beauty" and we are somewhat powerless in mere frailty of flesh against its force; however, the spirit is strong: double exclamation marks!! :)) xx
Take care,
Sherry
Blessings,
Christine
Much peace, light, and love,
Amber