Away
from the tension,
those extended megalopolis survivors
you are a dweller of non-places
a transit citizen
/
moving near, not quite
brushing barely touching
detached from the goddess's
warmth
keeping
keeping it cold
/
unloved cool-water fish
perpetual passenger
what is your strength?
what do you stand on?
\
Is it the extreme solitude
pulverized by the arrow of your movement?
/
What is left
of your collective existence,
fractioned, functionalized
by conventional money-making?
/
What happened
to your love alliance?
Asthmatic angst and fusional dreams
cancelled each other out.
Out,
in the non-place
you catch your breath
carefully keeping it
away
from the heart
the art of detachment, I hope for continued inspirational conversations for you. A unique write, interesting to read and fusional dreams I love. enjoyed much. ~ Morgan
I wonder what it would be like if you were a psychiatrist?? After reading this I had a hunch you would be very perceptive in understanding people as we really are--not as we seem to be--LOL-well done--at least I can sleep at nights knowing you haven't figured me out completely-LOL
I must wonder what kind of conversation drew this work out? How beautiful the words flow from where a conversation left off and a dream like state followed.
Disassociation is the new norm as the 'plastic society' that I have always referred to them as being, and I note that Charlie too associates them with the same term. There or here and everywhere but nowhere when it comes time for accountability. They flow like an endless stream on the tides of good fortune and ebb when it is time to accept life's unpleasant details. Transient is more applicable as they exist in the fringes of society. Good to read your work again Axilea. May love and peace be always with you my dear friend. Jon Michael
I'm right in sync with you here, Axilea. There was a time when people primarily lived in places where they could really sink (sync?) down roots--feel the solidness and solidarity of earth beneath them and live among plants and animals where one could feel the perpetual spring of life and then death surrounding them as they stood pivotal center like a tree. I've experienced that. Felt the permanence of merely being. Now I live in a college town where my neighbors come and go in nine month increments--some less, some more. We live for/by/from/in plastic and paper containers. Use and toss. What ever happened to canning jars? Sealing wax? Rag rugs and seed-planted apple trees? But I am waxing long, and you say it all far better. --Charlie
A pleasing arrangement here Mu. The disconnectedness of the CITY. Possibly of the life we find ourselves in. Hard to feel near the earth when the constructs of civilization without harmony intrude. Personally I think you're getting at, even though you may not realize it, the shrinking and uninvolved worlds we tend to contract to. When our circle of flesh and blood acquaintances shrinks to only a few and the virtual population burgeons, do we not feel cut off and lonely in the heart? I like your expressions here. Bob
From First Love to its destructive end and on to new beginnings, Mary Angela Nangini's poems explore the birth and death of a relationship. The powerful poems are presented in two parts with an introduction to her next book My Ontario Beautiful. (Th
If you tend to believe romantic, passionate, masculine poetry is a thing of past eras, read "She Intrigues Me," and be swept away in the beautiful craft of a contemporary poet of love.
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