Both sides of that equation are highly sensuous, @Michelle. You must be in a languid and luxurious mood, to see yourself reacting so deliciously to warmth and light.
Very astrological in the general feeling of this, @Michelle.
The "ever after" sounds like what I've sometimes described as "beyond the stars" - the idea of a state where everything is one. I think it covers a number of concepts, and suggests you are feeling connected to a greater, universal reality or consciousness.
Or I may be missing the point entirely...!
The hex, then, is the curse of darkness, distress, hopelessness, and you identify someone as able to pierce that for you, @Michelle.
There is a violence, a determination, in this punching of holes, though. Albeit it is directed at whatever darkens your world.
May this give you comfort.
It is always interesting to hear a poem in the writer's own intonation, @Michelle. Thankyou.
Does this mean you are also thinking of branching into audio books? Just a thought for you to play with... 😉.
There is loneliness, almost abandonment in that one, @Michelle . It has a visionary sense. A dream, maybe, at least a visualisation, to express breathlessness of a grief or sadness. The mountains are a brooding, watching presence, the trees resigned to the tragedy of the lonely heart. Blood and bone may be the sacrifice, but it is insufficient an offering to relieve, to take the pressure off, the chest and to permit freedom just to breathe
"Feral" blood, presumably, indicates wild, untamed passion. Wrist and neck are pulse points - therefore consciousness of an increased heart-rate.. A pressure that seems about to break forth on account of someone absent.
Breathe, @Michelle , and commune with the stars. Lest you burst.
The sepulchre, an earthbound, restricted place where there is no light, sense, feeling. The stars, the freedom of the sky, the cosmic givers of life. A significant change of viewpoint; though I would continue to protest, @Michelle, that, whatever has brought this about, you were actually up there already. You just needed to see it. The real change, perhaps, is a sense of self-worth.
Hmm... I see the storm in the final element of this one, @Michelle. The heat of a too cruel summer building a tension to be roared out in a release from the sufferring of purgatorial sun's fire. The weather getting you down, I take it.
By the way, as you mention rose, I recall you have wild roses nearby. Roses do well with spent coffee grounds, of which I suspect you have plenty. Don't overdo it though - they can make the soil very acidic.
Shocked quartz. Found where lightning strikes, meteors impact, or other cataclysmic violence has occurred.
So, someone has had an effect on you that you liken to such a phenomenon, @Michelle ? Maybe, though you undervalue yourself as having been a mere "bed of clay" in that case. And it is interesting that you would represent yourself as, effectively, thunderstruck.
If that interpretation is correct, you pay someone a huge compliment. But, perhaps, there was always more that shimmers and is shot through with precious metal in yourself than you credit.
Riiight...
It does, rather, depend on whether you buried them under the concrete, of course, @Michelle . But composting your enemies at least puts them to some good use I suppose.
Interesting to see your vengeful side, though...
You really, really know how to tempt me, @Michelle. I'm on my way.
I have a feeling @a96c3806 has his head in his hands, groaning "Oh no, they are off again..." Poor chap. We keep hijacking his threads...
Anyhow, it is late here, and I must consider sleep, so he can start to relax as well! Night-night.
Have you not heard of relativity, @Michelle ? From a where I stand, you seem quite young enough to be snapping whilst wielding a whip.
[Sits back and waits to see how she will play with that one... 🤣]
Seems fine as it, is to my ear, at least.
There is a dreamlike quality to this one, @Michelle . A chrysalis is what the immature creature creates around itself. Making one of moonlight suggests night-time contemplation. A preparation in meditation of the damaged psyche - perhaps one that has not been permitted to develop fully - to take flight as it should. The sense is that it has been earthbound, but that this is not its real nature. Maybe it is the wings themselves that were broken; now created anew that the person might be able "to fly" at last.
@49494e27 Ahem...
I suspect I am some way further along that road than either of you, @Michelle & @a96c3806 - so, please, young whippersnappers, do not wish yourself into age related tiredness and maudlinity any sooner than is necessary.
"Maudlinity"...? Have I just made up a new word?
Hmm. More to this than meets the eye, I think, @Michelle.
You could, almost, be referencing tattoos with the "inscriptions", but that is both too obvious and does not fit. They are not in braille, far less carved runes, and, so, are not deciphered by touch. Nor, as far as I know, are you literally bearing runic script in scar tissue.
So, what you seek is a mental, emotional touch, to sense the scars of that non physical nature that may run deep, but are still there to be felt on the surface. Old wounds that memory refuses to smooth, but cuts open again. The mouth is not a reference to a physical kiss, but to words of empathy and understanding, giving meaning to the experience of this life (this flesh) in an expression that, however loving, supportive and understanding, is innocent of anything improper (without sin). The canopy of stars is an almost dreamlike communion, or communication that, as "beneath the sky", could be anywhere on this earth. Distance no impediment.
I hope you find the communication you seek, if I am correct about this.
Ultimately, in what, here, is called death, then, @Michelle. That seems to look forward to a particularly intimate embrace. More a melting into one.
For now, in dreams, where the same is possible.
So the cataract is sorrow, @Michelle . It is sorrow itself that blinds your heart... to what?
Not love, for you address one in those terms. Maybe, though, the realisation, the free acceptance, the confidence of it.
The temperature that consumes blinding sorrow? The conflagration that is the very nature of the heart itself, then. I would, philosophically, suggest the temperature of the explosion that manifested a universe of life, which prefigures the emotional fire of one's inner being.
There's another poem in there, somewhere...
The cycle of life in the macrocosm, @Michelle, that constructs us all from stardust and flings our atoms, intermixed, into space. And who knows but they may be remade into another star, to burn together once more...
We do not know what state the stars are in, @Michelle - we see only what they were over more or less vast periods of time. Hence, their exhumation - their light becoming almost a form of immortality for the fallen bodies of the heavens. It is in this context that I would tend to read the rest of the poem - this is life, death, rebirth and immortality pictured in the seemingly endless cycles of movement. Maybe the deranged cadence of the tender heart is the rhythm or song of one who sees this, beyond all rational, scientific refusal. And even the earth itself is caught in this same series of interlocking cycles within the greater cycle of the cosmos.
And so, it moves.
Earth, then, becomes as an island in the ocean of the night; a poor, benighted place. But even that ocean, that night sky, is damaged. How is it bruised? You pour your heart out to the moon and stars, @Michelle - has the sky itself suffered from your "graceless dread" over time? Do you feel it has witnessed too much?
"Graceless" has an idea of ingratitude, suggesting you know the dread is misplaced. A dread of what? Given the promise of escape and what you say awaits, of rejection, I suspect.
Bruised or not, in, or perhaps beyond, that sky, the waiting arms. Something restorative, safe. A hope for a love to be found, at last, beyond time and place, perhaps. This strikes me as an idea that is of a highly "spiritual" nature.
Fear of causing unwarranted pain to another - hesitation in reaching out, betraying, perhaps, too tender a concern. Maybe a fear that the reaching out may lead to rejection.
Yet, if that heart has already been touched, what real basis can there be to tremble, @Michelle? The power of fear is always greatest in anticipation, I think.
Then I will seek to remind you often, @Michelle.
Any thoughts, @a96c3806? Do you need a gruff and bad tempered old Welshman barking "Take a rest" at you??? 😡🥱😆
In the words of Clannad, no matter where you go, we will find you, @Michelle.
There is but one answer to this. I think we need some sort of poets' relaxation and recuperation club, Michelle & @a96c3806
The fire within is admirable. But that does not mean you are obliged to be consumed in the conflagration, though, @Michelle.
Duty is a strange concept. Imposed from outside, or self imposed, it has a habit of blinding people to their own needs, I find. You are the fuel to that fire. Be economical, if that is the issue here.
@a96c3806 Well, I want to hear you, @Michelle, and if anyone does not, it is their loss. You say what you feel; how can that not be worth hearing?
Not that I am so arrogant as to claim to make you feel anything, of course...!
All that you are physically - that is inevitable, @Michelle. But all that is, in a more "real" sense, you - I think that may always have been beyond the reach of the cosmos.
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