I wonder where the words come from,
full grown, all of life
reduced to a viscous ink
crawling slowly on bleak parchment
I draw lines from each verse and metaphor
to places, people, things packed tight in coffins of spent time,
and I hope the vectors will coalesce
into a dark tunnel leading back to a single source,
but I see them disperse weakly
seemingly lost, asking for directions, bending into flaccid arcs,
each a spider trapped in its homespun web,
and now I want to write about love
and the flashing spectrum of truth
as light weaves in and out of it
or maybe those are bodies moving in and out of clouds
leaving rainbow coloured embroidery on the sky
or are they ugly sutures on a purple wound
what do I know of lies and hue and healing
the lines bend and turn away from the past
whatever birthed those bastard words is gone
they seem not to know what happened
but where I will be going next
before I even concede
it is time to move on.
Another great work which makes me feel u r a flawless weaver of words… It was a nice read! π
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Thanks so much Vijita..
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Eloquent and full of deep visuals. You do pen a fine poem Sir.
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Thank you Paul… ‘sir’ is the wrong gender though ππ
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Yikes. My apologies.
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No problem sir π
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Your stunning poem brings to mind my favorite Neruda quote, the one about “everything exist[ing] in the word.” Isn’t it wonderful (and sometimes terrifying) that the same words can hurt or soothe or do both at the same time, depending in the circumstances? Words are glorious things and whoever birthed them is pure magic.
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Thanks Magaly π
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No better description of poetry than “things packed tight in coffins of spent time.” And what we learn to write — “of lies and hues and healing” is never more than conditional and fleeting and sure only that sea and blood are salty. Great stuff.
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Thank you Brendan…
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So beautiful, Rajani. I love my visits to your site π
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Thanks so much Ryan, glad you liked it π
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What a lovely way to speak about truth and love: as light weaves in and out of it
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Thank you Toni π
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π
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How well this reads. Even those bastard words can be put to good us or be left behind in last years dictionary.
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Thanks Robin.
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words… asking for direction … and we try to shape them
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Thanks Margaret.
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leaving rainbow coloured embroidery on the sky………. loved this line. Another enjoyable poem to read.
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Thank you Julian..
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As always, your images are stunning, Rajani. “…all of life reduced to a vicious ink…”. Wonderful!
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Thanks so much Sarah…
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You have such a gift for imagery, Rajani. Wonderfully done.
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Thanks so much Sherry π
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You always dazzle me with your brilliant images and the turn of phrase. This is particularly apt for me at present, and I felt really drawn into the poem.
are they ugly sutures on a purple wound
what do I know of lies and hue and healing
the lines bend and turn away from the past
whatever birthed those bastard words is gone
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Thank you Kerry. Much appreciated.
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but where I will be going next
before I even concede
it is time to move on.
Circumstances often make us decide rashly which is not a good thing. Good ending Thot!
Hank
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Thanks Hank…
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A wonderful write!
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Thanks so much Annell.
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Asking for directions… funny to think of words and writing this way.
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I often wonder where the words come from! I love this one, Rajani!
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Thanks so much Kimπ
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My goodness this is good!β€οΈ Especially; “what do I know of lies and hue and healing the lines bend and turn away from the past whatever birthed those bastard words is gone they seem not to know what happened but where I will be going next before I even concede it is time to move on.” You left me quite breathless with this one!β€οΈ
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Thank you Sanaa π
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“I draw lines from each verse and metaphor
to places, people, things packed tight in coffins of spent time,
and I hope the vectors will coalesce”
yes the process is amazing
much love…
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Thanks Gillena
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