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Intoxicated by your silky swish
Ever my love grows
from
that salty, starlit sky
And there, somewhere
between
that silky sky and earth
we merge
Our frosted dew-drops
drip,
and melt from heaven
As we sail and sail
upon
the mercy of the wind
Like tiny newborn spiders
tethered
to gossamer
Floating high, high
in
the atmosphere
Where the first beams of sunlight
dance
across our dappled souls
As we leave the verdant green
of earth’s naivety
to tap, upon the gates of heaven
And sigh, in the misty shadows
as angels
throw the gates wide open
Intoxicated, by the silky swish
of
your fragrant bloom
~/~
Wow! Let me pause to take a
Wow! Let me pause to take a breath . . . if I can catch my breath after reading this manificent poem. Only a few Poets, most of them here on Postpoems, can affect me in this way. And if I am not able to catch my breath, I am going to send you an invoice for its replacement, lol.
Here is the metaphor, by which I am going to try to describe what this Poem does. I saw a music video in which the Dublin Philharmonic Orchestra was performing the first movement of my very favorite symphony, Dvorak's Ninth, Aus Der Neuen Welt. As the melody approach its completion, the various instruments are playing vigorously, each one following its own process, but the sum total of that process is Dvorak's most masterful composition. This poem works the same way: there are many processes going on, being observed by the speaker's consciousness, and while each process could be a singular incident, the gathering of them in a single poem orchestrates them to the point where the sum of them is the poem, the plurality of them become the singularity of the poem. On a large scale, this kind of artistry leads to epics---I think of Vergil, primarily. But the size of the poem ultimately is no indicator of its poetic strength and meaning. Terms and labels ultimately are no indication of those things, either. All that matters is the effect of the poem on its reader, and this poem succeeds . . . magnificently, triumphantly, and consistently. Most poems are meteorizes that flash across the sky in a streak and then fall to earth and sputter out. But some poems are like stars---able to produce such a powerful effect that their light can cross hundreds, sometimes thousands, of light years to reach us. This poem is like those stars.
Starward