April 30, 2016

reposed with a lighthouse sentience ......................................................................#NaPoWriMo2016

The Earth Goddess at Atlanta Botanical Garden
photo by Steven W Lum ©

to burn in the turn 
toward morning 
with a love 
for someone 
throughout all 
of eternity 
and you are
a bread of life 
Sun in the East
fireflies at the edge 
of a forest at night 
every poem 
every ghost 
whispering :

here, I am 
at the altar 
a beggar 
I serve you 
thunder trumpets
tender bells and
un-toiled beasts
I bring flowers 
for your hair 
a satchel of petals 
spared for 
the rung with candles 
bath I have drawn 
I left the window open 
as there is a nice breeze 
this evening 
and night 
likes to listen 
to women 
and the sounds 
water makes when 
falling and pooling 
to feel and be
all around them 

is being quested 
or arrested by love's 
wordless plunder 
worth it ...
ask any soul 
who has lived 
with love sickness 
and you'll know 
who doth bear torches 
in heaven and hell 
lighting the way 
between dreams 
and the lives we sell 
for feasts, fools 
and destiny alike 



  1. First and foremost, this is a beautiful, romantic, and loving poem that touches me deeply. But I still can't help but play in it. :)

    reposed, re-posed, repost, rep-o-said (that's a sales rep for orgasms, I suppose ... like the peddler in one of your previous poems)

    I love the idea that a sentence could be a lighthouse. I know that's not what you said, but still.

    I also think it's beautiful to think of a deeply feeling person as a lighthouse, maybe your lighthouse. ... Or for a lighthouse to have the ability to feel for the ship it's guiding. That would make a sweet children's book/movie.

    Now, going beyond the title ...

    "here, I am" ... The comma completely changes the meaning of the line. Instead of saying, "here I am at the altar," you're saying "here, I exist," which of course suggests that elsewhere, you feel as if you don't exist.

    artistry" ... I read this as "whip-lead artistry." In any case, by not spelling out "with," you invite me to fill in an assortment of "w" words. Even "word-plead artistry." Word-played ... we played ... we plead ... weep lead ... why plead ... There's even an almost-whiplash in there.

    "I serve you
    thunder trumpets
    tender bells and
    un-toiled beasts" ... I love the hidden sensuality in this.

    "I bring flowers
    for your hair
    a satchel of petals
    spared for
    the rung with candles" ... This is my favorite part. The rung makes me picture a symbolic ladder of ascension, covered in petals and candles, which represent scent. This makes me think of that heady feeling one gets when closing his/her eyes to disappear into a fragrance ... like magnolias, for me.

    "rung" also touches back on the bells, which are both beautiful and orgasmic. I'm also picturing these candles trying to step outside their limitations; they are designed for smelling and looking nice, but here, they are stretching themselves so as to make a sound as well. Inside the burning, there is the imagining of a tender bell being heard, so softly that you wonder if you really heard it.

    "bath I have drawn" ... With this line break, it becomes a sketch you've done, the offering is the idea of a bath, captured on paper.

    "un-toiled beasts" ... This makes me think of the Garden of Eden, before the animals (and people) had to work. It's as if you're Adam.

    I also picture "thunder trumpets" and "tender bells" as being types of flowers.

    "before" on its own line also suggests that you're "serving her" in front of the thunder, the flowers, and the beasts. Serving her, as in pleasuring her, as in waiting on her, as in doing nice things for her ... but also as in serving her as the meal, as if you've cooked and prepared her for your company. And you're serving her first, before the rest of the dishes you've cooked.

    Because you go on to put flowers in her hair, I wonder if she's actually a geisha that you're decorating. I'm thinking of the scenes in Mulan in which the young girl is learning how to properly serve tea and such.

  2. "I left the window open
    as there is a nice breeze
    this evening" ... The phrase "nice breeze" makes me think that sometimes there is such a thing as a "mean breeze" blowing. So when there's not, kindness should be savored.

    likes to listen" ... I like this very much. We so often talk about enjoying listening to night's sounds and "conversations," to her sex with the trees, with the air, and even with our windows; but what if night listens to us too? She herself is a woman, I think. I have this whole movie playing in my head in which night is a living entity with a voice, desires, likes and dislikes. She and the women and the water are all characters in this scene, sort of like a calm nature Fantasia.

    "ask any soul
    who has lived
    with love sickness
    and you'll know" ... What of those who haven't lived with it? Those who have died from it?

    "who doth bear torches" ... Just so you know, this line has a lot going on ... I see an owl and a hot-headed polka-dotted bear. I see "be art or cheese." (And now I'm laughing, very hard, at having to decide between the two. Seriously cracking up.) "Be art orches(tras)." "Be art orcas." Ooh, that's pretty. "... art arches." Or "art archers." "Art ark hers." Wouldn't that be cool? An ark onto which artwork was collected for saving/preserving/"repopulating" ... instead of animals?

    "who doth bear torches" ... This also hides "who doth beat Rorschachs" ... as if you can fail them. This makes me think of Divergent, and those entering-the-brain tests they give to determine what type of personality one has and what job he/she should do, what faction should be joined. Only here, the decision would be made by showing people ink blots.

    What if that were how God decided whether we'd go to heaven or hell? ... By assessing us based on what we saw in things we were shown ... not just ink, but art, stories, people, situations. Even dreams.

    "between dreams
    and the lives we sell" ... Ouch. This is heavy. Isn't it interesting how up-in-arms the world has gotten over selling people into slavery, and yet, in many ways, we do it to ourselves, don't we? Where's the Civil War for that? I guess we wage it with ourselves every day.


    Back to the poem just being romantic and gorgeous ...

    "to burn in the turn
    toward morning
    with a love
    for someone
    throughout all
    of eternity
    and you are"

    I'm quite sure I'll be swooning over this for all of eternity. Thank you for writing this poem. It is a beautiful, deeply moving gift.

    1. If all of us could just disrobe from role and form to be in the throes of our purer uplifting emotions, what a wonderful world this would be ... And poets are notorious for running with the smiles they encounter, headlong into words and such ...

    2. First, That picture is gorgeous...it makes me want to tell her story but, I think you did a splendid job of capturing the essence of her beauty. "Love sickness" ah the beauty and agony of love and I'm not talking about physical love I am talking about spiritual love in the higher sense of being. I don't want to analyze your words I simply want to feel them. Thank you for opening my mind today to poetry in motion...