May 31, 2016

I am Icarus poem and always falling (for my inner narcissus)

The Fall of Icarus, 1975
Marc Chagall © 




I've imagined 
at times what now is 
going into the next now
as if I was Sylvia 
guttural crawling 
from marriage 
to bone marrow 
wanting ...

behind this red door 
I am hauling my ass 
into my soul of a poem 
where am I 
who am I ...

am I you again 
Ted looking when 
an embraceable me 
says I am dead my dearest 
blessedly being 
a live wearing 
of worn 
shorn words 
hawk overhead ... 

am I just 

a few memories 
I've clutched 
in desperation 
what is going 
to keep me
from saying goodbye 
in some language or another 
I've imagined was necessary 
at the time to stave off
my departure ... 

we sew life after life 
artist lie after artist lie 
into truth we worship 
sacred tide and sand 
mountain and rain 
a wax and feather routine 
we'll pause and stop a moment 
to remember ourselves 
and guillotine's never clean 
but when we die unseen 
we go back to the sea 
we find ourselves 
islands again 
poems 
paper 
pen ...

perhaps on the other side 
we'll still be poets 
lonely and looking 
for what companions 
can complete us 
somewhere between 
caretaker and a lover 
we lean 
into not caring
at how high we were 
flying towards the Sun 
when a moonlit night 
would have done 
what we needed to ...

EJR © 

8 comments:

  1. This is AWESOME. All of it, but I do favor the title and closing just a touch above the rest.

    The Sylvia and Ted saga is right up there with serial killers and gore, as far as my favorite poetry themes/topics go.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. the grave gravity of love grabs at me and says look into how a story weaves your parts in colored thread ... landscapes and lives, spools waiting the loom ... thank you

      Delete
  2. Maybe the greatest loves are those celebrated/longingly remembered after one of them is dead ... and only talking out of ghostly mouths.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. great love survives the temporary shelter of its host body ...

      Delete
  3. flying towards the Sun
    when a moonlit night
    would have done
    what we needed to ...

    s moonlit night a tango of two hearts - will we still be poets, will we still be looking for that one love we could never let go?

    gee, I think I am weeping...touching a chord deep inside of me here...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. sometimes I think when we fly straight to the heart of our matter(s) we need to feel the falling in order to know flying isn't always an ascension ... sometimes the gritty goo beneath the surfaces of our visages, are the greatest womb/loves of them all ... thanks for stopping in ...

      Delete
    2. "flying isn't always an ascension"

      That is one of the most profound things I've ever read.

      Delete
    3. You are very perceptive and sometimes we need to fall to know what it really means to fly. To truly experience the flights in life wings or no wings. It's about the journey not necessary the flight.

      Delete