What wonderful work. This entire gift is well worded and wise. "The furthest out you can go is within." ~*Ansara
These were my favorite lines... and gotta say the whole thing is awesome! Prophetic and intuitive, expanding out and returning back again; you've done a nice job here. As I read it tho, I get caught up on "as deluded perceptions" ... or at least the "as" .... unless you want to remove that period in the stanza above to keep that broken flow. Either way I think would work better, but anyways, this one's beautiful!
Wafting Iceland gale From test tubes. Smell of abandonment. Haste preparation For territory sailing. A defunct rescue crew. Huskies swiftly mobilize the canoe. Rummaging, Through albino vacuum, For the arctic meaning. Tempest in the corner of the spectral eye. Eighteen years, Of trying to salvage the feeling. As solitude womb Gave birth to my mind.
wow, still soaking in... pouring wine into a cup that has been overflowing with intoxicating memories all day. Powerful close... loved the chilling distance this evoked. Calm after the storm... knowing this vacuum has prepared the ground for thoughtful rebirths. A rewriting of missing feelings. A restful sleep; Warm in the icy snowfall.
Sylvan took what would be the first word outta my mouth concerning "Arctic", KX... wow indeed.... very very good, personal and chilling. Fantastic ending, those last two stanzas pack a punch! The application of "albino" doesn't work for me, though I'm probably misinterpretting that stanza. And this... ....is stunning. "Arctic" was a tranquil, beautiful and intimate work, thanks for sharing it.
A request for intimacy With your eyes, Do I need an appointment, For me to strip you Split into elements. Or may I Break into the birdcage, At the crack of dawn Kiss you behind the ear, While you nap on a ledge, Peek through the keyhole I illicitly spy, I am well acquainted With familiarity of eyes.
I secretly conceal silverfish under oriental cups to transport them effortlessly into the speaking night air depth of sensuousness fragrance filling the ears with unhoused singing in praise of the universal chord this silverfish smiling with awe of remembrance. Welcoming the attention of your secrecy.
So sweet, so romantic... you express that attention most of us oh so would love to have directed toward us... For me, touches home, great words here, that familiar sense of longing, and *sigh* what a finish... great stuff, KX! Evoked a smile from me!
"Pink latex tempts The needle, anesthetic kisses. Too late to plead or argue, Swift hand maneuver, Artistry of piercing, Without regret." This reminds me the inspiration of my second poem "Thorns of the Black Rose" written when I was 14. I discovered, then, that over half of my female friends had already been sexually abused. I lost my urge, at that point, to ever accept the gift of anothers virginity... we make our own sacrifices.
sequel to -Poverty- A generation of sleepwalkers Bulldozed by hardships. Madman asked for butter and milk, Loaded the trunk with relics From 1945. Banknotes stored in the cavities Of communal homes. Pirouetted years, Blood smudge on calendar days, Old newspapers, On the veranda Lilacs soaked under Saturnine rain. Television static, Watched sideways, Pale wallpaper sheds Onto the weathered hands. Damp carpets, Sepia photographs, Lean against Child fingerprints on the glass. Influenza hops Through the puddles, Hand in hand with the benign death.
Very strong ending. I have this constant reminder, when I walk with the exiled, that my personal debt comes from the political denial that this earth is the birthright of all to share equally.
Poverty is a state of mind: "ugliness is the by-product of comparison." Benign death releasing, the ready, from poverty ties back into the opening. The sleepwalkers don't awaken.
And yet what is it that we spy in that most effervescent moment, casting a shadow over the slumbering light? That inner secret sanctuary, the broken animal, frozen from their passions by an environment inconsiderate of the need to fulfill them, dreaming in lazy rapture about the lover that they could be, if only, if only, if only.... it wasn't for this compromise, this prison cell nightmare hell of suppressed desire. And yet, in the act of dreaming(and who can deny that dreaming is an act?) some indefinably subtle spiritually chemical reaction occurs, putrefaction, inertia, treading steadily toward realization. That it might take lifetimes sure can irk the hell out of one... but, wasn't that the initial purpose in dreaming the evolutionary progression? Binge, purge, burn. Permeate and Become to Dissolve, Unite, Divide again, the refraction of light, if I could only begin to tell you, just how beautiful you are, you would touch my quivering lips with your smoke-stained fingertips and we could realize, finally, we could be certain, that we are, each and every one, a star. Much Love, Many Blessings, And A Healing Vibration Of Sublime Emanation
I like the use of almost random images that, when combined, form a broader picture... much like puzzle pieces that have to be assembled. All of your images are crisp, and the overall effect kinda depressing, which you seemed to be shooting for, so good job there. Yet another wonderful piece of work from you, kx.... thanks for sharing this. This was my favorite stanza... it flows of the tongue nicely, and has great imagery and depth. Wonderful, really!
Aqueduct the thought, Away from discord. Abort the sabotage of Abducted comfort. Fragmented emptiness Of the social terrace, Caught up in the long rallies of conversing. Like in the loose reins of rabid horses. Gasp from futile famine, Selfish martyr, Desperate salivation for an antidote. A persimmon addict; cotton mouth, Subtract the verbs. Juggle doubts on a tip of tongue, Slinking wavering judgment, Thin film of misfit hype, Rubbed into the dusty optics. Umbrella the mistrials, Of a knotted logic.
I'm constantly amazed. Your in-depth perceptions and passionate discipline evokes evolving. You sink my mental abstractions into the compassionate heart of global suffering; beseaching me to speak essentials. You drain my furious frenzy with your precise longing for an equality beyond stumbling. Comprehending beyond the barriers of national syntax to a fullness but hinted upon. If I could guess your painting preference my palate would rise to the occasion. Storms in the Atlantic here 4 or 5 categories intermixing.
This stanza is great, kx... tantalizingly familiar If it fits in with your vision, I'd combine the first two sentences so it's <Caught up in the long rallies / of conversing / in the loose reins / of rabid horses> but that's just my opinion... I've always been one for metaphors The last stanza was really nice too, tying that conflict together well... good job!
Could one absolve the Universal Conflict, without first absolving that conflict within themselves? And if, each of "us", one to the next, did such a thing, would there be a universe of which to speak? Whether the conflict were to be undone by destruction through opposition or by mutual agreement to resolution, must not either equal an annihilation? Which is progress? And, indeed, when one delves beneath the appearance, to the interplay between the waveforms, what is the difference? much love
