Monday, August 11, 2014

From The Curve Of A Blue Womb

From the curve of a blue womb,
the one at the far reaches,
but as close as the next breath or the first,
the last,
spun from the flung white shine of a million stars,
into this space as narrow as a letter slot,
delivered by a Divine hand into a bone bowl,
blinking,
sitting here, writing this poem.

From the curve of a blue womb,
by way of the jaws, the wound, the perpetual shriek
of the keeper, the watchman, the madwoman,
set into a ready cage,
stripped of language and sex,
set out to dry and called art
by blind idiots with broken hands holding dawn in a coffee cup.

Something has been making its way up the stalk of my spine,
by increments, by prayer, by instinct, by race memory,
an insect, an emotion, a soul-flag strung on a line,
lifted by animus, by glory, by reflex, by holiness,
a mouth on a face on a body on its way
from solar plexus and on out through lips as an anthem or a gasp.

I'm telling you these things in your arms, in confidence,
in darkness, in fear, in recklessness, in sound mind,
in breakdown, in nakedness, in touch, in aphasia,
everything that curls and weaves and strikes within me,
this storm passing over the island of your body-sanctuary,
and losing strength even as strength is gained,
leaving bootprints in blood all the way from the start of the circle
to its end, a path out of myself,
through an impossible gauntlet of everyday 
spiraling up from the half-lit heavy pool of me,
aiming for an element only dreamt of in fevers and in ecstasy,
promised by absent angels speaking from the aviary of flesh and spirit combined.

From the curve of a blue womb,
I come spouting rot, nonsense, paperback scripture,
recipes for holy observance, bank holidays, disaster, doubletalk,
finding only in your kiss a distillery for spirits and the restless dead,
the quick, the clever, the blessed, the crazy, the torn apart, the unsatisfied,
the wise, the wept, and simple coneflowers
tossing like anti-aircraft gunners in the breeze
at the foot of your steps,
inviting me to at last fall into them, 
into you,
into some kind of peace I barely remember,
and which only comes back, for a gorgeous moment
when I am loving you.
_______ 
 

17 comments:

Timoteo said...

...holding dawn in a coffee cup...

exquisite

Just one example, of course

Mama Zen said...

Damn.

Björn Rudberg said...

yes that's the moment... the gorgeous moment.. splendid

Kerry O'Connor said...

There is so much beauty in this piece - it was a fabulous reading experience. Hard to choose a line and leave the others out, but this smacked me in the eye:

blind idiots with broken hands holding dawn in a coffee cup.

Brilliant.

Shadow said...

Spring fever, love your words!

Karen S. said...

My lips are silent but my heart is alive.... from every line.... this is, through every word unbreakable, tender love.

Helen said...

I copy and print many of your poems for leisurely savor during quiet times of my day .. this is one.

Cloudia said...

"into some kind of peace I barely remember,
and which only comes back, for a gorgeous moment
when I am loving you."

Wonderful gasps throughout!


ALOHA from Honolulu
ComfortSpiral
=^..^= . <3 . >< } } (°>

Sioux said...

Hot damn!

Sherry Blue Sky said...

In this poem, you have reached the stratosphere and completely outdone yourself. I read it the way it must have been written, with mounting urgency and passion.........some killer lines but it is, in its entirety, a lollapullooza of a poem. Wow!

Susan said...

So now I feel left with aphasia myself, stuck in the diving passion of your lists, not quite arriving at the end. But, I think, if thee narrator can handle more than a visit, there will be no end.

Marcoantonio Arellano said...

the sensualness in the gathering of these words almost like a lullaby yet not one for little ears but those of adult love filled tears.

gracias, this is wonderful

hedgewitch said...

Beautiful, striking and extremely intelligent writing, with just that seasoning of yearning that makes the heart sigh.

grapeling said...

gorgeous, Shay ~

Magaly Guerrero said...

You weren't kidding. Something must of being in the air of our thoughts... and what our muse gave shined of the circle of being.

Marian said...


"holding dawn in a coffee cup." fantastic! i'm doing that right now. love love it.

akiss2desire said...

Still so very talented :)