I carry black cherries and woodsmoke
in the upturned crescent where the memory of your face is kept.
Winter pales the world and I am prayer flags flying,
sherpas hauling,
I am peaks where the air becomes dear.
Under wicker fans, G&T's sweat on the mahogany bar.
An aesthete in a sedan chair snaps his fingers and starlings rise and wheel
carrying your voice
feathered and black
above sea level, above all heads, beyond calling back.
I carry black cherries and woodsmoke
on a glass tray draped with night stars and the music of ouds.
A vendor in a Panama hat offers me your scent
in exchange for
the season of his choice.
I turn my back and start ascending, to freeze and fall,
guided by your indifferent ghost and my maps milled from ice and ache.
__________
for Dverse Open Link, hosted by Sanaa Rizvi
image: the Dyatlov Pass hikers
Music: "Qalanderi" by Cheb i Sabbah.
This is incredibly poignant, Shay! The emotion, the bouts of nostalgia are so palpable in this poem. I am especially moved by; "I carry black cherries and woodsmoke on a glass tray draped with night stars and the music of ouds." 💘💘
ReplyDeleteYou are like a roller derby queen, blasting around at full speed, knocking opponents ass over tea kettle, as you spew spoken word like a oracle princess, grand, lusty, intimate words; another gold-plated poem, draped in ribbons and red lipstick prints.
ReplyDeleteYou took me to the Himalayas and back. This poem was such a completely satisfying read.
ReplyDeleteVery nice! Such great metaphors like the birds carrying your voice!
ReplyDeleteI love the first two lines--and all that follows. Such vivid and unique imagery!
ReplyDeleteWhat sorcery is this, Shay?! All wonderful, all of it. You effortlessly play with surrealism and beauty as you paint with words. I always want to see the scene you are describing.
ReplyDeleteLove the whole thing but especially these lines:
"I carry black cherries and woodsmoke
on a glass tray draped with night stars and the music of ouds."
And somehow it just feels so French and so chic! :-D
Everything sounds better in French!
DeleteShay! Socery in words and music. Perfect combination. The oud is so right. Jane here.
ReplyDeleteNo one can use imagery and transport the reader to places of the heart and beyond like you my friend! The first stanza is so heart and senses grabbing that there is no way that you can read it and not follow along the journey to the last line. Simply amazing as always Shay!
ReplyDeletePure magic Shay, the way you effortlessly journey between worlds is truly amazing _()_
ReplyDeleteBursting with atmosphere like all those great films, from great panoramas to smoke-filled bars...a delight to read, and experience....
ReplyDeleteThe imagery leaves one breathless.
ReplyDeleteOk, the Dyatlov Pass hikers was a super creepy thing to do. (I had to look it up, but wow.) " Dubinina was found to be missing her tongue" maps milled from ice and ache indeed.
ReplyDeleteouds, bouzoukis, you seem to have a thing for old stringed instruments, or maybe i'm imagining that cause i have a thing for old stringed instruments ( i like that "strum" in central to the word "instrument") i like the mysteriousness of this poem, i can't find a key, maybe it's in the line "Winter pales the world and I am prayer flags flying". i've read this 3 or 4 times now, enjoyed getting lost within it
ReplyDelete