Saturday, February 18, 2012


Here, where leaden birds have broken all the windows.
Here, where the wind is a wild thing gotten indoors, thrashing.
Here, where waiting is more like living than anything I did before.
Come to this place, Love.
I promise, your kiss does not shock me into seizing insensibility as it did the first time.

I savor it.
I beg for it,
I am sick for it as others are for white powder, sharp edges, or the dark cards.

I have waited all night.
I waver, I do not eat anymore.
I wear your clothes, surrounding myself with their emptiness,
Willing them to consume me.

Here, where reason has slipped away.
Kiss me.
Pull me down into your root-home.
I do not mind your throat with its silenced pulse;
But my own, quick and ceaseless,
Drives me without mercy to insanity's bitterest edge.

for A Word With Laurie at Real Toads. ("ethereal")


Brian Miller said...

wow...someone has it know...where the wind had blown in doors...sounds like quite the tornado or amor

Lynn said...

A wonderful poem for the word ethereal.

hedgewitch said...

When does longing become madness? Fine line, and a fine poem--shot through with bolts of black and blinding silver. Last lines of the second stanza almost physical in intensity, the consuming clothes and the root-home part of a careering progression of insanely sweet language running straight off reason's cliff. In a good way. Just...yeesh.

Laurie Kolp said...

Very ethereal, mysterious in tone and with a sensual intensity, Shay. I can feel your longing... it is inviting and convincing... lovely. Thanks so much for taking part!

Sherry Blue Sky said...

"Here, where waiting is more like living than anything I did before...." a freaking wonderful poem, kiddo, with teeth.

Lolamouse said...

I've been there in that third stanza! I love the near crazed longing in this!

Kerry O'Connor said...

Well, this was certainly worth the wait of several days, for a Fireblossom poem.

I read it as a song of mourning, rather than madness. The terror of being alone, and never feeling the touch of one who has been joined to you in flesh: the emptiness of clothes is left behind after death, and the one left alive longs to join the lover in the grave, if only to be near her one last time.

It's epic, Shay.

Shadow said...

as beautiful and touching as ever. your words in themselves are ethereal!

Caty said...

Yeah, I've had it that bad a time or two...

I'm having a great weekend (even while spending it at work). Hope you are too! Thanks for stopping by yesterday, Shay; always good to see you :)

Daryl Edelstein said...

I checked and yes OED has been updated and this poem now appears next to the word Ethereal

Marion said...

Awesome, Shay. I thought of love, loss, sorrow, vampires and the pain of being alive. You've blown me away yet again with your word mastery. xo

nene said...

Now in my latter years, the wild wind thrashes about, wantonly.
I wake, I walk about on the edge from day to day.
I'm glad I'm not the only one
in this way.

Once again, thanks for a wonderful piece and for allowing me not to feel that I am, in this, alone

Anonymous said...

sorry, Shay ~ i can't read this until i've finished writing mine, so i'll be back....

at least then the depression will kick in AFTER i've hit "publish" ~ my recycle bin's already overflowing with poems that i had to discard after reading one of yours. {sigh} {crawling off to curl up in a corner and suck my thumb for awhile....}

Hannah Stephenson said...

This is like a more damaged version of that "Come live with me and be my love" poem...

Strong stuff, this.

Anonymous said...

Shay you are writing my life again. My girlfriend and I were discussing this on our drive back from the city yesterday. How is it that some people effect us so completely, muddling our thoughts, taking our appetite. Often it's an instantaneous chemical thing that makes no real sense. You describe it so perfectly.

Herotomost said...

As empty as that longing can be and with crushing weight......I would be half the man had I not experienced it with my own heart and lust. I love this poem, it has the weight of the world woven into the fiber, but with a sliver of hope that waxes and wanes with the days temperature. Great work.

Anonymous said...

Shay, I love your take on the word and the world you drew me into, oh so skilfully. This in particular defines 'ethereal' for me:

Here, where waiting is more like living than anything I did before.

...though I didn't know it before I read your poem. :)

TALON said...

The combination of photo and words is hypnotic, Shay.

Ella said...

I understand this mourning, you too drew me into this world
Your words inspire another look
So powerful
Well done

Anonymous said...

yes, we do drive ourselves nuts more than anyone else

Mama Zen said...