Teresa in Ecstacy ~ Kris Kuksi
She lifts her eyes from the coiled core of the knotted finger trap
Casts her gaze across the filament of the faded lightning map
Wraps a thought in filigree spores of all her future ghosts
And breaths a sigh concealing causes and heavy heartbreak hosts
Where secret speed limit signs and restricted breathing lies
Between the blue iris lensed apertures of upward casting eyes
She knows the future lacks the haunting howling of the past
Leaves the skins of shed lives for predators their spells to cast
Upon the brows once pearly knitted now expectantly arched
On baited hooks past which the lines of martyrs marched
Anticipating nothing lest the future disperses hopes like dust
Leaving tongues untied and ears of corner lovers loitering distrust
For who is she to cast these pearls opaque with peppered pain
Before the lines of faceless foils and sheets of seasoned rain
She lifts her face to face the coming day unprepared
For all the blows and grey rainbows
For all the smiles and warm reptiles
For every note uncomposed
For every king deposed
For every insect mind
and every deal declined
Decomposed
Indisposed
On pages bled unread for lines of text unrhymed
She raises her hand to stem the tide of image streaming
Lunar candela eyelids flutter incandescent dreaming
As if her smile could raise her spirit gleaming
Above the peaks of all her dark nocturnal scheming
To leave her hanging hopeless stripped and screaming
Alone upon the shore where wavelengths stretch all meaning
Attributed by her faith or empty academic towers leaning
The future knows not its name when shouted into canyon’s echo
The past its weight in gold won’t even entertain the thought of fingers let go
So she closes eyes on all she cannot control or feign understanding pretence
And marks the page where last the words she read made perfect sense
Casts her gaze across the filament of the faded lightning map
Wraps a thought in filigree spores of all her future ghosts
And breaths a sigh concealing causes and heavy heartbreak hosts
Where secret speed limit signs and restricted breathing lies
Between the blue iris lensed apertures of upward casting eyes
She knows the future lacks the haunting howling of the past
Leaves the skins of shed lives for predators their spells to cast
Upon the brows once pearly knitted now expectantly arched
On baited hooks past which the lines of martyrs marched
Anticipating nothing lest the future disperses hopes like dust
Leaving tongues untied and ears of corner lovers loitering distrust
For who is she to cast these pearls opaque with peppered pain
Before the lines of faceless foils and sheets of seasoned rain
She lifts her face to face the coming day unprepared
For all the blows and grey rainbows
For all the smiles and warm reptiles
For every note uncomposed
For every king deposed
For every insect mind
and every deal declined
Decomposed
Indisposed
On pages bled unread for lines of text unrhymed
She raises her hand to stem the tide of image streaming
Lunar candela eyelids flutter incandescent dreaming
As if her smile could raise her spirit gleaming
Above the peaks of all her dark nocturnal scheming
To leave her hanging hopeless stripped and screaming
Alone upon the shore where wavelengths stretch all meaning
Attributed by her faith or empty academic towers leaning
The future knows not its name when shouted into canyon’s echo
The past its weight in gold won’t even entertain the thought of fingers let go
So she closes eyes on all she cannot control or feign understanding pretence
And marks the page where last the words she read made perfect sense
10 comments:
hey, pisces. do you write fairly automatically? i just love your natural flow of meaning, mythology, metaphor, and description; the near rhyme, rhymes, and sense of line. this one has a strong finish in those last two vers
i ask because i write automatically most of the time. it helps if i'm feeling immensely angry or passionate about something; then, it's unstoppable. since i developed a pain condition, though, my fingers make tons o' typos and i find i'm editing so much more than i used to, just sitting on something for days. my mind is rather addled by the drugs i take.
so, how long did this poem take you overall, not counting the precognisant stuff or even early thinking? from the time when the first words were inscribed to when you hit "publish"? just curious. xoox ~lt
"Wraps a thought in filigree spores of all her future ghosts…"
What a a masterful capture of such a delicate rarity as awareness of the effect of the present upon who one will be in the future.
Moineau: I get what you mean but I wouldn’t say “automatic” since this would hang some occult status onto what are essentially the workings of the unconscious mind.
There is normally some seed hanging around in my conscious mind – something I’ve seen or heard – and I generally start off with a line that sounds good and let it flow from there.
There is no absolute method or structure since I have no formal training in the construction of poems.
Line by line the poem needs to make sense and I try not to force rhymes unless they can still make sense.
It’s difficult to define and, since to define is often to destroy, I avoid looking too closely at the process.
This particular one was put together with a few beers and took about 45 minutes all in – it germinated from my disquiet about the whole ‘new year’ thing.
Dood: Markov theory (as I understand it) gives that any future prediction can only be based in the present - tomorrow may well give a different view ;)
It's...amazing and much more.
well if I had the words to explain the "much more"...but don't need words to talk to a pisces.
Note from a pisces to another.
:)
candie, et une autre...
pisces, no channeling meant lol! by automatic, i meant basic free writing without self-editing, at least not in the initial draft. xooxox
I love it, perfect!
Which page did it turn out to be?
I met a lass who looked like that in Tiffany's in Exeter in 1987. Said she worked in C&A, but she was lying.
You certainly have a wee with wyrds my good man. This was an enjoyable, gentle, glide from start to fin.
My wife can't get to sleep without reading either. I wish that I had named one of my kids Canyon Echo..
dammit anyway!
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