"Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness."
Khalil Gibran

Thursday, June 29, 2017

Unspiralled

© Karin Gustafson



Too many nights now, I have curled
into myself like a somnolent sea creature
with a thick, creamy shell –  an inward spiralling
that bears little resemblance to flight.

I have not sought out the stars
from my ocean bed, nor paid attention
to phases of the moon – a willingness to sink
into the confines of my own dark harbour.

But you will not consign me to the tide.
You sing me awake in lost hours, set me loose
from my anchor chains – a lifting free of self
to fly toward dawn on jet black wings.


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Karin Gustafson  is hosting Flight of Write in The Imaginary Garden and has kindly shared her art to accompany our words.

31 comments:

  1. I like the narrative from a somnolent creature right the way through to
    "But you will not consign me to the tide.
    You sing me awake in lost hours, set me loose
    from my anchor chains – a lifting free of self
    to fly toward dawn on jet black wings."...........I really did enjoy reading your descriptive poem. ( learnt a new word too, somnolent, so thanks for that too)

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    1. Somnolent has a nice tone to it, I think.

      Thanks, Julian.

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  2. This is a wonderful poem Kerry, really like the way you started in a world that seem to be spun from dreams... dreaming is a bit like flying isn't it?

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    1. It is indeed.. I always land with a thunk when the alarm goes off.

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  3. Your poems add so much power to the expressions on the faces in Karin's drawing. I love the sense of freedom, while remaining attached...

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    1. I adore the way Karin draws lovers.. the intimacy is great.

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  4. This has so much soft music-- interior rhyme and parallel words that are suggested by those used and almost feel like an echo-- for example I keep thinking of labor with Harbor-- sorry my phone wants to use American spelling-- and others. I love the interior rhyme too -- confines and consign, for example, which creates its own sense both of spiraling and unwinding. I don't much like the faces of the figures in my pic but love how you have used the concept, which i'd like to work on in other pics. Thanks so much for bringing these to light-- the stars from the sea floor-- ocean bed. K.

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    1. Your drawing gave me the spirals and the stars, Karin, and I love the way your figures seem to unwind from the kiss. It has a yin yang feel to it.

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  5. This is just so rich and full, as detailed as a shell yet it leaves just enough to the imagination - I feel like I've slipped into the depths and have been awoken and swept up to the stars. Absolutely lovely.

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    1. Ah, many thanks. I like to know that something in my writing hooks into a reader's imagination.

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  6. Glorious, how you were set free from the confinement of a shell.

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  7. as usual, I hear this in your lovely voice - imagining your pauses and emphases - how you give voluble volume to the lush tapestry you've woven ~

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    1. Agghhhh!! Voluble may be the key word here. Haha! I may get to some recordings in July during winter vacation.

      Watch this space...

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  8. For a sky-writer and -lover, these silky depths must also be sulky, dragged or weighted down with freight that cannot be flown. Inward spiralling is gravid work--dark harboring. The "you" in the final stanza reads like grace, but it could be the Beloved or Poetry or deity whom all poems sing to in some way. After all the falling, the flying. Yes.

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    1. Yes, the 'you' is non-specific - I hope it speaks to each reader in his/her own way. I grew up beside the sea, and I do love it too, but being an Air sign, I think there is more freedom in the sky.

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  9. a willingness to sink
    into the confines of
    my own dark harbour

    Sometimes one finds comfort all on one's own volition - not bothered nor bothering others! Life is too short. Rightly so Kerry!

    Hank

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    1. Sometimes we get too comfortable - it does us good to be drawn from our shells.

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    1. Thanks, MZ. I feel a bit powerless, truth be told. Trying to regain my voice. Your encouragement really helps.

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  11. I love how you are being wooed to sing it out. Really nice Kerry. Your voice is not lost, au contraire

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    1. Thanks, Angie. And who doesn't appreciate a bit of wooing now and then?

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  12. This is simply gorgeous, Kerry, and your closing lines are especially beautiful.

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  13. So beautiful... Some times we need a birdsong to bring us out of our spiral.

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  14. I think this is one of the most beautiful pieces i have read of yours Kerry.It resonates with me because it seems to be coming from an authentic place within you. (Not that your other work doesn't...something more raw perhaps)There is something very real about the sense it offers up of being overwhelmed and letting go to that. Sinking into the ocean bed is perhaps the door that opens to allow that voice to call you to flight. Surrender.Diving into that somnolence.

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    1. Thank you, Paul. I admit to some shell-ing of late...overwhelmed...letting go. How well you read between the lines. A poem is only as good as its reader.

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  15. And fine hard-won wings they are.

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  16. You speak of the "thick, creamy shell." When I lived on the coast, shells were plentiful. Always fun to find on some lonely beach...but in the desert they become such treasures, really haard to find. Perhaps it is as it always is, when they are no longer available, one realizes how precious they are! I have a little shell on my shelf, it was my Mother's, she loved it, and I see her in it evertime I look at it. Thank you for the lovely poem! Like the shell, I see you there, curling gracefully within yourself. Like a swimmer, no motion wasted.

    In the last line, you speak of "dark wings" I think of Matissi, he said, "The lightest light is found in the darkes darks." Perhaps you are referring to enlightment.

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    1. Thank you, Annell. I also have a box of shells from my girlhood - I cannot quite bring myself to toss them away. There is something to be said for feeling comfort within one's own self, but enlightenment must come from opening up.

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  17. I have 'lost my voice' as of late, yearning to escape the brittle shell. Beautiful writing, Kerry.

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