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| Metamorphosis Kerry O'Connor |
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| @skyloverpoetry |
Metamorphosis
Sinkholes appear
on arrival of the solstice
and this one is no different
though whether valedictory tunes
are beaten out with the bones
of vanquished enemies
on hairy hides pulled taut,
or echo a two-step garage
drum machine in the grime,
I cannot clearly distinguish.
No matter,
some dark hybrid syncopation lies
tightly coiled and vibrating
at low frequency
while meteors tear up the sky.
My hands feel empty:
a nervous tension writhes
along my backbone as I wait
for my carapace to split open
and some newer, shinier fusion of self
to emerge, damp and wrinkled,
into the reverberant present.
This is a poem from my Skylover Collection, recently edited and illustrated for the Solstice, whether that be Summer or Winter depends on your relationship to the equator, but nonetheless the change is felt by all, especially we, who have passed through the longest night.
Shared in The Imaginary Garden for Toni's Weekend Mini Challenge.
Eternal feel to the drumbeat covered in skin and/or eminating from a pulsing garage ... as is rebirth, that "newer, shinier fusion of self" about "to emerge" with the rising of the solstice sun. The energy in this is celestial (those dashing meteors!) but the moment is personal and human as it gets. Great pic.
ReplyDeleteAh, thanks, Brendan. We seem to plot our course with such ancient rhythms as the sun dictates, even in the age of disbelief.
DeleteThe magic you paint with all those version of drums makes me think of the shamanistic rituals of solstice... it marks the transitions so well, and hoping to emerge is the whole purpose of such rituals.
ReplyDeleteI was going for something like that. Thanks, Bjorn.
DeleteI will never think of sarcophagi in the same way again. After reading your poem, every mummy has wings that can be unfurled under the sun... and nudged towards flight. Such wondrous rebirth.
ReplyDeleteI think we all go through various metamorphoses throughout our lives, and sometimes we bury ourselves for a time, waiting for a new dawn.
DeleteThis poem makes me think of cicada - the burrowing into the ground and then when it is time, making its way to the sun again. Cicadas are one if the ancient symbols of rebirth and the model for sarcaphgi. This poem is excellent in its use of the ancient drumbeats of the earth and yhe sun. Thank you for posting this magical poem to my prompt.
ReplyDeleteI like the cicada comparison. There is definitely a similarity in the metaphor here.
Delete"a nervous tension writhes
ReplyDeletealong my backbone as I wait
for my carapace to split open
and some newer, shinier fusion of self
to emerge, damp and wrinkled,
into the reverberant present."
Reads like the past and future combined. Love it, Kerry!
Ooh! I like how you have read these lines. Thank you.
DeleteI feel this poem through my butterfly muse.. I am always trying to break free, to fly, to change... Love your artwork.
ReplyDeleteSuch gorgeous artwork, Kerry!!❤️ I am in absolute awe of the way you meld images of rejuvenation and rebirth with those of the past and coming future! Especially love; "a nervous tension writhes along my backbone as I wait for my carapace to split open and some newer, shinier fusion of self to emerge, damp and wrinkled, into the reverberant present."❤️
ReplyDeleteI love Toni's comment - this poem for me starts with fear (sinkholes) and ends in hope, but not easily "won".
ReplyDelete