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CRY NOT

Submitted by Nordic cloud on Thu, 2012-03-29 14:18

CRY NOT

Cry not my love, cry not, though owls hoot in your chimney,
black with soot, their wooden wails, debilitated secret voices
of your mind, its wisdom dissipated by disease, ill at ease;
the curtain of days drawn shadows now turned to stone,

congealed, concealed your heart, yet within the granite
lie those feldspar crystals, quartz and precious gems,
the colours as the iris of your eye describes the beauty
you still hold; caught in the web of your own net,

that grows throughout your life, the genes now spun
through years of life entwine the sinews of your muscles,
weakened by their grasp, its closing threads they strangle,
tie, confuse the hour, the view, the senses tried and dried,

caught in the families prayer wheel ever turning, like those
cylindrical rollers in Tibet, so constantly that they have a
gravitation like the earth, cocooned in the womb of metaphors
and dreams your tree firmly rooted in this earthly life.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

Proprietress of...

Fri, 2012-03-30 17:08

Proprietress of Crimson Hearts's picture

I cannot begin to decribe what I felt when reading this. actually, I cannot seem to get past the first stanza. I read it and it fills my head with so many thoughts that, try as I might, I just can't seem to concentrate on the rest. I will have to come back and ignore those gorgeous four lines to properly be able to wrap my head around the others, but for now let me praise you for the beginning. it is a poem in itself.
your Proprietress

Nordic cloud

Sun, 2012-04-01 02:50

Nordic cloud's picture

When one empathises strongly, the poignancy of feelings at their tips felt in the depths of one's 'soul,' then, such poems rise out of the whole of one's psyche, to surface in words from the dictionary of the mind, gathered through life's experiences. Plus, of course the wild reasonings of poetic thought that clothes a poem with its magic. Just thinking myself into the reader rather than describing myself.

Ann of Norway.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

author comment

judyanne

Tue, 2012-04-03 05:47

judyanne's picture
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and such food for thought
'Cry not my love, cry not, though owls hoot in your chimney' - what a way to say it !!!

this is an amazing write annanya
wonderful descriptive
i especially like the second stanza

and i love the ending
'they have a
gravitation like the earth, cocooned in the womb of metaphors
and dreams your tree firmly rooted in this earthly life'

your talent shines
love and hugs
judyanne
xxxxxxxxx

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

Nordic cloud

Tue, 2012-04-03 13:45

Nordic cloud's picture

I thank you judyanne,
where does it come from I wonder, if it is so.
The poems start with a theme and he brain starts rolling
picking up this and that on its way and showing my inner eye
words that might fit, and I grab at them to write them down.
Strange brain, fickle brain sometimes!!!

Love annanya

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

author comment

loved

Wed, 2012-04-04 08:13

loved's picture

Ma'am your brain is.... a well of the dictionary

instantly flowing with empathetic compassion
how I wonder at times,
whether the poetry which ensues
voluntarily from one’s mind,
is better than one forced
by alphabetic combination...
you are the world of words,
perhaps,
if not a Wordsmith
what else??

cocooned in the womb of metaphors...simply unimaginable ...

loved

Nordic cloud

Wed, 2012-04-04 09:58

Nordic cloud's picture

Oh 'sir' you make me blush,
your brush has painted me
with colours magical
I thank you, or I say that
I am pleased to please another
through my poems, these,
that fall from out my brain again, again, again.
I know not why they came, they came.

Ann

The sir, only because it fits the mood of the answer.
But after all, pray what is the opposite of ma'am?

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

author comment

loved

Wed, 2012-04-04 14:17

loved's picture

A Sir
a sire
or
madam
ma'am
are only mannerisms of address
I would still stay anonymous
I confess ,
let's not with gender mess ,
a poet is genderless....
if ONE is wondrous ..

That you find the patience
to say a word ,
Dear LADY
its been by the world heard .
you are the WORDSMITH

loved

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