an envelope of scarabs in an ink led monorail

[paperleaves]

late night scribbles in the subconscious tongue, forgive any incorrect grammar, improper spellings, or repetitive imagery...
with love
paper

flourishing acrylic notes of honey and lavender
the winter scarves hibernate in pillars of yarn behind
the bedposts, sanded with patches of weeping willows
similar to the weeds in the garden, never leaving
yet always weaving themselves into plains of glass and beads
two hands, a mist , and a catatonic glaze
a fever wrought of twigs and bones my brittle body wanes
as a moon, after meditation, in the drizzles of obsidian rain
the bodies dance in green sprigs, illuminated by the pollution
of distant street lights, headlights, and mirrors
bejeweled and bereaved, the embers cringe at the verbs of the sultan
in faraway lands and torched maps
all prayers lean to the East and all walls collapse
in the ease of tomorrow, all
troubles seem to pass

[~Sophia~]

two hands, a mist , and a catatonic glaze
a fever wrought of twigs and bones my brittle body wanes
as a moon, after meditation, in the drizzles of obsidian rain
the bodies dance in green sprigs, illuminated by the pollution
of distant street lights, headlights, and mirrors
bejeweled and bereaved, the embers cringe at the verbs of the sultan
in faraway lands and torched maps
all prayers lean to the East and all walls collapse
in the ease of tomorrow, all
troubles seem to pass

For me, this is where the poem begins and ends and ... this is wonderful!

[firefangled]

"Scribbling" like this needs no forgiveness.
There is always a unity in what you write, the myriad pieces
you bring together were carved like a puzzle,
so we say,
yes, this lavender fits with the honey,
and we meet the people, warmed when winter,
by the potential of scarves.
You make me believe prayers like this
are shaped like the ears of God,
their words can collapse all walls.
You take that which is God-made
and weave it effortlessly
with those things man makes
and in the end we say it is good.

No forgiveness, the sin and the penance are one.

[breathtest]

I don't know if you have ever read Gregory Corso's poetry but this is a lot like it, and i would say just as good. Your imagery is so powerful

[Virgil]

I thought this was good Paperleaves, with a couple of spots that to my ear sounded like it tried too hard to be poetry. For instance, "acrylic notes," an interesting phrase I grant you, but all you're really saying is the scarves are colorfull. It heightened the language too far for what it was referring to. And the word "wrought" always sounds overly poetic to me.

But the good parts I agree with Sophia, the poem does galvanize where she identifies and the imagery and laguage really work well together. This was particularly enjoyable:

the bodies dance in green sprigs, illuminated by the pollution
of distant street lights, headlights, and mirrors
bejeweled and bereaved

but really the ending is extraordinary:

all prayers lean to the East and all walls collapse
in the ease of tomorrow, all
troubles seem to pass
I thought that was brilliant. My hunch is you really understood the direction of the poem and you tried too hard to set up that great ending. You've got such great imagery throughout, you don't really need to be so heightened everywhere. With all that imagery and good poetic language in the middle and a smashing ending, you have the luxery to ease back at the beginning to make clear what you're trying to say. Just my thoughts. I like it. :)

[breathtest]

I disagree with Virgil. Correct me if i am wrong Paperleaves, but 'acrylic notes' are referring to the acrylic paintings you do, and i think this is the perfect phrase to describe them. Not overly poetic, but just perfect

[PrinceMyshkin]

Firefangled's passionately appreciative response says it all (or practically all) so well! For me, I often feel I'd need an entirely new vocabulary to describe my reaction to any one of your poems and maybe to this one in particular. I will confess a certain difficulty in trying to envision this as if it were an unfolding anime, but if I put aside my desire for a linearly comprehensible narrative and just let the words knock me about the head and carry me along, it's a dizzying, very rich experience!

The "verbs of the sultan" was like a fist in my ribs and everything that followed was freaking magical. The ending, as observed by several before me, is, well...glorious? Irresistibe? Or any of your favourite words of praise.

[paperleaves]

Thank you to all who commented on this last piece. For those of you who haven't messaged me privately, I specialize in a stream of consciousness form of work, where I work my way from complete stream of consciousness (so who knows, perhaps it did refer to the scarves, perhaps it referred to my paintings which i labour over so much). I let the little poet inside take over when she feels it is neccessary. I really enjoyed reading all the feedback on this poem, it gives me a larger sense of observation toward my work, because normally I am in the moment, not thinking about what i write. I never edit my poems because I love the streaming flow of pure brain sludge :)

and firefangled, when you said "the sin and penance are one", i got chills. what an amazing thought. virgil, thank you so much for showing me what you see, breathtest, thank you for looking at my paintings, and Prince, thank you as always for the compliment!