..
We have failed
our bones.
History is the calm devotion of
a teacup broken,
an unusable harvest of
hope with deep roots, sleep
-ing leaves frozen.
Observe:
The way slate stumbles, splintered
in the gentle bosom of fate. The way
you stare when you think I’m not
watching. The way the gutters rush,
unsalted. The way our breaths hold
this whole planet quiet, but never
still. I will
fold swan cities, cup clouds
alone and petals at arm’s length,
count kisses ever better
than wisdom’s whisper.
Are we not no
-thing but dust, drowned air,
stored and storied time, used
bells still ringing for the right
to sing?
Let’s un
-befriend these bitter, brittle
things, turn rhyme and reason
from slack wicker into rib – alive, a
-tune and waiting to be
saved.
..
Wordled for We Write Poems.
Okay, I kept reading the title at first as “Leaping Frog” – I love frogs!
Anyway, love the first line! And then the second stanza. “gutters rush / unsalted” – absolutely love the thing about the breath… never still.
And then the end is very powerful.
The message I see is not to be tied to the earthly things, even our bones. History is everything concrete that can be documented and observed and filed away… and yet history does not capture it all, does it? We all need to be saved from that mindset and live on the plane that is really important… with all that leaping fog! And with those leaping frogs as well :)
Your poem sweeps the gamut from personal to universal. That always says “keeper” to me. Thanks for your visit and comments,
Elizabeth
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/
Gorgeous and completely mesmerising!
Lovely, captivating use of the words.
This is just exquisite.
Love these especially…great wordling, De!
“The way our breaths hold
this whole planet quiet, but never
still. ”
“alive, a
-tune and waiting to be
saved.”
♥