Author Information
Blue Jewel
What you see in the cradle of
dreams knows no doubt.
You believe as you follow your
spirit through its portal,
you believe as you flee the
shadowland of mortals
who reach for the highest
glass jewel,
then sleep among stones.
Lay me down upon
your mist, flaming soul,
your blue perfume, my new skin,
your breath, like
hummingbird's flight,
blurred petals,
lathered air,
and take me where I can glow
with the blood of the ocean,
or clutch the wind's hair
and become its crystal sheets.
The sea wants to
drape me in its
folded lace,
strands of sun,
chiffon stolen
from its private sunsets,
but I think I'll move
toward the stars
where the Universe has
spread its heart out like a net
and my eyes melt in its ice
and I walk across its kinder soul
and it shows me things that
could frighten a body . . .
Spirit gazing.
two eyes closed,
one wide open,
reaching to quantum particles,
a quasar's ghostly mind,
the web of love all around.
There are no questions now
and this is no dream.
Patricia Joan Jones
Neato Metaphor - Like The Title
"...take me where I can glow/with the blood of the ocean..." Blakesque lines mixed with metaphysics melding with hard science usually enform yr poetry. Here you walk on the cusp of Surrealism - consciousness is the dream. Blended metaphor vs mixed, selected from dream, spilled onto the eye's mind raw and unfiltered. Esse as essence. A ride in a canoe - the reader leaves the shore and drifts.
.
~S~
.
I'm thrilled to have a true
I'm thrilled to have a true poet look so deep into my work and leave such an insightful and eloquent comment. I'm humbled and honored. Thank you!
I hope this is not intruding
I hope this is not intruding to post a second comment, but I just had to revisit this again tonight---such is its huge drawing power. Your poetry reminds me of the very first description of Wallace Stevens' poems, that I heard in October, 1978: "He makes you work, but he pays you back for the effort." Your phrases and word combination to make my imagination work, in the very best sense of that word, and your poems pay me back, manyfold, for the time I have spent with them. I have been on postpoems for a long time, but no poetry, prior to yours, has ever reached me at this level. That sense of poetic discovery, which first came upon me in 1975 and left me about 1980, deinifitely comes back as an effect of your poems. Your greatness just soars and soars.
J-Called
Well, I could grope all day
Well, I could grope all day for the eloquence worthy of the beauty you just dropped on my day, and still it would never shine as bright as that supernova of encouragement, insight and inspiration. Endless gratitude.
Speechless, wordless, I am
Speechless, wordless, I am just knocked over by the greatness and the verbal finesse of ths poem. The way you combine words---like "quasar's ghostly mind"---just overwhelms me with admiration and with such reading satisfaction. Yours is a talent that cannot be learned in a writing workshop or a literature class. It is, rather, innate in you; part of the cosmic creation, of which you are one of the supreme singers.
J-Called
There is no word, in any
There is no word, in any language, towering enough for the gratitude that spills out of me, so rather than gush and fumble, I'll reach for the familiar and hope you sense the enormity of my intention: Thank you. That was beautiful.
You are welcome. The poem is
You are welcome. The poem is incredibly beautiful and, as with all your poems that I have read, I become incredibly emotional reading it.
J-Called