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Being Here, Finally
I left my wings
at the foot of
the mountain,
believing I had to climb—
That's what monks do
anyway on their
way to unchained bliss or
sweet oblivion—
half of me battling
the gravity of living,
the other half
diffused in an
opal sky
where I'm the
main attraction
or invisible,
depending on my whims,
where the sun
belts out tender
screams and
sirens of silk,
where imperishable calm
always wins
and I suspect
that whatever
is hiding behind
that foaming
screen above—
gold, angels,
living rivers—
is vapor compared
to the love
we will breathe.
But what about
right here,
right now?
I can't live
on soulgates
and clouds and
hereafters.
I'm still being born
and the temporary
looks quite solid
on the average
day and it
certainly
passes for real.
The field is
sprinting with its
grassy hair on fire:
sprays of lava,
cups of mist,
fluffs of sunset . . .
Everything I need
for at least
one clear moment,
but look closer . . .
There's a star,
possibilities, actually,
in the center of this
imperfect Now.
Another Now
and another and
finally the gift of
another day.
Patricia Joan Jones
"finally the gift of another
"finally the gift of
another day."
...and the gift, no, treasure, of another beautifully worded paean to the passage of life. I'm out of adjetives, I'm hoping "wonderful", will suffice, seeing that my "wow" was already taken. :)~
I have such massive respect
I have such massive respect for your amazing Poetry that it's always an honor when you stop by. Your eloquent expression made my day and your support means so much. Endless thanks!
Please forgive my delay in
Please forgive my delay in commenting. Both my body and laptop are faiiling.
The poem presents two centers of gravity: the statement of still being born, and the star in the center of this imperfect life. Although this world was created by Love (Who is God, as Saint John declared), and was perfect, our race's free will subjected it to sin and imperection and death. But Love has not abandoned us. There is a Star present with us, as Balaam prophesied, and we are in the process of transitioning, or being born, into Love's eternal kingdom. The poem tells us this in very memorable language.
Starward
Laptops can be replaced. Not
Laptops can be replaced. Not so with gifted, valuable friends. Sending prayers and light to you now.
Thank you so very much for taking the time to leave such an intuitive and epic interpretation. It means the world to me to read your enlightened, far-reaching analysis and to have you along on my journey, but you have to focus on your health and do what is most important to you, so please, no apologies.
My sincerest gratitude and heartfelt prayers.
Because your Poetry has the
Because your Poetry has the tendency to leave me literally breathless, and with the combined intent of inspiring me to provide praise, I restrict myself to visiting your page (because it's a treat; nay! fervent feast at least!) so that I don't get flustered. And, as I had imagined, around the second stanza or so I was already contemplating what I would comment, though so profoundly struck was I by the sheer beauty of this Poem's decadent arrangement and intensity of depth, that as a reaction all I could summon was exactly what Stephen left: WOW!!! wowowow indeed
bananas are the perfect food
for prostitutes
Coming from such an amazing
Coming from such an amazing poet, your kind and thrilling footprints mean so much. Huge thanks!
Yes, but let's not
Yes, but let's not misinterpret because instead of stepping on it, as 'footprints' could suggest, I am bowed completely down in utmost reverence and respect.
bananas are the perfect food
for prostitutes
You're the best. Thank you!
You're the best. Thank you!
WOW!!!
!
I couldn't ask for a more
I couldn't ask for a more encouraging comment. Thank you so much!