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Sifting Through Last Night
Folder:
Dark Poetry What do I do with this last
scream that never preformed
its savage soliloquy,
that's burrowed here in
this nest where I keep it
fueled with fertile pain?
The sound it makes is the
sound of glass: an icy
shatter imprisoned in stillness.
And the quiet is the space
between us where the entire
night is stored away--
particles of moon,
cracked porcelain sky,
the stars that never
stirred me.
Return them with a word,
one word I would bronze
for eternity
or leave them as souvenirs,
to taunt the dreams
that create me.
Hell revealed its true name--
epitaph of innocence
that makes gravestones of
millions of lives.
That name is One,
legacy plucked from
Eden's limbs.
The tree of knowledge never
made me a god,
just someone who knows how
to scream
and write her name.
by Patricia Joan Jones
'What do I do with this
'What do I do with this last
scream that never preformed
its savage soliloquy,' amazing
and the line about hell making gravestones of millions of lives!
The reading of your poem is synchronous with
“And even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.” Aeschylus
(quoted by Robert F Kennedy on the night he had the painful duty of announcing to the gathered crowd that Martin Luther King had been murdered.) He lost his faith for a while after his brother was assassinated, but like pain, faith came after slowly dripping in.
How can I thank you for such
How can I thank you for such amazing and profound validation? Your reference to Aeschylus as quoted by Kennedy on that heart-wrenching occasion was deeply moving, as was your eloquent reminder that we all lose our way at times, and that's just part of the journey back to Oneness. Again, my deepest gratitude.
This poem is eerie, but it is
This poem is eerie, but it is an eerieness vivified by your inimitable style. As with any first readibg of a poem, I never know what you are about to say; but I always know how you are going to say it. Therefore, when I read your poems there is always a thrill of anticipation, and the comfort of a consistent presentation. I have read many poets in the last forty years, and only the greatest achieve that consistency that often; and of the greatest, only you achieve so very often, and right in front of my reading eyes as you move from post to post.
J-Called
Thank you for that
Thank you for that reassurance, so beautifully expressed.
Considering the quality of
Considering the quality of the your poems I have commented on, I shall always be thanking you for them. Like I said, I envy the scholars who will someday see the completed collection; and, perhaps, they may even envy me for the part of your achievement that I was privileged by timing and circumstance to witness. I am a terrible complainer about this affliction, ths cloud that hangs over my head, but it cannot blot out the radiance of your stellar poetry.
J-Called
A thousand more thank-you's
A thousand more thank-you's for that eloquent expression.