Author Information
Death of Elysium
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Sorrow I remember the moment
I stopped loving you.
All the lights went on in
a kingdom that
had died
over
and over
like August nights
with all their
squealing air and
tarred streets and
fireflies,
sometimes a heart full
of diamonds,
but too often chains
without a heart.
The shadows that choked
in the vacuum of
wanting you,
worn like ragged
platitudes
belted out from
the pulpits of
our youth
burst into mandalas
with so much
understanding,
such beautiful mazes
of Truth.
Still, how real
the other you
looked
when it cartwheeled,
star-drunk,
in your eyes,
how I could have believed
the Universe,
unredeemed and
well-versed
in the magical arts,
spilled its Pagan soul,
no, a multitude of
cut-glass dreams
into those eyes,
and what gospel is this
I heard them rumble?
How their sweet
and poisonous
scriptures rewrote
everything I ever believed
about what was
possible.
How I was drenched in
everything about you.
I suppose I imagined,
too soon,
you led to Heaven.
I suppose I imagined,
too soon,
you were for real.
Patricia Joan Jones
Image upon image relentlessly
Image upon image relentlessly compels the reader's eye further and further into the poem, until the sudden collision with the last two stanzas in a very effective conclusion. With this poem, one feels and senses a fair amount of headlong movement, like tumbling over a waterfall, which is exactly what the evoked emotions call for.
J-Called
Thank you kindly for such an
Thank you kindly for such an insightful evaluation: the reassurance that the style was effective. I appreciate you dropping in on some of my older works which I had almost forgotten about. My deepest gratitude.
When we look up at the sky, a
When we look up at the sky, a star's age, older or newer, is not that obvious. I know they can figure it, but it does not enter into the enjoyment of the light. Your poems are like those stars; newer or older, their brilliance partakes of the same quality, the same consistency. To the reader who loves your poems, their content and your artistry fuse to become a beautiful spectrum of light, crossing the internet from this site and into our screens to form a breathtaking constellation.
J-Called
Thank you for such
Thank you for such metaphorically beautiful encouragement. My heartfelt gratitude.
My pleasure. I know I tend
My pleasure. I know I tend to babble on, but in the presence of such literary achievement, I just cannot keep quiet.
J-Called