Imagery becomes a living: Imagery becomes a living thing in your blazing imagination. It comes crashing onto the page with astounding symbolism that can speak paragraphs in a few words and then somersault its way into my mind's eye, leaving me wondering: how did this just happen? What wizardry do you wield to conjure something that lives, plays, breathes and entrances like "ethereal tendrils"?
Congratulations on this.
This should be the official: This should be the official pledge of mothers everywhere. The world would certainly be a better place if every child was fortunate enough to experience the unconditional love you so sincerely expressed. How true that this love is only "seemingly self sacraficial". It is perhaps the fullfilling experience in our human travels.
This title is priceless: what better way to describe this dream?
Graceful and inspiring work.
I like this poem very much. : I like this poem very much. Although I have not had a similar experience, it reminded me of a story I recommend to you, Isak Dinisen's short story, The Old Chevalier (spolier alert, the end carries quite a twist). You have described the memory less verbosely than Dinisen, but with similar impact.
Thank you for the comment,: Thank you for the comment, and the good wish for my health, although, health-wise, things are a little precarious right now; and, as I said in my reply to Patricia, some unexpected difficulties have arisen. But, despite that, I am still well enough to continue to admire your Symbolist Poetry, and to applaud the magnificent work you have posted at postpoems.
Thank you very much. : Thank you very much.
And thanks for the prayers. Today is the second round, for me, of some very powerful, and rather uncommon, antibiotics that have to be introduced into my system in a rather inconvenient way in order to attack the infection, which is extremely resistant to eradication. I admit to being a little frightened. No, a lot frightened.
I'm honored just to have you: I'm honored just to have you stop by, but your poetic and on-target interpretation of my work took my breath away. Your stunning insights and words of encouragement mean more than you know, my gifted friend.
You have to take credit for: You have to take credit for being an inspiration, a motivator and a glowing example. We can learn much from you as well!
My incalculable gratitude and continuing prayers.
The Heavens do and ever shall: The Heavens do and ever shall declare the glory of the Creator. And what a wonderful poetic journey partaken of by Reader and Poet as night walk and meditation lifts up praise and worship, delight and wonder. The power up in S2 as the moon ascends in majestic lines and diction: 'untethered, unmoored, unselfed!' followed by the release of song in Chorus: 'tree, water, owl, and all other creatures' become God's voice to Creation. Indeed this is the soundtrack of our very being. The rising crescendo in S5 unfolding the reflections of the light of night on ripples of water, skies and moons on repeating loop of sorts, dappling; tuly a mirror of Eternity and Consuming Fire, inimitable passion. This beauty does not end but releases in a send off, as scales falling off eyes, vision and provision from Providence; and that available as an eternal witness and testimony. Thanks ever so much for sharing. /Rik.
Again, very impressive. My: Again, very impressive. My only negative criticism would be the relegation of a smaller poem to the notes section. That poem, being written, deserves to have an equal place among your other poems. It just does not belong in a notes/comment section. But otherwise, both of these poems are, as is customary with your work, highly (and even eerily) evocative.
So eerily evocative I had to: So eerily evocative I had to stop and re-read it, just to make sure of what I was reading. And yes it was, a horrific tale depicted in highly poetic language. I am just amzed at your talent, and have enjoyed my readings of your work this afternoon.
I re-read this again, and I: I re-read this again, and I am even more amazed. Your lines are shorter than Saint John Perse's, but no less evocative, and some of the vistas you describe are as haunting, and as well described, as his. Your tendency to raise more questions than you answer means your Poetry can never be pegged into a cubicle, but will always resonate to the reader, leaving the reader (and, right now, this reader) wanting more, a whole lot more.