© Steve King
All rights reserved
this heart alone
so emptied of all things
fit only for wonder
and the press
yes the press
of damned recalcitrant sensations
sensation
born of a moment
as were fires of old
in the cold center
of a great dark space
faint new flicker
rising on the very edge
of each familiar empty place
edge
and will too quick unfold
across the ready arc
as if there just might be
some distant glory born
again for all to see
as if there may
be one who waits
bound to gather it fully
though darkness yet surrounds
this my heart alone
so empty now
of old impertinent things
patient for new wonder
A new post for Imaginary Gardens...
http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/
A new post for Imaginary Gardens...
http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/
Rich and wonderful to read.
ReplyDeleteThere's a crisp feel to this Steve, very fresh feeling to read, and yet I'm not sure that the content is anything but the very oldest and most persistent of hopes and dreams, impertinent or otherwise. I love that emptiness opens up the capacity for wonder, that hope is ineradicable, because living without it is unthinkable. I also like the language, which stops and starts like thought--or at least like my thoughts. ;_)
ReplyDeleteas if there may
ReplyDeletebe one who waits
bound to gather it fully
Just may be. A faint heart can create wonders given the leeway. One never can tell. Great write Steve!
Hank
The evolutionary movement toward patience, wonder is quite the process, quite the reward.
ReplyDeletewonderful write, Steve...the light and the dark...I almost see Blake...just a wee bit....and I like the way you weave in the patience notion. Yay for you!~jackie~
ReplyDeleteThanks, as always, Jackie--for the visit and the generous commentary.
ReplyDeletesensations are often not known to desire "patience". Yet, once we've learned this virtue, life gets a lot easier.
ReplyDeleteI love this, Steve - It affirms why we've always been star-gazers, reading the face of our minds, our hearts. Those heavens a catalog of old events, sensations, bursts whose light has been in transit for billions. Our hearts are made of such stuff.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully composed - a pure pleasure to read.
ReplyDeleteAnna :o]
this my heart alone
ReplyDeleteso empty now
of old impertinent things
patient for new wonder
These are just beautiful lines. This is such an interesting poem--as it has a rather mournful quality to it--perhaps because of the solitary aspect and the sense of endings-- and yet it ends in such a wonderful place--the opening to the new--and patience with it--it is a description of acquired wisdom, I think. I also love this idea of the press the press of recalcitrant sensations. Yes, they do press! But recalcitrant is not a word I would have thought of, and yet it is perfect in its obdurate insistence, and yet - I always think of recalcitrant as somehow stuck in its ways and sensations as moving and quick and so it is quite a marvelous combination of words. Wonderfully distilled here -- much better to have the flicker than a black hole. k.
Thanks, Karin I think of 'recalcitrant' because the protagonist waits, and the sensations press only erratically and occasionally, and almost never when one wants them most.
DeleteSK