Monday, March 4, 2013
The Pot
Roots from the earth guided by suns wamrth to form weeds.
From the roots, the stem splits from the stalk to form arms bearing buds.
Within the recess, trichomes of profound mystery.
However...
Where may she be grown?
Where can her profundity be shared?
Only Behind deadbolted doors and on a screen of brass.
Or trapped in a Skin made from her sister.
Hidden from sight; exiled to a street corner, lost in a crowd.
Kept secret in containers of glass with an iron roof.
She burns alone and misunderstood.
Bring her from the shadows of the BlackMarket
and radiate her golden Strength to all the
Wounded, Sickly, and Dieing.
Allow her grace to bless!
instead of confuse, blind and Strengthen the Wicked.
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Delight. Delights.
ReplyDeleteWe talked briefly, or rather I speech-wrote at you. About the subject of poetry man, it's best to simply ignore anything I say when wearing authority tones hahaa. I was worried that primed reading would kind of taint reading the poem on its own and proper here.
Fortunately the taint didn't spread.
Sequestered little pots, we grow in sequestered little pots. It's uncomfortable to think of all the artificial ways we are pruned and placed aside from light-- but what cuts is the implication of all the organic ways the same is accomplished.
It's fitting maybe, that I'm listening to recording of a BBC radio biopic on DFW. They mentioned-- "In many ways relationship and community between people are painful, but separation is destructive-- we are compelled together." Maybe it's how easily we are positioned when alone and singular-- we are potted and contained. Rooted in the open dirt, we are intermingled, bound, but member of exchanges: ecosystems of the mind, body, spirit.
Kisses and Kandy, Killer.
Shame. Shame, on me for not commenting earlier. Our sequestered or "potted" existence maybe the source of all sorts of Sour and Inexplicable pains of or so called Life. But when one can see with EyEs, the dirt from which we are all sewn, these worries become just that, needless worries. Life waits for us beyond the threshold, and new thresholds make us forget. Face life with love and true compassion for all fellow man, and no peril will follow.
ReplyDeleteTo quote the Tao Te Ching....
'When the mother is found, we know what her children should be.
When one knows that he is his mother's child, and proceeds to guard
(the qualities of) the mother that belong to him, to the end of his
life he will be free from all peril.'