meditation

[tectak]

Hi goldy.
I am going to stick to my guns on this. You may say churlish, you may say pedantic, but that's me...this is about your poem. Begin with a capital letter. I will pretend you did, otherwise I would not continue.
wrapped inside out I wander in Good, strong, certain, deliberate rhythm.
and if I’m lucky, can observe...and so it continues. Great
floating soul melding with physical heart,
bridge-linked to my brain—Last two lines can be easily read to fit. It is going well
"...bridge-linked" is a little tautological and could be much improved. You chose the easy route. " two links in the chain around my brain"
a nonphysical reaching down, transforming, Gone.....rhythm lost. It was so strong. Gone
intimately, infinitely, liltingly onwards,
a process
small beyond my knowledge
too intricate for comprehension You have abandoned your own poem because it just got too difficult to control. Fight it. Beat it into order. Make it do what YOU want it to do.

shifting to the realm of the people of the quarks.Hmmm. We are off on another jaunt. The tenuous connection between what has gone before and what comes after is unsettling. I have to keep going back to see how I got here....and it is not at all clear where "here" is.Strangeness and charm together.

they shiver and it shakes the world. Capit...aw the hell with it
fourth dimensional inhabitants of our circled existence,
foreverly larger than the titans of our minds. Do not make up words. Even if you are American by birthness the Urban Dictionary does not count.
with parental authority they decide we are too cold
and their tiny hands delicately shovedelicately and shove does not work. Think about it.
hovering soul into bodies, willing or not. Souls...but it does not matter anymore. Willing is again not a shove thing, but it is a nit
(how could we know what is best?)

with their otherness they border-hop The otherness is terrifical. I have neverly seen the word used with such authoritiness.
between spiritual and temporal,
as a model, an exhibition, a test.This last verse says to me " Don't follow me...I'm lost".....but it's OK. I have been lost here before.

will they ever learn?

A whole lot to think about, primarily because you had an idea outside your comfort zone. It happens to all the best poets. Needs to be controlled. This poetry writing lark is like riding a spirited horse. You have to break the bloody thing.
Best,
tectak







(sorry, signature refuses to disappear)