In The Night of My Revelation

[billy]

hi donna,

there's a part that goes on and on and on, and i know it's a train of consciousness but it begging for a period or two so the reader can catch his breath. apart form that just a few nits in the body of the poem. i never actually made a connection to any revelation but did enjoy the poem.
thanks for the read.

Experimenting with 'writing from the heart'' - a kind of stream of consciousness.

Go for it, folks.

Donna

In The Night Of My Revelation

In the night of my revelation, sometimes it's better to let the title act as the first line instead of having a repeat line but that's always the choice the poet has to make.
I dreamed I held a crystal ball, a suggestion would be to remove [i dreamed] as it's made clear later on that it's a dream.
and all the gypsies in the world
flowed like a river to my door, a suggestion would be to use something else instead of river to help ease the cliche.
and more than I could number
of prophets and oracles, vendors
of miracles, makers of a mythology
twisted into truth that bled like wine
into the mouths of captive generations,
choked them with bread, expanding
to fill the space that needs
no nourishment but
the manna of heart and mind.

I awoke troubled; but the moon,
reaching through the shutter,
pinned my shoulder to the bed,
and I fell again into a fevered slumber. i like this connecting stanza, and the anthropomorphising of the moon into an entity

Dreaming anew, I saw angels, why the blue?
disenfranchised, tumble like tears
down the face of the moon,
silent as death, and bleak
as a baby's last breath. this line pulled me up short in a good way. it was unexpected and carries a lot of emotion

My pillow was wet when I awoke,
but slivers of radiance pierced the floor, no need for [but]
and I stumbled outdoors,
where the sun hung ripe as a lemon, how ripe is that? a suggestion would be hung as a ripe lemon. nice phrase, puts me i mind of a van Gough painting
and rose petals littered the moist grass.

I scooped up a handful, flung them into the air,
then joyful, watched them flutter
inside the ball of glass.

© Donna Devine