02-01-2013, 04:46 PM
The beach. Edit 2.
Before a wave breaks upon the shore, she sags in her defeat. From above, high blue shines his benevolence down on her and behind her the cliff face offers a sanctuary of shade, whilst on either side, her sisters sing uplifting songs. Stark, scrawling etch marks snake across her body and she makes no move to cover these; they echo her feelings of self revile. Upon her breast, scars bare open witness to her regret. Oily ooze collects in the gutters made by those who have defiled her. A used rag, lifeless, she lies abandoned. In the gutters of her condition, a miniature representation of her existence is played out, as grains of sand float like the crusted tears of a turtle, they collect and bind together in a gritty conglomerate caught in the cross wind of a recession, swirling in eddies and whirlpools of seemingly random chance, before they make a bid for their final goal and strike out for the other shore. From the depths within, tears without number coalesce, welling up to form a spring. Pushing past a countless multitude of individual sand grains, and making tract of confessional disclosure. First a trickle, then a stream – a constant flow. Drawn by a force unseen. Running over her defilement, down her face and sides,… filling the scars left by others who have mined into her being with shovels, seeking her treasure and have then built castles - edifices of ownership for their own self grandeur, placing the mark of their boot upon her neck,… colouring her pale and drawn complexion - a dark blush, of a passionate outpouring that will not be denied. Running over, running down; cutting a swath across all that has eroded her beauty. Like a breach in a dam, it will not be contained and in gathering assertiveness, the tide of tears smoothes a path through the debris and leads her thoughts back to the desire of her heart.
In the last rays of the evening light, Spreading pools collect, shallow mirrors formed by her tears, which reflect a secret identity, that glimmers and shines. The dark reflection, when held to her face, contains a view of high blue and yet is still definably her. This beauty surpasses all that she currently could be and gives a hint of deeper reservoirs. A promise of hiddeness yet to be discovered. Her check is cooled and caressed by a soft word carried on the wind. She responds. Reminded of things past and yet to come. Of a need, of a longing; a part of her, yet a separate identity. Again she hears a soft urging upon the wind. A word of imminent change. The wind has changed direction and she is lifted. There… she sees him,… rising and swelling to meet her, advancing with a boldness that swallows the distance between them. Tenderly he lays claim to each newly gained position. His advances leave her craving his touch, but with each stroke he temporarily withdraws. Unable to contain her desire for him, grains of longing are cut loose from her being and move back and forth in the delicate dance of Mahanaim - two camps joined. The lover and the loved. Joined together, her feet forever covered by the hem of his garment. Unwilling and unable to let go. Near even when drawn apart. Caressing her forgotten outer limits, he gives each and every part of her equal attention and like a homecoming, in a rush, it all comes back to her. The allure of him, his touch, his fragrance, his embrace. Like a leaf bud breaking out of its casket of darkness, she relives her last awakening. The initial cold tingle of semi fear at the first exposure, then the mingling warmth of love’s first touch. The burning, urgency of growth. The full and replete repose at love’s high tide. Then the encroaching darkness, that empty feeling as his presence ebbs, from which her memory hides. She opens herself up to him, the hem of her skirt lifting and falling in rhythm to his advances. They sigh in unison as they draw together and bond like chemical elements, melting one into the other. Now gathering himself, he breaks upon her awareness and within the flood comes identity. Again and again he breaks and invades her barriers and strongholds. Each fresh wave bringing revelation, forgotten treasure and vitality. He covers her and they are hidden together. Her desolation and barrenness removed. Clearing away the debris and shame, she shines, radiance leaping from her like a freshly cut gem brought into the light. The shallow pools are now deep wells of water, full of life and health. The crumbling edges of her boundaries have been strengthened and the gaps in her understanding made new. Every part of her being is restored and filled with intimacy. Every stone gently lifted and turned, every scar caressed and smoothed. A sifting through every layer, until she is known. Holding each other, totally immersed and intermingled. There they stay, but for the constant pull of his heavenly heart beat, which is ever drawing the event horizon of time to the turning point. For one perfect moment they hold each other in complete union. Each fully sated and requited. For nothing was withheld and no part was despised. For but one heart beat in eternity they are one; then almost imperceptibly at first, then more wretchedly so, they are pulled apart. The governing laws of this world and the order of things not in accord with their desires, their joined hearts not part of the equation. She is to be accountable and held once more, by that from which she stole and was stolen. But to whom does she belong? With his passing she has an inner glow that remains. No longer gutted and empty, but full and resplendent. Yet she weeps. Every sifted layer mourns and yearns for his return. How long will he be? Deep within she holds an impartation, a portion of him which she deeply treasures. Stored, in anticipation of the dry times to come, guarded and safe. A silver chord around her heart, a promised ring of gold. The weeping continues, and the walls of her wells begin to crumble and weaken. Yet there is still comfort. The feel of him, his scent and flavour, his touch, are all there encompassed and embodied within the stream; which cuts a swath across that which she is not.
(Written on Lady bay beach – Guernsey – 98)
The beach. Edit 1.
Before a wave breaks upon the shore, she sags, resigned in her defeat. From above, high blue shines his benevolence down upon her and behind her the cliff face offers a sanctuary of shade, whilst on either side, her sisters sing uplifting songs. Self revile is written in stark, scrawling etch marks across her flanks. Upon her breast, scars bare open witness to her regret. Oily ooze collects in the gutters made by those who have defiled her. Lifeless and listless she lies abandoned. In the gutters of her condition, a miniature representation of her existence is played out, as grains of sand float across the oily expanse, like the crusted tears of a turtle, they collect and bind together in a gritty conglomerate caught in the cross wind of a recession, swirling in eddies and whirlpools of random chance, before they make a bid for their final goal and strike out for the other shore. From the depths within, countless tears well up. Pushing past a countless multitude of individual sand grains, and making tract of confessional disclosure. First a trickle, then a stream – a constant flow. Drawn by a force unseen. Running over her defilement, down her face and sides, filling the scars left by sharp implements and boots, colouring her pale and drawn complexion - a dark blush, of a passionate outpouring that cannot not be held in. Running over, running down; cutting a swath across all that has eroded and covered her beauty. Like a breach in a dam, it will not be contained and in gathering assertiveness, the tide of tears smoothes a path through the debris and leads her thoughts back to the desire of her heart. In the last rays of the evening light, pools collect and reflect a secret identity, seen through the mirror which high blue holds to her face, her reflection glimmers and shines with a beauty that surpasses all that she currently could be. Deep reservoirs of a promise of hiddeness yet to be discovered. Her check is brushed and caressed by a soft word carried on the wind. She responds. Reminded of things past and yet to come. Of a need, of a longing; a part of her, yet a separate identity. (*) Again she hears a soft urging carried upon the wind. A word of imminent change. The wind has changed direction and she is lifted. There… she sees him,… rising and swelling to meet her, advancing with a boldness that swallows the distance between them. Tenderly her lays claim to each newly gained position. His advances leave her craving his touch, but with each stroke he temporarily withdraws. Unable to contain her desire for him, grains of longing are cut loose from her being and move back and forth in the delicate dance of Mahanaim - two camps joined. The lover and the loved. Joined together, her feet forever covered by the hem of his garment. Unwilling and unable to let go. Near even when drawn apart. Caressing her forgotten outer limits, he gives each and every part of her equal attention and like a homecoming, in a rush, it all comes back to her. The allure of him, his touch, his fragrance, his embrace. Like a leaf bud breaking out of its casket of darkness, she relives her last awakening. The initial cold tingle of semi fear at the first exposure, then the mingling warmth of loves first touch. The burning, urgent heat of growth. The full and replete repose at love’s high tide. Then the encroaching darkness, that empty feeling at his withdrawing, from which her memory hides. She opens herself up to him, the hem of her skirt lifting and falling in rhythm to his advances. They sigh in unison as they draw together and bond like chemical elements, melting one into the other. Now gathering himself, he breaks upon her awareness and within the flood comes identity. Again and again he breaks and invades her barriers and strongholds. Each fresh wave bringing revelation, forgotten treasure and vitality. He covers her and they are hidden together. Her desolation and barrenness removed. Clearing away the debris and shame, she glows and shines. The shallow pools are deep wells of water, full of life and health. The crumbling edges of her boundaries have been strengthened and the gaps in her understanding are made new. Every part of her being is restored and filled with intimacy. Every stone gently lifted and turned, every scar caressed and smoothed. A sifting through every layer, until she is known. Holding each other, totally immersed and intermingled. There they stay, but for the constant pull of his celestial heart beat, which is ever drawing the event horizon of time to the turning point. For one perfect moment they hold each other in complete union. Each fully sated and requited. For nothing was withheld and no part was despised. For but one heart beat in eternity they are one; then almost imperceptibly at first, then more wretchedly so, they are pulled apart. The governing laws of this world and the order of things not in accord with their desires, their joined hearts not part of the equation. She is to be accountable and held once more, by that from which she stole and was stolen. But to whom does she belong? With his passing she glows and shines. No longer gutted and empty, but full and resplendent. Yet she weeps. Every sifted layer mourns and yearns for his return. How long will he be? Deep within she hides a portion of him retained. Stored in anticipation of the dry times to come. A treasure within. The weeping continues, and the walls of her wells begin to crumble and weaken. Yet there is still comfort. The feel of him, his scent and flavour, his touch, are all there encompassed and embodied within the stream; which cuts a swath across that which she is not.
(Written on Lady bay beach – Guernsey – 98)
(* - Still might need to supply extra images here as suggested by Todd, but got stuck on this section so i've posted what i've got to date. - Found it harder to do the edit than i did the original write!).
The beach (original post)
Part 1.
Before a wave breaks upon the shore, she bares her scars and defilement upon her breast. Lifeless and listless she lies abandoned and from the depths, from the pain within wells up countless tears. First a trickle, then a stream – a constant flow. Drawn by a force unseen. Running over her defilement. Running over, running down; cutting a swath across that which she is not. In the last rays of the evening sun, a faint glimmer, a trace of a secret identity is reflected from the collective of her tears. Reservoirs, through which, she unconsciously shows her true colours and a promise of hiddeness yet to be discovered. The wind whispers to her and she responds. Reminded of things past and yet to come. Of a need, of a longing; a part of her, yet a separate identity. Again she hears a call. Speaking of change, an announcement of imminent arrival and she is lifted….there… she sees him, rising and swelling to meet her. The lover and the loved. Made for each other. Joined together, each a vital part of the other; so that, even when split asunder, each holds a portion of their lover. Unwilling and unable to let go. Near even when drawn apart. Tenderly he speaks to her, caressing her outer limits; and like a homecoming, in a rush, it all comes back to her. The allure of him; his touch, his fragrance, his embrace. They share a familiarity and so she opens herself up to him, the hem of her skirt lifting and falling in rhythm to his advances. Unable to resist each other, they sigh in unison. Now gathering himself, he breaks upon her awareness and within the flood comes identity. Again and again he breaks and invades her barriers and strongholds. Each fresh wave bringing revelation, forgotten treasure and vitality. He covers her and they are hidden together. Her desolation and barrenness removed. Every part of her being is restored and filled with intimacy. No stone left unturned, no scar left un-caressed; a sifting through every layer, until she is known, she is complete. There they stay, but for the gentle pull of passing time. Holding each other, total immersion and intermingling. Each fully sated and requited. For nothing was withheld and no part was despised. For but one heart beat in eternity they are one; then almost imperceptibly at first, then more wretchedly so, they are pulled apart. The governing laws of this world and the order of things not in accord with their desires, their joined hearts not part of the equation. She is to be returned from that which she stole and was stolen. But to whom does she belong? With his passing she glows and shines. No longer gutted and empty, but full and resplendent. Yet she weeps from deep within. Every sifted layer mourns and yearns for his return. How long will he be?....She knows not. Deep within her depths she hides a secret – a portion of him retained. Stored in anticipation of the dry times to come. Hoarded, guarded, protected and safe – a treasure within. The weeping continues, sapping her strength. Yet even within the pain and tears there is comfort. The feel of him, his scent and flavour, his touch, are all there encompassed and embodied within the stream; which cuts a swath across that which she is not.
(Written on Lady bay beach – Guernsey – 98)
This is an addition to my original post.
A couple of weeks ago we discussed poetry / prose and I mentioned that i use prose as a free flow thought process to get into poetry sometimes.
This is one of those pieces. The pantoum below is one of the first posts i made ( in the poetry practice pages).
As it is a series of pieces i wondered if anyone would be kind enough to give me some lead as to which form works best in their opinions. The prose of the poetry.
The beach.
Lifeless and listless she lies.
A swath seen - a trickle, a small stream.
In deep sorrow she cries.
Drawn by a force un-seen.
A swath. Seen, a trickle and small stream.
Cutting accross a barren place.
Drawn by a force un-seen.
The lover remembered in touch, smell and taste.
Cutting accross a barren place
There he is! She hears him call.
The lover remembered, touch, smell and taste.
Rising and swelling, upon her awarness he falls.
There he is, she hears him call.
Barriers broken. Her skirts moved by his motivation.
Rising and swelling - upon her awarness he falls.
With each new wave; restoration and fresh revelation.
Barriers broken, her skirts moved. By his motivation
her defilment is soothed. No stone unturned, no scar un-caressed.
With each new wave, restoration and fresh revelation.
Intimately known. Immersed and intermingled. Fully possessed.
Her defilement is soothed, no stone unturned, no scar uncaressed.
In him there is life, upon this she is dependant.
Intimateley known, immersed and intermingled, fully possessed.
She glows and shines. Full and resplendant.
In him there is life and upon this she is dependant.
Wretchedly. Imperceptably, they are pulled apart.
She glows and shines, full and resplendant.
From deep within she starts to weep. Her lover stole her heart.
Wretchedly, imperceptably, they are pulled apart.
Lifeless and listless she lies.
From deep within she starts to weep - her lover stole her heart.
In deep sorrow she cries.
[/size][/font]
Before a wave breaks upon the shore, she sags in her defeat. From above, high blue shines his benevolence down on her and behind her the cliff face offers a sanctuary of shade, whilst on either side, her sisters sing uplifting songs. Stark, scrawling etch marks snake across her body and she makes no move to cover these; they echo her feelings of self revile. Upon her breast, scars bare open witness to her regret. Oily ooze collects in the gutters made by those who have defiled her. A used rag, lifeless, she lies abandoned. In the gutters of her condition, a miniature representation of her existence is played out, as grains of sand float like the crusted tears of a turtle, they collect and bind together in a gritty conglomerate caught in the cross wind of a recession, swirling in eddies and whirlpools of seemingly random chance, before they make a bid for their final goal and strike out for the other shore. From the depths within, tears without number coalesce, welling up to form a spring. Pushing past a countless multitude of individual sand grains, and making tract of confessional disclosure. First a trickle, then a stream – a constant flow. Drawn by a force unseen. Running over her defilement, down her face and sides,… filling the scars left by others who have mined into her being with shovels, seeking her treasure and have then built castles - edifices of ownership for their own self grandeur, placing the mark of their boot upon her neck,… colouring her pale and drawn complexion - a dark blush, of a passionate outpouring that will not be denied. Running over, running down; cutting a swath across all that has eroded her beauty. Like a breach in a dam, it will not be contained and in gathering assertiveness, the tide of tears smoothes a path through the debris and leads her thoughts back to the desire of her heart.
In the last rays of the evening light, Spreading pools collect, shallow mirrors formed by her tears, which reflect a secret identity, that glimmers and shines. The dark reflection, when held to her face, contains a view of high blue and yet is still definably her. This beauty surpasses all that she currently could be and gives a hint of deeper reservoirs. A promise of hiddeness yet to be discovered. Her check is cooled and caressed by a soft word carried on the wind. She responds. Reminded of things past and yet to come. Of a need, of a longing; a part of her, yet a separate identity. Again she hears a soft urging upon the wind. A word of imminent change. The wind has changed direction and she is lifted. There… she sees him,… rising and swelling to meet her, advancing with a boldness that swallows the distance between them. Tenderly he lays claim to each newly gained position. His advances leave her craving his touch, but with each stroke he temporarily withdraws. Unable to contain her desire for him, grains of longing are cut loose from her being and move back and forth in the delicate dance of Mahanaim - two camps joined. The lover and the loved. Joined together, her feet forever covered by the hem of his garment. Unwilling and unable to let go. Near even when drawn apart. Caressing her forgotten outer limits, he gives each and every part of her equal attention and like a homecoming, in a rush, it all comes back to her. The allure of him, his touch, his fragrance, his embrace. Like a leaf bud breaking out of its casket of darkness, she relives her last awakening. The initial cold tingle of semi fear at the first exposure, then the mingling warmth of love’s first touch. The burning, urgency of growth. The full and replete repose at love’s high tide. Then the encroaching darkness, that empty feeling as his presence ebbs, from which her memory hides. She opens herself up to him, the hem of her skirt lifting and falling in rhythm to his advances. They sigh in unison as they draw together and bond like chemical elements, melting one into the other. Now gathering himself, he breaks upon her awareness and within the flood comes identity. Again and again he breaks and invades her barriers and strongholds. Each fresh wave bringing revelation, forgotten treasure and vitality. He covers her and they are hidden together. Her desolation and barrenness removed. Clearing away the debris and shame, she shines, radiance leaping from her like a freshly cut gem brought into the light. The shallow pools are now deep wells of water, full of life and health. The crumbling edges of her boundaries have been strengthened and the gaps in her understanding made new. Every part of her being is restored and filled with intimacy. Every stone gently lifted and turned, every scar caressed and smoothed. A sifting through every layer, until she is known. Holding each other, totally immersed and intermingled. There they stay, but for the constant pull of his heavenly heart beat, which is ever drawing the event horizon of time to the turning point. For one perfect moment they hold each other in complete union. Each fully sated and requited. For nothing was withheld and no part was despised. For but one heart beat in eternity they are one; then almost imperceptibly at first, then more wretchedly so, they are pulled apart. The governing laws of this world and the order of things not in accord with their desires, their joined hearts not part of the equation. She is to be accountable and held once more, by that from which she stole and was stolen. But to whom does she belong? With his passing she has an inner glow that remains. No longer gutted and empty, but full and resplendent. Yet she weeps. Every sifted layer mourns and yearns for his return. How long will he be? Deep within she holds an impartation, a portion of him which she deeply treasures. Stored, in anticipation of the dry times to come, guarded and safe. A silver chord around her heart, a promised ring of gold. The weeping continues, and the walls of her wells begin to crumble and weaken. Yet there is still comfort. The feel of him, his scent and flavour, his touch, are all there encompassed and embodied within the stream; which cuts a swath across that which she is not.
(Written on Lady bay beach – Guernsey – 98)
The beach. Edit 1.
Before a wave breaks upon the shore, she sags, resigned in her defeat. From above, high blue shines his benevolence down upon her and behind her the cliff face offers a sanctuary of shade, whilst on either side, her sisters sing uplifting songs. Self revile is written in stark, scrawling etch marks across her flanks. Upon her breast, scars bare open witness to her regret. Oily ooze collects in the gutters made by those who have defiled her. Lifeless and listless she lies abandoned. In the gutters of her condition, a miniature representation of her existence is played out, as grains of sand float across the oily expanse, like the crusted tears of a turtle, they collect and bind together in a gritty conglomerate caught in the cross wind of a recession, swirling in eddies and whirlpools of random chance, before they make a bid for their final goal and strike out for the other shore. From the depths within, countless tears well up. Pushing past a countless multitude of individual sand grains, and making tract of confessional disclosure. First a trickle, then a stream – a constant flow. Drawn by a force unseen. Running over her defilement, down her face and sides, filling the scars left by sharp implements and boots, colouring her pale and drawn complexion - a dark blush, of a passionate outpouring that cannot not be held in. Running over, running down; cutting a swath across all that has eroded and covered her beauty. Like a breach in a dam, it will not be contained and in gathering assertiveness, the tide of tears smoothes a path through the debris and leads her thoughts back to the desire of her heart. In the last rays of the evening light, pools collect and reflect a secret identity, seen through the mirror which high blue holds to her face, her reflection glimmers and shines with a beauty that surpasses all that she currently could be. Deep reservoirs of a promise of hiddeness yet to be discovered. Her check is brushed and caressed by a soft word carried on the wind. She responds. Reminded of things past and yet to come. Of a need, of a longing; a part of her, yet a separate identity. (*) Again she hears a soft urging carried upon the wind. A word of imminent change. The wind has changed direction and she is lifted. There… she sees him,… rising and swelling to meet her, advancing with a boldness that swallows the distance between them. Tenderly her lays claim to each newly gained position. His advances leave her craving his touch, but with each stroke he temporarily withdraws. Unable to contain her desire for him, grains of longing are cut loose from her being and move back and forth in the delicate dance of Mahanaim - two camps joined. The lover and the loved. Joined together, her feet forever covered by the hem of his garment. Unwilling and unable to let go. Near even when drawn apart. Caressing her forgotten outer limits, he gives each and every part of her equal attention and like a homecoming, in a rush, it all comes back to her. The allure of him, his touch, his fragrance, his embrace. Like a leaf bud breaking out of its casket of darkness, she relives her last awakening. The initial cold tingle of semi fear at the first exposure, then the mingling warmth of loves first touch. The burning, urgent heat of growth. The full and replete repose at love’s high tide. Then the encroaching darkness, that empty feeling at his withdrawing, from which her memory hides. She opens herself up to him, the hem of her skirt lifting and falling in rhythm to his advances. They sigh in unison as they draw together and bond like chemical elements, melting one into the other. Now gathering himself, he breaks upon her awareness and within the flood comes identity. Again and again he breaks and invades her barriers and strongholds. Each fresh wave bringing revelation, forgotten treasure and vitality. He covers her and they are hidden together. Her desolation and barrenness removed. Clearing away the debris and shame, she glows and shines. The shallow pools are deep wells of water, full of life and health. The crumbling edges of her boundaries have been strengthened and the gaps in her understanding are made new. Every part of her being is restored and filled with intimacy. Every stone gently lifted and turned, every scar caressed and smoothed. A sifting through every layer, until she is known. Holding each other, totally immersed and intermingled. There they stay, but for the constant pull of his celestial heart beat, which is ever drawing the event horizon of time to the turning point. For one perfect moment they hold each other in complete union. Each fully sated and requited. For nothing was withheld and no part was despised. For but one heart beat in eternity they are one; then almost imperceptibly at first, then more wretchedly so, they are pulled apart. The governing laws of this world and the order of things not in accord with their desires, their joined hearts not part of the equation. She is to be accountable and held once more, by that from which she stole and was stolen. But to whom does she belong? With his passing she glows and shines. No longer gutted and empty, but full and resplendent. Yet she weeps. Every sifted layer mourns and yearns for his return. How long will he be? Deep within she hides a portion of him retained. Stored in anticipation of the dry times to come. A treasure within. The weeping continues, and the walls of her wells begin to crumble and weaken. Yet there is still comfort. The feel of him, his scent and flavour, his touch, are all there encompassed and embodied within the stream; which cuts a swath across that which she is not.
(Written on Lady bay beach – Guernsey – 98)
(* - Still might need to supply extra images here as suggested by Todd, but got stuck on this section so i've posted what i've got to date. - Found it harder to do the edit than i did the original write!).
The beach (original post)
Part 1.
Before a wave breaks upon the shore, she bares her scars and defilement upon her breast. Lifeless and listless she lies abandoned and from the depths, from the pain within wells up countless tears. First a trickle, then a stream – a constant flow. Drawn by a force unseen. Running over her defilement. Running over, running down; cutting a swath across that which she is not. In the last rays of the evening sun, a faint glimmer, a trace of a secret identity is reflected from the collective of her tears. Reservoirs, through which, she unconsciously shows her true colours and a promise of hiddeness yet to be discovered. The wind whispers to her and she responds. Reminded of things past and yet to come. Of a need, of a longing; a part of her, yet a separate identity. Again she hears a call. Speaking of change, an announcement of imminent arrival and she is lifted….there… she sees him, rising and swelling to meet her. The lover and the loved. Made for each other. Joined together, each a vital part of the other; so that, even when split asunder, each holds a portion of their lover. Unwilling and unable to let go. Near even when drawn apart. Tenderly he speaks to her, caressing her outer limits; and like a homecoming, in a rush, it all comes back to her. The allure of him; his touch, his fragrance, his embrace. They share a familiarity and so she opens herself up to him, the hem of her skirt lifting and falling in rhythm to his advances. Unable to resist each other, they sigh in unison. Now gathering himself, he breaks upon her awareness and within the flood comes identity. Again and again he breaks and invades her barriers and strongholds. Each fresh wave bringing revelation, forgotten treasure and vitality. He covers her and they are hidden together. Her desolation and barrenness removed. Every part of her being is restored and filled with intimacy. No stone left unturned, no scar left un-caressed; a sifting through every layer, until she is known, she is complete. There they stay, but for the gentle pull of passing time. Holding each other, total immersion and intermingling. Each fully sated and requited. For nothing was withheld and no part was despised. For but one heart beat in eternity they are one; then almost imperceptibly at first, then more wretchedly so, they are pulled apart. The governing laws of this world and the order of things not in accord with their desires, their joined hearts not part of the equation. She is to be returned from that which she stole and was stolen. But to whom does she belong? With his passing she glows and shines. No longer gutted and empty, but full and resplendent. Yet she weeps from deep within. Every sifted layer mourns and yearns for his return. How long will he be?....She knows not. Deep within her depths she hides a secret – a portion of him retained. Stored in anticipation of the dry times to come. Hoarded, guarded, protected and safe – a treasure within. The weeping continues, sapping her strength. Yet even within the pain and tears there is comfort. The feel of him, his scent and flavour, his touch, are all there encompassed and embodied within the stream; which cuts a swath across that which she is not.
(Written on Lady bay beach – Guernsey – 98)
This is an addition to my original post.
A couple of weeks ago we discussed poetry / prose and I mentioned that i use prose as a free flow thought process to get into poetry sometimes.
This is one of those pieces. The pantoum below is one of the first posts i made ( in the poetry practice pages).
As it is a series of pieces i wondered if anyone would be kind enough to give me some lead as to which form works best in their opinions. The prose of the poetry.
The beach.
Lifeless and listless she lies.
A swath seen - a trickle, a small stream.
In deep sorrow she cries.
Drawn by a force un-seen.
A swath. Seen, a trickle and small stream.
Cutting accross a barren place.
Drawn by a force un-seen.
The lover remembered in touch, smell and taste.
Cutting accross a barren place
There he is! She hears him call.
The lover remembered, touch, smell and taste.
Rising and swelling, upon her awarness he falls.
There he is, she hears him call.
Barriers broken. Her skirts moved by his motivation.
Rising and swelling - upon her awarness he falls.
With each new wave; restoration and fresh revelation.
Barriers broken, her skirts moved. By his motivation
her defilment is soothed. No stone unturned, no scar un-caressed.
With each new wave, restoration and fresh revelation.
Intimately known. Immersed and intermingled. Fully possessed.
Her defilement is soothed, no stone unturned, no scar uncaressed.
In him there is life, upon this she is dependant.
Intimateley known, immersed and intermingled, fully possessed.
She glows and shines. Full and resplendant.
In him there is life and upon this she is dependant.
Wretchedly. Imperceptably, they are pulled apart.
She glows and shines, full and resplendant.
From deep within she starts to weep. Her lover stole her heart.
Wretchedly, imperceptably, they are pulled apart.
Lifeless and listless she lies.
From deep within she starts to weep - her lover stole her heart.
In deep sorrow she cries.
[/size][/font]
