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  • Mysterion


    Waterboy to ram,
    and the bounty sealed in ice
    ungraves her breastbone;

    she-cat golden eye
    makes ridden game of our spin:
    e pur si muove.

    Wings, forever wings:
    the fear that all the faithful
    nail up in their cells.


    Copper-silver night,
    master’s and empress’ decline,
    rounds an awkward sum.

    The reds and whiteness
    dip corrupted angel rind,
    raise a quartered sun:

    crown of blood and light!
    The lineage-cursing rise
    entitles the mud;

    cutting dovely flight,
    another animal climb
    bounds with its plunder.

    The wound of lightning
    drapes of splendour tore to bind
    poisons to drumming.


    Foul of magicked peace,
    rumour too pure for the sweat
    of the gods at large,

    her feathers endure:
    my fallen star, decaying,
    fans a murder’s mark.

    Here the cadging strays
    ate out her myriad heart,
    left magma gaping;

    satan or millions,
    possessing her slums of skin,
    sang twisted pity.

    Locomotive wind
    slaps open and shut on bone
    her unblemished wings.

  • #2
    I have posted elements of this in the past, but this synthesis and significant revision is newly minted.


    • #3
      Hey there, Grant, I like this one, it obviously has those elements of "alchemy" and spirit which I'm fond of. "her" here, I feel like it's Sophia, some fallen material. You describe things in a way that makes a lot of sense, in the sometimes inverted/modified syntax. It's deep but doesn't drown in the depth, which for instance "the wound of lightning" seems to understand. I feel like you're exploring depth, connection, spiritual resonance. "Rumor too pure for the sweat/of the gods at large" is so voluminous and beautiful and riddling.
      And I remember somewhat that last line from before, if not in the same config, very similar.
      It's crisp and has a quality of space between the words, along with the tedious eye to what conceptual flourishings crop up.
      It makes a lot of sense to me in a far off way, majestic.

      And the end, that image, you captured it perfectly; it says much. "unblemished", yes, of course. I enjoyed this nice little construction. You weigh things against other things which comes from a natural connection, I like the movement therein.

      Cool sensations and hearkenings, and I think this warrants more reads. It understands me lol

      Thanks and Peace!


      • grant hayes
        grant hayes commented
        Editing a comment
        I thought you might relate to this one, amenOra. In its earlier iteration, it had been consigned to my (quite extensive) discard pile. I was picking through that attic's jumble of words recently, hoping to glean a phrase that might catalyse a poem-process. I rediscovered a few pieces that seemed to have some worthwhile poetic qualities. Sometimes it takes distance from an apparently unsatisfactory piece before its better features become evident. It's also the case (more frequently, in fact) that a piece that seems wonderful at first displays its manifold flaws as time rolls on. So, I worked on this abandoned rusty implement - originally three separate fragments - finding a strange consonance in its string of 5-7-5 stanzas. As you observe, there is indeed a sense of a Sophia-like 'fallen material', beginning with a natural, vernal unveiling of the 'bounty sealed in ice', a(n implicitly enfleshed) breast(bone) and the wings of a vital freedom, and ending with wings flapping on bone, wings - although unblemished - animated by a wind that is the byproduct of technology. In between, we see a process of decline, rise, and struggle, through brief enigmatic signposts that seem at once legible and mystifying. The whole thing represents a slide back into my bad habit of opacity. Yet it has reached you, genuinely, I believe, which is encouraging, because I often feel like I am just babbling in the dark. Thank you, amenOra.

      • amenOra
        amenOra commented
        Editing a comment
        So the "technology" aspect I didn't notice "locomotive" wind takes on a whole different idea then. Very interesting, thanks for the explanation here...

    • #4
      Hello grant, mysterion indeed. It reads like a journey into the subterranean geometry of the soul, the awe of the unknown and then to surface, like some goddess, a virgin out of the blood of the beginning, the first myth, when purity takes to wing and the unadulterated flight from all that which has been contaminated, is and will be, and yet it's all unknown, and the awesomeness of it, the mystery, the imagination and of course, the poetry: the beautiful confusion of language, so overwhelming to the point where the reader, especially this one, is tangled up in the pursuit of one's own definition so much so to the need a stiff drink - now see what you have done! That been said and supped, there is a vein of unusual greatness about it, like those gifted artists, who when imagining snow never brush with the colour white, and yet, it is snow - 'albeit it does move'. All the best to you, Tony.


      • grant hayes
        grant hayes commented
        Editing a comment
        Hi Tony. What a lovely response; thank you, thank you! I daresay your comment here blooms with a poetry of its own. To have furnished a Gaelic bard with the poetical pretext for a stiff drink I take as a signal honour

    • #5
      I've been here and back again and again. Far finer, more experienced minds have written direct to your expression. 'Mysterion' speaks to me of that, which everlasting, will never be destroyed. Therein, buoys me on, to hope.


      • grant hayes
        grant hayes commented
        Editing a comment
        I feel I've misbehaved by putting this one up, Rhymist; it's too high falutin'. I think the poignancy of the cut flight and the wings of the dove redeems it from being merely an obscure wordgame. There is a 'myriad heart', and you have felt its pulse, methinks.

    • #6
      I agree with amenora.

      I love the juxtaposition of ancient and modern concepts. The pairing of the beautiful and the grotesque.

      There is what I like to call, a marriage of tensions, in your work that ALWAYS provokes ponderance.

      Several witty and ear-pleasing stanzas. I especially liked:

      ​​​​​​​The reds and whiteness
      dip corrupted angel rind,
      raise a quartered sun:

      As is typical of your work, there is always depth of meaning, capable of multiple interpretations.

      The range of devices you employ, exemplifies the range and scope of your talent.

      Your work has influenced my own, as a find a kindred spirit in the sheer raw quality of your work.

      I sometimes wonder if we fully appreciate the substantial nature of these offerings.

      Worth SEVERAL contemplative reads.


      • grant hayes
        grant hayes commented
        Editing a comment
        Thank you for such an appreciative reading, Dwayne. That you observe the beautiful and the grotesque in tension here gladdens me; that's something I've hoped to express. To me, that is the way to touch the Real, in which we are constantly challenged to glean gold from ugliness, and to know the worm even in the loveliest gaze.