Help
Sign In
poetry
September 2009 
this far shore
Posted on Aug 6th, 2009
by 
mary
mary
already, the sand of memory shimmers
like mirage over a dream
of goddesses, fleeing the temple
running naked through the meadows
down to the sea
where they tumble as one
with the wind and the waves and the tide
and granite melts to magma pearls
where graced by dancing steps
and swinging hips
and swept by the silk of lush brown hair
cascading from bosom and belly
to the nether regions curling beyond the breakers
where a yellow surfboard catches the sun...
'tis the apex of love, upon the shoreline
this shoreline!
between exploding infinities
where helical imprints are held in potential
and reactivated by the action
of nonbelief in a static locale --
a very delicate operation!
as slight deviations become major shifts
splashed into form
and one can slippy-slide down the wormholes
into that mythic neverland
from which nothing returns
but ghostly laughter...
but never fear ;-)
the mother knows her own
and cradles her sons in bottomless splendor
even in their terrified dreaming
they are safe in her heart
ever suckling the milk of her mercy
even while denying the knowing of it
even fearing that deep nature within
and fearing the richness of succor
as they struggle for knightship in distant lands
where possibly somewhere, somewhen they hear
as if teased into the wind
that should we come to know her
like a baby, first peering
afresh we would fall into love
and never emerge from the scent of it
long after the cord is knotted and cut
and we are cast like seeds upon the water
to wash upon the far shore
upon this far, far shore
beneath a brand new sun...
Access: PublicTagged with: poetry
I love this kind of intimacy Mary, where the words struggling to find their way out of me, find their way into you, out, deep in, out into the world. That feels like magic to me. And I see you have been to Ano Nuevo. The energy there is very strong! And I love that sea scent, love the feeling of my feet in the wet sand ;-)
yes, i hear the wind beyond the breakers, and the long call of the spirit, struggling to emerge, to unfold as it voices the flute within, whistling through these inner channels, somehow finding the words that beg release…
and me? i can only open or close.
thank you doug! you truly inspired me! It was your words that found their way through, as this is your story of ano nuevo, where we walked alone together on wednesday (although with my own perverse twisting, as the rabbit bails out of the hat… ;-)
isn't this wonderful! thank you so much, Mary…