Metapoetic

 

 

 

The poem is always aching to begin.
Like a red-lacquered bridge
it ferries image & idea,

moving sideways to the rhythm
of newfound thought.
The poem becomes the sweetest concept,
precious cargo

of cloud-stuff lit by chalcopyrite,
melting towards absurdity-laced beauty.
The pain at the center,
the veritable something
out of nothing.

The poem is a ghost of flame,
a kiss, a shipwreck,
an unexpected win.

Jewel-encrusted latitudes,
she comes running with both feet,
exchanging symbols
for syllables.

Zen-spaced the poem
must dance across the sky,
uttering unarticulated feeling,
a zest

for cadence’s final thrill—
a splatter of blue
at the pivotal moment of birth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

7 comments

  1. “jewel-encrusted latitudes,
    she comes running with both feet,
    exchanging symbols
    for syllables.”

    Kalliejazz,

    Oh so fine to read this poem, to see you here at The Pub where you are always home.

    I love the verve so symbolic of your indomitable spirit, and I love the poetry, the dance of life
    that always happens when you pick up your pen.

    Welcome home!

    ‘Bow

    Like

  2. I just love this!

    Full of life and longing,
    the pain at the center, a kiss, a shipwreck.

    All the things of life and writing.

    Hope all is well with you.
    take care,
    Kerri

    Like

  3. Hi Kalli

    So good to see you here!! Love these ideas on “the metapoetic” and how you view the spirit and the influence of poetry.

    she comes running with both feet,
    exchanging symbols
    for syllables.

    Zen-spaced the poem
    must dance across the sky,
    uttering unarticulated feeling,
    a zest

    for cadence’s final thrill—
    a splatter of blue
    at the pivotal moment of birth.

    And yes, “she must instill passion and rhythmic in what we experience, in how we express it. You capture this idea so vividly in the above lines. I can see and feel her approaching, barefoot, dressed bohemian with maybe a tambourine of syllables in her hand waiting to glean rhythm and voice from what surrounds her. Love the images and tone in this piece. Thanks so much for sharing.

    Take care
    Wendy

    Like

    • Hello Wendy–so glad you stopped by/thank you for your generous response–kallie (I added the “e’ a!fter a friend misspelled kalli, and it stuck

      Like

  4. ‘The poem is always aching to begin. the veritable something out of nothing.’ Yes indeed!

    You have captured the essence of the poet here. Impossible to allow the thought to remain no more than that; it must be birthed; there is no choice.

    Wonderful poetry, perfectly matched by the title.

    Douglas.

    Like

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