Day 26..obscure emotion

 Day 26..obscure emotion


Fernweh...homesickness for somewhere you have never been


Fernweh...homesickness for somewhere you have never been

What is home, you ask? And I’m silent,
though I want to say, it's what we are .
The words you make say one thing
when you mean another -
a hiss like insects in the August language.

The future is 10 hours drive and drift
to an island where absolutely
everybody wears your name,
every profession is your namesake,
and every friend you make will look like you.

You say you'll go there
when you're older-
the path along the sticky tongue of land,
speaking water's name,
then, easy as a lizard sheds its tail,

you'll be stone's throw across the sound,
with boats built to carry
only you and your own kin,
shoring up those lullabies,
beaching you for winter.

Looks like a good spot
to sit out the end of the world-
an acre or so, a small croft on the ocean side
where the land remembers,
is borne upon its own back.

Perhaps you’ll get that horse then,
the gray one with the sea mane.
At the day’s end, you'll see
the sun descending late
in its bronze age chariot.

When you're middle aged, you will be tired,
but the sky will be huge enough
to hold you like a mother,
and whatever name you go by then
will always have been yours.

The sea will suck its teeth on sand,
on the bones of argument,
on love and drowning,
on what a home means ,
on where and who you find it.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Day 7...Fib....

 Fib Day 7... feeling uninspired, but using, from Napowrimo site, the 'Fib' form: 1/1/2/3/5/8, inspired by the Fibonacci sequence, apparently.  We   lie  because  each sleeper   wants to conjure up   unreal, protective magic   pinned with ribbons like a war map,   a cat's cradle song:   these limits   cannot   show   us,   raw,   just what  we've cooked up-  like the trick with gold-  just keep it there, under your tongue   till  you're ready for invention   metaphysical-   swallowing   words dry,  like  pills
Read more

Day 5 -#PoetryPrompt Dream Imagery

  5th #PoetryPrompt was to go to Google Image Search and type in "dream imagery". Pick a picture. I did, then went off at a tangent - reading the article the picture came from...and thinking about when I suffered from sleep paralysis “When we fall asleep, where do we go?”    asks Billie #2,  asks Billie Eyelash (children’s nickname) Billie of the sleep Billie quoted in the dream enquiry or   I could show you, garish, clichéweird, the art of someone else’s dream  or   I could tell you of phosphorescence, the city in the sea that had no side and bled rooms over cliffs and here we lived recurring, and it wasn’t bad, even with the birds  or   I can tell you where I like to go, out of myself but standing to the left, slight phase jump echoes, leaves a jellyfish or traces, smidge of me atomic across blur, across the hours while, I the dreamer, aren’t there but here in my dream job, in my dream house the more ...
Read more

Day 9..Walk

  "Once I dreamt of a form of poetry created by the sound of feet walking in the grass."-    Cecilia Vicuna 1. ..by the sound of feet on grass, if I could find it, my feet on paving, sound of ground and breath . Yes, I can find my feet, I can hear my tread - imagine grass beneath and when I reach it, shed my city shoes, careless, the electric happens- nerve and blade and fuse connect alive and make a beaten track, wild through the woods back home. Yes, green grass and sound and I know music 2 . This is how we walk now, the seeds of grass are buried eight feet deep under the concrete- cracks appear. My bones ache ancient from all this hobbled walking- heel toe heel toe heel, so I and my chiropodist collide, we disagree on methods: why do you walk like you're dancing? She asks, now she's a choreographer, Feuillet marks on Hobart paving, glass teeth means en pointe; it ends up crippling. Ancestors ghost my muscles,  like relics of old saints, and we step side to ...
Read more