TRANSFORMATIONS
Last night while we raged
in blankets of sleep,
Scattering shreds of ourselves
through boardrooms and city streets,
The wind wrapped its coaxing cloak
around the branches of trees
And whispered, “Come with me.”
While we twisted
in our cotton shrouds
And dived beneath the day
like sailors on the way
To Davy Jones's locker,
the wind took planters by the hand
And led into the field,
leaving roots and stems strewn
Like dance cards dropped on chairs
by twirling girls.
This morning, the yard is transformed
into a labyrinth of scattered things --
Like the edges of our dreams,
like the blankets and cloaks
We've forgotten on the morning floor.
And we find our way through the day,
grasping the saving string of dreams
To dodge the scattered limbs
the world so often places
In our way.
in blankets of sleep,
Scattering shreds of ourselves
through boardrooms and city streets,
The wind wrapped its coaxing cloak
around the branches of trees
And whispered, “Come with me.”
While we twisted
in our cotton shrouds
And dived beneath the day
like sailors on the way
To Davy Jones's locker,
the wind took planters by the hand
And led into the field,
leaving roots and stems strewn
Like dance cards dropped on chairs
by twirling girls.
This morning, the yard is transformed
into a labyrinth of scattered things --
Like the edges of our dreams,
like the blankets and cloaks
We've forgotten on the morning floor.
And we find our way through the day,
grasping the saving string of dreams
To dodge the scattered limbs
the world so often places
In our way.
i sense a definite metaphysical touch to it :)
ReplyDeleteit makes me wonder whether the obstacles are stemming from our very selves....
The edges of our dreams, a powerful metaphor. This is wonderful, Karen, transformative.
ReplyDeleteThis is lovely .....
ReplyDeleteThat way of yours I just love... You get there, where I love to get each time I read a 'good' (too small a word for this)poem..
ReplyDeleteThanks
;)
D.
wow, karen. this is masterful. i can feel and hear this wind - inside, outside, alive. it seems to come in from the eaves and trees, course through the subconscious, then blow away again - and the last three lines, the wake of a windstorm - just wow. i love this.
ReplyDeleteSuch a timely piece. The winds have been raging all up and down the east coast. I love wind...if it's not too strong.
ReplyDeleteI agree with Joaquin, this poem is masterful. Great sound to it - the intermittant rhyming, same vowel sounds and fresh language make it all so vivid. I love the whole poem, of course, but honestly, those first seven lines are primo.
I would welcome such dreams. Even if I couldn't remember them.
ReplyDeleteSzelsoFa - Thank you. There is that, for certain. We do that to ourselves, don't we?
ReplyDeleteElizabeth - Thank you! That dreams can have edges I have no doubt. I've bumped into them; haven't you?
Helen - Thanks you!
Dulce - What a very sweet thing to say! Of course, you are dulce!
Joaquin - Thanks for your kind words. I love words so much. Sometimes I think I have a love affair with them! It's interesting that you like the last few lines and Kay likes the first. Put you two together, and... :-)
Kay - Thank you. Coming from someone who creates such beauty with words, that means a lot to me.
Jason - Just open yourself to it!
such a lilting melody you create, whimsical and transporting.
ReplyDeleteA very effective linking of the meteorological and the spectral, leading to a sense at the end of the ordering power of dreams in a disordered world.
ReplyDeletesuch a wonderful poem. we walk from your dreams into reality wondering how the scattered limbs will affect you. i think we all navigate those winds and realities as best we can. well done. have a great day.
ReplyDeleteI read this a few hours ago and re-reading it again just now confirms how good it is. I love the whole idea of sleep and storm mixing together, and the dance cards dropped on chairs by twirling girls is a beautiful touch.
ReplyDeleteOh, yes! When I first read the title, I was instantly hooked. I love the idea of transformations, in life and throughout the night. You've done a beautiful job of weaving the physical and metaphysical with a very light touch. The yard or "real" scene becomes like a dream--scattered, messy and without order. Life is good at placing those scattered things in our way, isn't it? No matter how hard we try to keep it neat and orderly, the winds of life come along.
ReplyDeleteThe sound of the words is beautiful, too. I love
"This morning, the yard is transformed
into a labyrinth of scattered things --
Like the edges of our dreams,
like the blankets and cloaks
We've forgotten on the morning floor."
Beautiful line breaths, Karen. The word "raged" in line one is also an awesome detail.
Truly beautiful, the seasonal change is sending a charge through what I'm reading at the moment.
ReplyDeleteThis is outstanding, the succession of images is superlative. Little I can add to what's been said already, but it's the chill underneath that so resonated with me.
Truly beautiful, the seasonal change is sending a charge through what I'm reading at the moment.
ReplyDeleteThis is outstanding, the succession of images is superlative. Little I can add to what's been said already, but it's the chill underneath that so resonated with me.
You make a windstorm seem beautiful and full of life.
ReplyDeletevery nicely worked, the juxtapositions are lovely
ReplyDeleteDianne - The wind is a fickle thing, full of humor and whimsy one moment and raging mad the next.
ReplyDeleteDick - Do you think perhaps a dream is the spirit's way of showing us who or what we are? Or is it our way of making sense of a disordered universe?
Naquillity - It does rather feel as if there are limbs to dodge these days. This, too, shall pass...
Pure Fiction - I am a horrible judge of my own work. I thank you for coming back for a second read and for the prompt that helped me turn this germ of a poem into a fully formed flower.
Julie - Thanks, as always, for your careful reading. The idea of "transformation" itself came from a Poetry Bus prompt (by Pure Fiction), and it became the glue that held a couple of disparate ideas together. The first lines seven lines had been rumbling in my brain for a while; it was the prompt that helped me flesh them out.
Don't you just love language?
JoAnne - I've been trying to get away from the chills, but somehow, the cold always creeps back into my bones and my mind. Mary Oliver has come to the conclusion that we are made for joy. I think that's something to which I should aspire.
Robert - I hope the winds are blowing good things your way. I've missed you, my friend.
Juliet - Thank you so much!
Oh, these winds of our lives...
ReplyDeleteExquisite poem, Karen; its density feels overwhelming, but in the best of ways.
Vesper - Thank you, dear friend.
ReplyDeletelove your writing.... beautiful!
ReplyDelete