the exquisite beauty of answered prayers

Beginning Anew, acrylic by Lexi Sundell

i always take my own advice
considering the source, the heart is willing
each moment waits patiently to whisper your name
sotto voce
an irresistible resonance uncoils, cobra blossoming from a basket
there has never been an instant as knowable as now.

I remember water
The soft wash of a heady mist
Clear-running stream tickling meadows verdant

your teeth ache while you wait
lifetimes hurtle by and reaching nets you nothing,
instead you are held in abeyance, suspension
is no one out there listening?

Ponies dappled in the sun
Trenchant quenching
Flush arroyos rippled bare

you must clear the decks in preparation
seven directions, sweep them clean
focus your attention on this moment absolute
there is work to be done!
a single unresolved issue can flummox the whole thing
one fleeting thought vested in fear is a formidable hijacker
wrench-wielding monkeys are astoundingly adept

I remember blossoms
Pert and urgent
Bosomlike, sweetness lets down its nectar

optimism will only take you so far
interior byways are littered with the carcasses of failed attempts
underworld roads paved with wan intentionality
read all the books you want
they are but tinder for your tender soul
when all is read and sung, you trod alone with
whatever forces you deem holy.

I had forgotten the fluttering touch of fern
Inner-seeded secrets
My lips could not find their way to the buttercup’s kiss

be careful with your requisitions
asking for illuminative sunshine is a treacherous act
when the wolf is at your door —
he does not want your flesh for his dinner
a meatier exchange lies at the ready
the invitation is yours to make
until then, the gathering remains incomplete
Let him in!

Divining the desert
Needles, burrs yank at my hem
Floribunda Rosa approaches without a word
Is not each and every child in the garden my own?

one by one, the thorns fall away
you rub ancient sleep from dreamful eyes
while you slept, reorganization continued at levels for which
the elevator has no button
new landscapes leap to attention in uprisen awaking
without speaking lines, there is nothing left for you to do

I remember nothing
Volcanoes echo the tremor of creation
Nothing survives but the endless, evocative now

4 thoughts

  1. @ 1markt,

    Your words are music to a poet’s soul, and I am grateful for the presence you brought to your reading. I will visit your site and read “What I Have Become” when I am more rested and able to give your work my full attention in kind. Please don’t think I am ignoring your request. Your thoughtful comment is very much appreciated.


  2. This is disturbingly poignant and beautiful, as it cast aside illusions, make-believe, and fairy-tales. and forces a check on reality as it is and the calling to still reach beyond. The line, “Interior byways are littered with the carcasses of failed attempts” is an eloquent staement that most of us will find ourselves in as we examine the past. This work is artistic and biting, present and relative. A great work, Congratulations. I would like for you to visit and check out a work titled “What I Have Become” and I welcome any comment you may wish to make for I know it will be insightful.
    Marcus T.


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