Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Remembering that moment

for Tamarika

here among river rounded stones
on moss graced mud
a little jewel rests in a pool of light

hungry for life
she opens herself
shivering in newness
shimmering in wetness
glimmering with new hope
reaching for the day
strong and alive

the stories she could tell
of her darkened days
blinded
imprisoned
silent
waiting
alone

along the river path
hidden in the shadows
twisted and bound in thread
of their own under the leaves
other cocoons wait
for that moment
when a twig will snap
under the weight of spirit

7 Comments:

Blogger Stranger Ken said...

You certainly manage to catch the miraculousness of new-born life in this poem, Moose. There's a freshness about your imagery which is lovely and reminds me of some of the nature poems of G. M. Hopkins: "And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;"

from: God's Grandeur

I don't share Hopkins's religious views, but I do share his love of nature, although I find it pretty nigh impossible to write that way myself.

11/09/2005 1:27 PM  
Blogger mermaid said...

The strangest thing about this is my last poem. It has been on my mind for days now, and I had to get it out today. It didn't turn out like I thought it would, but I can honestly say, I am this poem in all my 6 senses.

11/09/2005 4:21 PM  
Blogger Tamar said...

I am overcome with gratitude to have such a poem dedicated to "tamarika." Thank you so much. I will print it out and keep it.

11/09/2005 5:18 PM  
Blogger ruth said...

I don't want to add any words to this other than beautiful.

11/09/2005 11:08 PM  
Blogger MB said...

Ken, what an honor to have my imagery compared to Hopkins'. Like you, I don't share his religious views, but I love his language and images. As you may have surmised, nature is a strong interest of mine. But Hopkins' tangles of rhythms and rhymes and alliteration just leap off the tongue marvelously —

"AS kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name..."

I don't think I could get halfway there!

Mermaid, this week has been riddled with coincidences for me. My "Refuge" poem, then Tamar's post, then this poem on the same day as yours — and on the same day I received this in my inbox: "Developing a cocoon is a natural and essential part of being a caterpillar. But the time comes when the cocoon softens, wears out, and opens up." -- William Martin in A Path and a Practice

Tamar, you are most welcome. Thank YOU.

Ruth, I'm grateful for your addition. Thank you for visiting.

11/10/2005 1:04 PM  
Blogger Gemma Grace said...

*Lovely* ~ Thank you, Moose.

11/11/2005 6:34 PM  
Blogger MB said...

Gemma Grace, thank you for stopping by to read!

11/13/2005 1:56 PM  

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