- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Ad Infinitum
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Early morning fog rolled
off the Atlantic, ethereal over the shore.
The spill of salt,
like a relic of time
filled every breath I took.
On lobster boats bells dangled inside
moist white air,
and moorings clanged to waken the sea
with whispers of silhouettes
that stirred like morning
as I gazed over the ocean to you,
and a life not yet led.
Whether an echo past,
a déjà vu, perhaps
a longing or a knowing
of tomorrow
I had faith
that you and I would love.
II.
Faintly blinking through the canvass of air,
like the song of seagulls, it culls
across the translucent fog
scavenging,
like me,
to determine whether it was memory,
future
or delusion.
Tides have changed
faith replaced by doubt.
I sometimes feel lost at sea
with the haunting of pirates
searching for treasures that may not exist,
because this world of scientists
of theory and paradox
keep me from listening to whispers
and from seeing reincarnated silhouettes.
How do we know we are meant to be?
III.
The salt still tastes the same when I breathe
and the ocean is still filled with the same water
though time has shifted beyond youth,
past mythology and dream.
You and I do love,
as we did in that strange memory,
that amorphous premonition
on the Atlantic shores
when I was young
and you were foam born on the other shore.
Now, I know that you are real
even if I’ve never touched you
and that I adore you though I’ve never
felt your skin.
I rely on you, my love
as the sailor coming home relies on his lantern,
and it’s your faith
that makes me certain the sun will rise
above the horizon,
as surely as the whispers of these silhouettes
– past, present, future –
are the songs of each new life we lead,
ad infinitum.
- COMMENTS
KOLKOREabout 17 years agoI was impressed by the rich imagery, the far reaching imagination and the obvious technical skills. At the same time, and this could point to my own limitations or aesthetic preferences, I need an "anchoring device", namely, something in the poem that will take me back from the image to life as we know it. It can stay overlapped as most metaphors do, but I need the connection. With life's events pulling at us, I find it hard to escape into dreams and stay there. If the beloved sailor is someone that she has never touched, but now resolved that is actually real (I guess that’s a step forward) it leaves me with a sense of a poem which is too ethereal too amorphous, solipsistic if you will for my sensibilities.
amicusabout 17 years agoIt comes, of course, as no surprise, your depth amazes me.
I have been down to the sea before, in boats and along the shore and I know of what you speak.
You may not like this although you should, you have a woman's view of the ocean and of life itself...waiting to be fulfilled and completed.
I say that because I recognize it and I also recognize that I do not have that view but rather the masculine which concentrates on the whole or the distant and sees but does not embrace the detail.
You show me things in your work that I see but do not see as you do and it thrills and pleasures me.
Thank you.
amicus
Amyfriendabout 17 years agoYour words weave a magnificent story and bring forth such wonderful images.. Thanks.
duddle146over 17 years agoA lovely mystical rendering ~ I especially enjoyed the images created by this poet's beautiful words.
