Monday, August 10, 2015

a perseid-august-falling











at a young age, I knew that scars were
best
kept
on the outside  . . rather than on the inside
it felt peaceful & ordained somehow
to bare a badge of injury - pain
to bruise
to bleed
to ultimately form thickened stretched skin
pale as a badge
webbed & tatter-woven
inside scars suffocated - binding tight to the hollow spaces
ringing with infinite sharpness
scar me up & lay me down
ink the line morel-black
resplendent
to elude the phantomn pursuit
THEN, we find
love ....
and the teeter-totter balancing act begins
love is discovered under bridges
-  the balm to our scars
ending the requirement to bleed . . .
shining during the passage
Love :
the unbridled joy-love heard in a meadowlarks song,
the love of a grandmothers hand upon your back coupled by the smell of oatmeal
as captain kangaroo ping-pongs, the smell of summer coming from your mothers skin, the presence of a father sitting for hours at the foot of your bed watching as you slowly breathe yourself to sleep under that quiet vigilance, the soft ginger prickle of a baby's just-hatched hair beneath your lips, the easy comfort of a friend & the companionable love of men , ,
yes, men. where laughter, glory and the sky become tamed, and the rockem-sockem ghost-love of a man with sparkling walnut eyes that asks a willing surrender, a tacit understanding and to trust it's intimate quantum-rising.
the mark it leaves, the pain endured, the story told
scars ride shot-gun on the outlaw love-trail
coloring us in aqua-forgiveness under a perseid night that lights the path home
Fehu
Love is the scar-divine.

3 comments:

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    1. DiAnne#39's Place? - well I tried to delete comment..someone has infiltrated my blog it appears. Anyway my comment was :

      An overstatement of an understament stated quite beautifully. This, this is poetry divine!

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  2. OH My Goddess! This is pure nectar, rolled, teased, stretched, delicious.

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