Description: About 3 months ago, my cousin and his wife had their 3rd child- the idea for this came from looking into his eyes. At first I was going to focus on the idea of purity, but then began to focus on the role that we have in creation, be it through rearing children, writing poetry or the very nature of the universe.
As such, I've ended up with something that is more about power than anything else. Enjoy.
Today you found the world I devised-
brooding on the blue expanse of your eyes.
Those cobalt eyes remind me of Job;
staring unblinkingly, unstintingly
into a blind impression of my embrace.
Pools of incomprehension, struggling to grasp
the fathomless depths of time and space.
You are my saga, a creation myth
forged in a thousand furnaces of lore:
Your features hewed from shapeless ore;
those blue, blue eyes drawn from the smelting pit;
all cleaved from the peat, the slag and the shit.
Tomorrow I'll sketch your life for you:
Young fingers curling in warm vectors,
grasping shapeless Forms of Infinity-
the total power of Divinity.
Certainly the revised piece is an improvement over this version. This is less sonically pleasing and more stilted.
But you know something I've learned from writing all these years is that writing is a matter of layering, just as our technique is refined by layers as we grow into our voices. My earlier pieces were embarrassing to me, just a year or two later. We tend to grow so fast. The beauty of poetry is that some of them get to come along for the ride and grow even as we grow. As our sensibilities grow. As our ideas are refined. As our focus shifts from the Self, (hopefully), to something greater than ourselves.
I see much early promise in your efforts. I'm no one of any great import. My words of encouragement mean nothing. But I would say "hold on loosely" (as the song goes) to the things you write. Find that deep, innermost center of truth and commit to writing from that place, no matter what you write. Do that, and you'll develop into something beyond reproach. Do it, and doors will open up that you never imagined could exist.
This shocked me actually, completely not what I was expecting from the title and your description. I was expecting some religious ramble about the 'perfect child' if you excuse my cynicism. But no, this was quite dark- which made me like it. It's something different from the norm and I can only give you credit for that.
"Pools of incomprehension" I love this. I think it's a fabulous way to describe a baby's eyes. Because it is so true.
Was there meant to be a rhyme scheme? Because I found the rhyming quite random and off-putting. As I had to go back and check I hadn't read it wrong and missed a rhyme and that it did actually make sense.
I'm probably being slow, but why does the baby made from so much bad, as it were. "those blue, blue eyes drawn from the smelting pit;
all cleaved from the peat, the slag and the [censored]" It seems to me that you're saying that there's all this awfulness and somehow out of it comes this beautiful baby. Or have I missed the point? Cause you say the poem's about power. Is it about all the power gone into creating the baby? Or the power you have in creating a life for the baby as it's a blank canvas right now. I'm guessing the latter, but correct me if I'm wrong.
I liked it. I'm considering adding it as a favourite...