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Yes, I am forever knocking on Heaven's door.
I have only to close my eyes to find it.
It is never the same on any two visits,
but every time, in different ways I find release.
I put myself into a trance,
where my ego is subsumed by my id.
(This is you creeping up on yourself.)
I surrender myself to where the spirits take me.
Now it begins, another voyage after nemesis.
In my dreams I visit Paradise.
I take off my spectacles, blink in the sun
and like a falcon released from my jesses,
I take to the blue eternal sky.
I climb like a skylark in a trill of song,
being hauled upwards by the sun,
a thrilling spiral of whirlwind notes
as I sing in larksong my epiphany.
As the peregrine again I stoop,
wreathed with the delightful flight;
scythe the hissing air,
blistering back to earth
and blow apart some plump breasted dove
into a supernova ball of feathers and blood.
In my reverie I visit Elysium
and run my tongue in joyful exploration,
probing the crevices, cusps and contours
of my forgotten set of perfect teeth,
my imaginary possession more real than real.
Mature cheddar stings once more my palate
and chillies are inedible in their ferocity.
Over the years Monet repainted his water lilies
in progressively more jaundiced hues
to faithfully reflect the clouding of his cataracts.
But I now see Elysium in all the vibrancy
of Rousseau's primal, tiger-jungle dream.
In my vision I visit Valhalla,
leave my crutches in the entrance hall
and feel once more the warrior self I almost was.
The bow-cord, cat-gut taut tension of sinews,
the lungs of the runner from Marathon,
the coursing blood and the willing heart.
Shield maidens fair surround me
as I become visible to their gaze
and their nostrils are full of my pheromones
and their dark pupils open wide.
In my mumbling musings I visit Nirvana
yearning to drink once more from the fountain,
to walk again both on water and on air,
and through the bed of hot embers on bare feet.
Hope burns like a bonfire on the cliff top
and my path leads to high mountains
and at every turn I see unexplored vistas
and hear the distant shouts of laughter
and a tickle of curiosity.
But then reality drops a pebble in the pond,
the mirror shatters into chaotic shards.
the visions disintegrate
like clouds unable to make repairs .
| This is a positive hegira to xanadu . I love the way you went overboard and included all of the lines in the assignment . If I were grading you on this I have to give you an A . Not just for the extra effort , but more for the seamless way you incorporated the lines into your work . When we are young we feel invincible , but with age comes the realization of our finite nature . Some despair , others find religion , and those like us find solace in visions of a manifest destiny with infiniteness , replete with a reincarnation of our youthful vigor , and fecund virility incarnate . Unfortunately your final verse really speaks of the inevitable demise of these visions leaving us with the apparent sooth of existence again . I thank you for the read . It was empowering and most enjoyable for this old lecher's spirit .|
|| Posted on 2011-03-24 00:00:00 | by monad | [ Reply to This ] || "like clouds unable to make repairs"|
i will visit all these places in my mind before i end up in one for eternity...
even though i am at heaven's door, i am not quite ready..i still have exploring to do...
i need to make repairs ...
this is nice use of all of those lines...paying homage that way...
i have read several of your pieces...and really like them so much...only i agree with a comment made on an earlier piece....the descriptions...give us too much and steer us in one direction...and rereading several of the poems i think there are many places the reader could go on his or her own...
would like to see that door still wide open...
because your poems are definitely a journey...and would like to sightsee without seeing the sights beforehand.
|| Posted on 2011-03-23 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ] |