Timo Newton-Syms CC
Poetry’s No Reprieve
Cage, my Dreaming, lie.
Music words that might sensation tide.
Fantasy, staunch the longing— strong its feather chains.
Poetry, hold flight to light to see my Dream,
then release the rolling.
But waves on pages never seam;
the motion of true oceaning
moves not in words.
I write, but do not tide; flap, but do not rise.
I lean into the lines that keep
The want is worse in sleep.
I weight, I waste with need.
In sleep the Dream awakes the cry I cry to be
the speak that’s touch, the word that’s me,
the flood that empties dry
Mourning dons my eyes, damps the salty tide, my cheeks
I dry and rise, and I caffeine;
then, I buzzing try
to bee— pollinating rot I blossom
words I think to seed
to see, to sea, to sky, to free.
like bars to me!
Yet in them, music holds
doors to fit my Dream
seem too high and far
Oh the written-spoken’s traitoring!
As day retreats, I wine, I whine, I writhe
wording me, bondaging with symbols, falsely free.
I see that I still need, and drink that swallow bitterly.
Wing and wave I imitate;
my own I do not know.
Stitched-shut seems my mind to consummate things,
crushed by one-dimension soliding.
Pen ends flight, flats each rise, where stone-like lies
my Fearful, scribbling.
Words! Oh words of me, free!
Unobscure the Dream!
Bring the rolling
surf, procure my sing,
until I rise the wave enough to wing—escape the cage of me--
breach the opened doors so you can see
is all, and what, I mean.
Carrie Danaher Hoyt lives in New England. She has all kinds of jobs and titles—“Poet” is beloved amongst them. Carrie has poems published in several online journals, three print anthologies & on one wonderful blog. She has had poems nominated for the Pushcart Prize & Best of Net. Find her & her daily verses on Twitter @CDanaherH
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