Describe in poem each lively soul’s dance toward infinity. If you feel comfortable, leave your work or a link to it below in the comments section. (Please do not send your work or links to me by email or through Facebook message.) All poems in response to this theme will be published here next Tuesday. All are welcome no matter the status of your career: beginning, emerging or pro. You have until 8:30 pm PST, Monday, January 22. Thank you!
was a chance to gather strength
for the coming day; to invade
the stars in order to appropriate
their pinprick energy;
now its curious restless oblivion
is merely a rehearsal for the long sleep
that’s to come – the living out
of trillions of years
with nothing to think about
it tosses & turns and sometimes
dreams of swimming again amongst
those stars so often gleaming
through the apple trees of youth
come spring and I suppose
I will contrive to fling the curtains
wide once more to greet the sun
for the beginning of time once more
but now I hardly dare to wake
into this familiar night black
*
The collection of poems from last week is outstandingly good!
Walking through the woods
my mother spoke of fire–
of course I had noticed it
a lack of green, and the scent
of the foray of pitiless flames
in a matter of months
and the ashes beneath our feet
Was it a dream? Perhaps–
upon opening my eyes
seeing her feet, immaculate
walking amongst the flames
in a frantic dance for life–
and afterward, the renovation–
her attempt to cover it up
with a smile and a flower
Overjoyed to see something
colorful and blooming
my jaw went slack, while the flower fell
from where she had taped it
to the scorched vine, fooling me
with the comfort of red petals
amongst the endless black.
‘But black is your color.’
Black had been the color
of cool and calm, during a time
when I could not settle myself–
tailor-made for me, the crisp lines
of white cotton over black silk
were enough to blur the vision
of soot smudges
on her cheek and forehead
I had not been there for her.
I wanted to stay.
And, bending to grab at the rose
I moved too quickly
a thorn piercing my finger–
‘You have blood on your
shirt”, she said
‘you have work still to be done–
wake up.’
As I told the State the other day, I rarely
dance but when I do I dance some Latin
sort of thing, like a salsa, in which one seems
never to stop moving, which makes it more difficult to pin
me down. My hips sometimes get tired so I have
to stop; two days later I ache but I am that much
closer to the goal, the infinite, the end-that-is-not-
the-end. The State is very goal-oriented,
hence the two questions that must be asked
of everyone with only four possible answers.
I almost always want to invent my own
responses but there you have it: no other
possibilities. Frustration ensues. Occasionally
I have thoughts of threats, murder, assassination.
The solution is to look up, to contemplate clouds, or stars
that look like lively souls in their dance to infinity.
Not much music
at the end of the line
in this half-world
of might-have-beens
and time run out
but still she dances
on iridescent water
oil spillage not dreams
but still she dreams
of other universes
other lives
of endless possibilities
where words change worlds
and her grandchildrens’ laughter
is real
and she is dancing in her sleep
daring to dream
of somewhere
where the music
never stops.
Wonderful poem and prompt Jamie. Here is my response. Be Well.
Angels Infinite
A symbiotic relationship in
a universe stretching infinite
where stars are like angels
their wings as chariots
taking flight becoming
a safe harbor for the soul
now desolate with grief
now hungry for peace
now joyous in its’ vision
however brief that it too
will be immersed
in that infinity
Intriguing prompt Jamie. Here’s my first response:
On A Road (Part One)
a wick young lad meets Devil.
Wise with old tales
he goads Devil.
“Before I do owt for you
I want tha soul.” Devil gobsmacked
replies “I have no soul
of my own. Only souls of others.”
“Then gi me those.” answers
lad and I’ll do whatever tha hankers for .”
Devil hands him a mobile.
“This phone contains all my souls.”
“There is a woman who
would have your tongue. I ask
you visit her and take hers.”
“God didn’t sleep with me.
He chose that cow Mary.”
Devil put you on to me,
Young un’ tell you I need
Your tongue and you need
To take mine.
“I offer you hunger,
wrinkles, short life
and disease, and me
as an ugly bitch.
Except
on Saturdays when
I look like a model
and you have eternal life,
youth and health.
Manage your expectations.”
Young chuff replied
“To me you’re beautiful
for six days. Only a monster
on Saturdays when you’re a serpent
from waist down. Accept this mobile.
It contains all Devil’s souls.”
And young man returned
To Devil with her stories
“Accept the Sibyl’s tongue.”
He said and Devil scowled
at this young buck’s cleverness.
“A Poem about Nothing”
(Raanana, October 24, 2015)
This is a poem about nothing
How it happened that
Today nothing happened.
I didn’t turn on the radio
Well maybe I did for a moment or two
But then I turned it off again
Before something happened.
I slipped on some jeans and
Took Daisy for a walk
She still had a slight limp
From the night before
And I said a silent prayer
To the One who Barks at Infinity
That she’s not getting old on me
Remembering her shivering
First time I held her to my heart.
Then I thought about Dad
For no good reason on this earth
When I’d laid him gently down into the ground
How all the prayers we say
Were meant to send him on his way
But all I wanted was to call him back
Some prayers will never pass my lips.
“Walking to the Moon”
(Raanana, September 1, 2012)
Sometimes you have to walk a poem
To see the shadows of it go in front of you
And then behind you,
A funny kind of locomotion
Walking crablike, orthogonally.
It’s been so long since I’ve written,
You must have thought I’d forgotten,
If you thought about me at all.
No, I hadn’t. Couldn’t. Ever.
These were the dimensions of your loveliness,
The smell of sunlight on a field of wheat in your hair,
The cool touch of my rough hand on your soft thigh,
The vibrations of your voice as your meaning danced across it,
But the publicity of your smile
For all around you to see,
Not just for me,
Meant the sunlight soft vibrations of you
Might as well be like walking to the moon.
When a poet wakes up in the morn
He puts his pants on
One leg then another,
And when he buys his milk and wants to pay
He stands in line between
The woman with her screaming kids
And the foreign workers,
But when the poet looks up at clouds
Or the night-time constellations,
Orion’s scabbard or Cassiopeia’s tilted throne,
He sees encyclopedias never writ nor read
By the likes of you or me,
And when he loves,
It’s Trojan Paris
Who’s faced ten thousand ships
And went to war for naught but one.
I loved your prompt, Jamie! Here are a few poems that might be pertinent.
“Life’s Cold Eye”
(Raanana, January 7, 2016)
Hello Orion my old friend
I’ve come to battle you again
Though your sword is in its scabbard
You hold above my head the tides of time
And bury me under the horizons of eternity
But I’ll defeat you with love’s clarion call
And life’s cold eye on death.
by 
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 
Bit late! But this came to me this morning!
*
once such night black
was a chance to gather strength
for the coming day; to invade
the stars in order to appropriate
their pinprick energy;
now its curious restless oblivion
is merely a rehearsal for the long sleep
that’s to come – the living out
of trillions of years
with nothing to think about
it tosses & turns and sometimes
dreams of swimming again amongst
those stars so often gleaming
through the apple trees of youth
come spring and I suppose
I will contrive to fling the curtains
wide once more to greet the sun
for the beginning of time once more
but now I hardly dare to wake
into this familiar night black
*
The collection of poems from last week is outstandingly good!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Colin! Lovely. I’ll add it in. And yest the poems last week were great …
LikeLike
‘Do you fear the fire’
(for my mother, 1940-1997)
Walking through the woods
my mother spoke of fire–
of course I had noticed it
a lack of green, and the scent
of the foray of pitiless flames
in a matter of months
and the ashes beneath our feet
Was it a dream? Perhaps–
upon opening my eyes
seeing her feet, immaculate
walking amongst the flames
in a frantic dance for life–
and afterward, the renovation–
her attempt to cover it up
with a smile and a flower
Overjoyed to see something
colorful and blooming
my jaw went slack, while the flower fell
from where she had taped it
to the scorched vine, fooling me
with the comfort of red petals
amongst the endless black.
‘But black is your color.’
Black had been the color
of cool and calm, during a time
when I could not settle myself–
tailor-made for me, the crisp lines
of white cotton over black silk
were enough to blur the vision
of soot smudges
on her cheek and forehead
I had not been there for her.
I wanted to stay.
And, bending to grab at the rose
I moved too quickly
a thorn piercing my finger–
‘You have blood on your
shirt”, she said
‘you have work still to be done–
wake up.’
LikeLiked by 2 people
Sonnet of State Secrets
As I told the State the other day, I rarely
dance but when I do I dance some Latin
sort of thing, like a salsa, in which one seems
never to stop moving, which makes it more difficult to pin
me down. My hips sometimes get tired so I have
to stop; two days later I ache but I am that much
closer to the goal, the infinite, the end-that-is-not-
the-end. The State is very goal-oriented,
hence the two questions that must be asked
of everyone with only four possible answers.
I almost always want to invent my own
responses but there you have it: no other
possibilities. Frustration ensues. Occasionally
I have thoughts of threats, murder, assassination.
The solution is to look up, to contemplate clouds, or stars
that look like lively souls in their dance to infinity.
LikeLiked by 3 people
“Old lady dancing”
(Pamela Ireland Duffy 21.01.2018)
Not much music
at the end of the line
in this half-world
of might-have-beens
and time run out
but still she dances
on iridescent water
oil spillage not dreams
but still she dreams
of other universes
other lives
of endless possibilities
where words change worlds
and her grandchildrens’ laughter
is real
and she is dancing in her sleep
daring to dream
of somewhere
where the music
never stops.
LikeLiked by 3 people
As a 67 year old lady I can really empathise with this especially “her grandcildrens’ laughter is real.”
LikeLiked by 1 person
Typo, that should read “grandchildren” of course.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thankyou Sheila Jacob!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Wonderful poem and prompt Jamie. Here is my response. Be Well.
Angels Infinite
A symbiotic relationship in
a universe stretching infinite
where stars are like angels
their wings as chariots
taking flight becoming
a safe harbor for the soul
now desolate with grief
now hungry for peace
now joyous in its’ vision
however brief that it too
will be immersed
in that infinity
© January 2018 Renee Espriu
LikeLiked by 3 people
Intriguing prompt Jamie. Here’s my first response:
On A Road (Part One)
a wick young lad meets Devil.
Wise with old tales
he goads Devil.
“Before I do owt for you
I want tha soul.” Devil gobsmacked
replies “I have no soul
of my own. Only souls of others.”
“Then gi me those.” answers
lad and I’ll do whatever tha hankers for .”
Devil hands him a mobile.
“This phone contains all my souls.”
“There is a woman who
would have your tongue. I ask
you visit her and take hers.”
“God didn’t sleep with me.
He chose that cow Mary.”
Devil put you on to me,
Young un’ tell you I need
Your tongue and you need
To take mine.
“I offer you hunger,
wrinkles, short life
and disease, and me
as an ugly bitch.
Except
on Saturdays when
I look like a model
and you have eternal life,
youth and health.
Manage your expectations.”
Young chuff replied
“To me you’re beautiful
for six days. Only a monster
on Saturdays when you’re a serpent
from waist down. Accept this mobile.
It contains all Devil’s souls.”
And young man returned
To Devil with her stories
“Accept the Sibyl’s tongue.”
He said and Devil scowled
at this young buck’s cleverness.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautiful amazing prompt so divine…inspiring…link to my contribution…Thank you The Poet by Day..
https://eternallights.wordpress.com/2018/01/17/for-the-poet-by-day-dancing-toward-infinity-a-poem-wednesday-writing-prompt-january-17-2018-jamie-dedes-waltzing-on/
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Jamie
::air::
layered in air
we dance with glass
small souls with small lives
rise
to the challenges
she says you know we do not gets what we want
we gets what we get
really
ours has been much easier than so many others
*listen to the radio
they threw them all on the fire
there
LikeLiked by 4 people
Jamie. There is an image too ….thanks
LikeLiked by 2 people
“A Poem about Nothing”
(Raanana, October 24, 2015)
This is a poem about nothing
How it happened that
Today nothing happened.
I didn’t turn on the radio
Well maybe I did for a moment or two
But then I turned it off again
Before something happened.
I slipped on some jeans and
Took Daisy for a walk
She still had a slight limp
From the night before
And I said a silent prayer
To the One who Barks at Infinity
That she’s not getting old on me
Remembering her shivering
First time I held her to my heart.
Then I thought about Dad
For no good reason on this earth
When I’d laid him gently down into the ground
How all the prayers we say
Were meant to send him on his way
But all I wanted was to call him back
Some prayers will never pass my lips.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Tears.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Jamie.
LikeLiked by 1 person
“Saint Yellow’s Gate Revisited”
(Raanana, March 24, 2017)
Through light Saint Yellow’s gate I’ve fled
Leaves long fallen, trees long dead
To come full circle as she said
No meaning, only clues instead.
Clues pointing to eternity
Open graves to see through pity
Stilted men walk through the city
The death of rationality.
What say you now of dreams my friend?
Succubi make love pretend
Climax waking in the end
Nothing left to comprehend.
LikeLiked by 1 person
“Walking to the Moon”
(Raanana, September 1, 2012)
Sometimes you have to walk a poem
To see the shadows of it go in front of you
And then behind you,
A funny kind of locomotion
Walking crablike, orthogonally.
It’s been so long since I’ve written,
You must have thought I’d forgotten,
If you thought about me at all.
No, I hadn’t. Couldn’t. Ever.
These were the dimensions of your loveliness,
The smell of sunlight on a field of wheat in your hair,
The cool touch of my rough hand on your soft thigh,
The vibrations of your voice as your meaning danced across it,
But the publicity of your smile
For all around you to see,
Not just for me,
Meant the sunlight soft vibrations of you
Might as well be like walking to the moon.
LikeLiked by 2 people
“When a Poet”
(Raanana, June 30, 2017)
When a poet wakes up in the morn
He puts his pants on
One leg then another,
And when he buys his milk and wants to pay
He stands in line between
The woman with her screaming kids
And the foreign workers,
But when the poet looks up at clouds
Or the night-time constellations,
Orion’s scabbard or Cassiopeia’s tilted throne,
He sees encyclopedias never writ nor read
By the likes of you or me,
And when he loves,
It’s Trojan Paris
Who’s faced ten thousand ships
And went to war for naught but one.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I loved your prompt, Jamie! Here are a few poems that might be pertinent.
“Life’s Cold Eye”
(Raanana, January 7, 2016)
Hello Orion my old friend
I’ve come to battle you again
Though your sword is in its scabbard
You hold above my head the tides of time
And bury me under the horizons of eternity
But I’ll defeat you with love’s clarion call
And life’s cold eye on death.
LikeLiked by 2 people