Dancing the Wild
i
We’re blue as pansies
on a weird nightfall.
One twist and day
is taken from the sky.
Our breaths are shallow,
our bed is deep.
We sleep in drifts
against scrapes of pulse,
the rusty rhythm lurches
around resting forms:
the shape of chest,
a finger space.
Long and long,
measures distance,
measures time,
measures all the daily run
come sweet undone.
On breathes the night
and how we run
undone, undone
through silk trees’
velvet threads.
Those who weigh you with a stare,
how they itch.
The unblinking eye sees
just another calculation,
though we have pencilled in our own eyes –
had not considered size.
ii
I live between the black river
and the river of light,
behind the hill where the dead are buried.
I have chosen not to carry a gun,
and stood while the great bear looked at me,
Let him run his wild paw over me,
know me for a dream child,
unfitted for the racket and tumble.
I have tried to show those in my care
the pathway through the vast expanse.
We are painted with sticks and feathers,
the wild runs free in us.
Choose your own way
and set your feet upon it.
Dance to the tune of the wild.
We’re blue as pansies
on a weird nightfall.
One twist and day
is taken from the sky.
Our breaths are shallow,
our bed is deep.
We sleep in drifts
against scrapes of pulse,
the rusty rhythm lurches
around resting forms:
the shape of chest,
a finger space.
Long and long,
measures distance,
measures time,
measures all the daily run
come sweet undone.
On breathes the night
and how we run
undone, undone
through silk trees’
velvet threads.
Those who weigh you with a stare,
how they itch.
The unblinking eye sees
just another calculation,
though we have pencilled in our own eyes –
had not considered size.
ii
I live between the black river
and the river of light,
behind the hill where the dead are buried.
I have chosen not to carry a gun,
and stood while the great bear looked at me,
Let him run his wild paw over me,
know me for a dream child,
unfitted for the racket and tumble.
I have tried to show those in my care
the pathway through the vast expanse.
We are painted with sticks and feathers,
the wild runs free in us.
Choose your own way
and set your feet upon it.
Dance to the tune of the wild.
posted by burning moon at 11:59 AM
4 Comments:
Long and long,
measures distance,
measures time,
measures all the daily run
come sweet undone.
Love the assonance of this section.
The piece is very different for you Moon, it has a particular style to it which I don't immediately recognize as yours, but it is well written non the less.
Dance to the tune of the wild
makes me think of ancient Celtic rites and rituals, elves and pixies and all such things are brought to mind.
Dave said the first part made him think od midsummer night's dream, as though one of the fairies was speaking to him. I can sort of see what he means.
I have a couple of questions for you, firstly, does the repetition, 'undone, undone' work ok, and secondly, do you think the two parts go together okay?
I was writing them as two separate pieces simultaneously, but when I finished sort of realised they were both about the same thing.
I've been reading some stories by Willian Faulkner, whom I've discovered I really really like as a writer. These poems sprang from reading his story, The Bear, which may be why the voice seems different to you.
Yep,the repetition works fine, it adds an unusual element to the piece so I would leave it in.
The two sections go well enough together to be one poem for me, a few more specific images in the second part compared to the first perhaps, but not enough to jar the overall combined effect kid.
I will have to google William Faulkner, I have not heard of him, cool, a new author to explore :)
thanks for your thoughts on this.
William Faulkner is an unusual writer. Some of his sentences are half a page long, and almost engulf you. Good stuff though.
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