| panta rhei poetry II blue line death Your Unfathomable Hope screams from the swamp anticipation |
| Swiss Poem Account Collection |
| Poem Account Poets panta rhei wylde Barry Fitton Joshua Griffin Paul Kren Orphicgoblin Craig Moore Jota judih |
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| comments: judih@hotmail.com |
| blue line i breathe a line a line a beautiful true and blue line through the glass of the masked surgeon through the glass marble gum of the white raven face i'm held buoyant by the streaming silence by the line of simmering wind and rain by a few wisps of white i keep him black i keep him lemon fool raven lemon fool safe and next to my ammonite rain death remaining will be a shore or the end of a furrowed lane reaching even beyond the last of lights no one and nothing must stop us our mouth filled with laughter the soul travel - clear- the universe just a narrow door hinge - wide open Your Unfathomable Hope words bound to the world and torn away from the breath and voice, words your unfathomable hope ark over a thousand floods abundance of your voice, breath forgetting the beautiful words for the day and the sun, greater than the window full of frostwork towards the world, the sun opening your house to summer and roses, sun giving you the word as a present PARADISE you can keep it silence, your friend of night, brooding over moonlight and wine, nettles to chew on, wordless, worldless, your last companion your sparkling kennel, starlit and the whisper of wounded angels within the poem is not the place where death is warded off, where hunger is satisfied it is salt, salt rubbed into wounds when your house is resounding with rage and crying and words bitten to pieces are preceding your muteness barheaded words testifying the loss of time and earth with lungs of frost and bleeding longings just before the sleep of the tortured; honeymoons painted on lips and eyelids while the train is incessantly moving through a dark continent, a beautiful continent of words and weed, lost in a cage of breaths and years; where will you live? an echo between lines, dumb and prosaic in undefinable rest, in silence where the preybird of life is evading, devouring words your name, your track, your black angel? wings! wings! the angel is falling, the feathers are burning, separated and bleeding in the storm of history the poem is not the place where beauty is cultivated, where hope is transfigured, it is not the place where the angel is spared when words are clinging to characters and letters to your breath, to your almost soundless voice, and you are sending out your first and last word: LOVE shouting after it: Seek salvation! Come back ! I am waiting! a thousand times and you are shaking, shaking off, shaking off ashes, eyes full of ashes, shaking not willing to die nor to be quiet, not now, and silence is asking What is happening to the world? NOTHING you say, nothing, only the shrew is rustling in the mousetrap Screams from the swamp there are screams finding their way over from the swamp and i run and see myself already half-sunk in the mud desperately grabbing for reeds 'be patient!' i shout and reach out with a long branch we both then tug and tug and tug on both sides and it is me who drags myself in and in mortal fear lashing out thrashing about i finally come very close to the one i wanted to save Anticipation this buzzing silence holding its breath - sweet the arvid murmur of last scythes smoke wed to glow coupling with the dying sun that perfects the sleep of clouds the undevoured light ebbs to sustenance in the fissures of decaying dreams embering to the lip of a nomadic sky: earth from which my voice escapes eyes sleep in soil fruit ripens in the vacant lots of solstice heat recedes light escapes through the interval |
| Artist's site on the web: www.buschwind.de |
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