Brocade

Broken brocade;

Where do I put this sequin when the sequence

Falls like notes from the cellar door?

On my knees searching on the dirty waxed floor

Hands graze gypsy mambo scuff-marks

And dirty martini olive-swords.

Candles glow in distant red bulbs,

My search waxes dim.

How does poetry save the world like God?

With no contradiction, no antithesis,

Heart of the lotus,

The God-Art-Man scrambled Grand Atom.

Passive, patient, of humble sufferance,

Loving the one to whom it speaks

Like silence’s music.

Will not step outside itself

To know rhetoric and refutations,

In it one is valued and valuable:

“You are the one solid the spaces lean on, envious.

You are the baby in the barn.”

Plath says and solid the spaces become soul.

Not beckoned to the table of meats

Dainties and fattened talk,

But at the desk reading and writing brethren afar off

Rehearsing the chords of heaven,

Each piano key a different age,

Then something like nature resounds

When the spirit is whole and we act aloud.

How the pines are moved to song!

The only refreshment

Light bouncing off the sap-drops

Shaken from the dancing wood,

The children of God.

 

© 2014, Amaya Engleking

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6 comments

  1. Stunning. Your language is vibrant and delicious.

  2. PursuePeaceBlog · June 7

    Love it. Love it. Love it. Ahh!!!! I agree with Earth Mama… your language is INCREDIBLE. I just want to EAT it 🙂 🙂 🙂 Thank you thank you!

  3. Conflict Breed · June 8

    This is exceptional

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