Exquisite Kimbra. The stanza about ballet gently cradled me back to my outstretched arms, fingers waiting to unfold into the blooms. To me, your poem speaks not only about the union that unfolds inside our soul towards another, but our union with nature. Nature as our extension, the self extended, where consciousness flies and finds freedom. Thank you!
Wonderous words as always. I will draw a tree for you & hope I can send it to you. Thank you for amazing music that touches humanity so eloquently. Keep well.
You didn’t ask for this, but I hope you don’t mind that I accepted the homework assignment in your friendly reply:
“when I unravel in your arms
and your tenderness pacifies
an ancient longing”
-this bit because it’s like a highly effective riddle. You’ve reversed the order of things, and it helpfully takes me out of my left brain. The first thing that catches my attention in my everyday experience of life is the ache of this “accent longing” in me. And when I find nothing that pacifies me, I think to myself what Louisa May Alcott wrote, “If I can’t be happy, then I’ll be useful.” So, with no options for peace or mercy, I throw up an exoskeleton around my heart and I choose to enlist in some sort of war. Even though I don’t have shame about this decision, I do not like that when I see myself in the mirror now, a war-torn, saddened solider stares back at me. I hurt for all the things she’s gone through that made her think she needed to BE a weapon (rather than simply know how to use a weapon). I find that at the end of this cycle of grief — when I undress from all this armour — all I want is for my best friend to read me the poem that ends in,
“& so to tenderness I add my action.”
This tenderness still makes me bristle when it arrives at my door each morning, but then it does something strangely akin to whispering a password to my soul, and I’m always surprised I let it in. In these arms alone do I even dare to dream that such safety could exist — let alone stand sentinel and hold me whilst I unravel/heal.
Basically this stanza captures dreams on dreams on dreams that I do have but am still too shy to say aloud and admit.
—
“speaking a tongue of children
hopeful and full of wonder”
-this bit because sometimes I’m tempted to believe that I no longer remember what holy things fill the minds, hearts, and souls of children.
—
“you are enough
when our bodies are joined
with sacred reconciliation
and you flow into me with a force of knowing”
-this bit because it brings me joy to know that you’re a step or two ahead of me in pursuit of this sort of vulnerable, intimate beauty. It brings me joy because I actually care about you. And if I must, for the sake of this thought experiment, choose who gets to be closer to this beauty — my mate or myself — I would prefer it be my mate.
—
“you are enough
just as the stars find their place in the cosmos
and the dark engulfs them
like a memory in the sky”
-this bit is easily my favourite portion of the poem. Mostly just because I’m a proper nerd who cares too much about horology and cosmology and semiology — and the birth and death of stars — and that our eyes can’t even watch these explosions in the sky in real time because it takes too much time for the light to reach our eyes. What we CAN witness is the something akin to the “memory” of them. The thought you’ve captured is profound: what we’re having to wait to witness is only a remembrance of beauty.
Mmm. Man. I wish my embodied experience of both life and death to be a continual remembrance of beauty. Mm. Damn.
—
“you are enough
just as the branches find their great length in the air
a ballerina poised with unshakeable balance
hoisted fingertips in waiting
for the froth of flowering blooms that will grow”
-this bit because it conjures imagery that leads me to revel in the balletic nature of trees. A truly gorgeous thought, mate.
—
“just as the moon tugs silently at the tide
you are the gravity my heart gathers”
-this bit because it’s a beautiful take on the tug (or role) of gravity.
—
“you are enough
and your roots run deep
and I am convinced
that somewhere
under that all-knowing dirt
in the soil of our fermented lives
yours recalled me
and reached for mine”
-this bit because — and I mean this as encouragement, not flattery — you’re getting dangerously close to the quality and calibre of John Donne’s or George Herbert’s more beautiful work.
—
I’m just grateful for the full meal, mate. That’s all.
Exquisite Kimbra. The stanza about ballet gently cradled me back to my outstretched arms, fingers waiting to unfold into the blooms. To me, your poem speaks not only about the union that unfolds inside our soul towards another, but our union with nature. Nature as our extension, the self extended, where consciousness flies and finds freedom. Thank you!
Nature as our extension, wow
Wonderous words as always. I will draw a tree for you & hope I can send it to you. Thank you for amazing music that touches humanity so eloquently. Keep well.
Post it with a poem!
Needed this right now!
Mate. Beautiful. Deeply moving.
Appreciate you! What was your favorite line?
You didn’t ask for this, but I hope you don’t mind that I accepted the homework assignment in your friendly reply:
“when I unravel in your arms
and your tenderness pacifies
an ancient longing”
-this bit because it’s like a highly effective riddle. You’ve reversed the order of things, and it helpfully takes me out of my left brain. The first thing that catches my attention in my everyday experience of life is the ache of this “accent longing” in me. And when I find nothing that pacifies me, I think to myself what Louisa May Alcott wrote, “If I can’t be happy, then I’ll be useful.” So, with no options for peace or mercy, I throw up an exoskeleton around my heart and I choose to enlist in some sort of war. Even though I don’t have shame about this decision, I do not like that when I see myself in the mirror now, a war-torn, saddened solider stares back at me. I hurt for all the things she’s gone through that made her think she needed to BE a weapon (rather than simply know how to use a weapon). I find that at the end of this cycle of grief — when I undress from all this armour — all I want is for my best friend to read me the poem that ends in,
“& so to tenderness I add my action.”
This tenderness still makes me bristle when it arrives at my door each morning, but then it does something strangely akin to whispering a password to my soul, and I’m always surprised I let it in. In these arms alone do I even dare to dream that such safety could exist — let alone stand sentinel and hold me whilst I unravel/heal.
Basically this stanza captures dreams on dreams on dreams that I do have but am still too shy to say aloud and admit.
—
“speaking a tongue of children
hopeful and full of wonder”
-this bit because sometimes I’m tempted to believe that I no longer remember what holy things fill the minds, hearts, and souls of children.
—
“you are enough
when our bodies are joined
with sacred reconciliation
and you flow into me with a force of knowing”
-this bit because it brings me joy to know that you’re a step or two ahead of me in pursuit of this sort of vulnerable, intimate beauty. It brings me joy because I actually care about you. And if I must, for the sake of this thought experiment, choose who gets to be closer to this beauty — my mate or myself — I would prefer it be my mate.
—
“you are enough
just as the stars find their place in the cosmos
and the dark engulfs them
like a memory in the sky”
-this bit is easily my favourite portion of the poem. Mostly just because I’m a proper nerd who cares too much about horology and cosmology and semiology — and the birth and death of stars — and that our eyes can’t even watch these explosions in the sky in real time because it takes too much time for the light to reach our eyes. What we CAN witness is the something akin to the “memory” of them. The thought you’ve captured is profound: what we’re having to wait to witness is only a remembrance of beauty.
Mmm. Man. I wish my embodied experience of both life and death to be a continual remembrance of beauty. Mm. Damn.
—
“you are enough
just as the branches find their great length in the air
a ballerina poised with unshakeable balance
hoisted fingertips in waiting
for the froth of flowering blooms that will grow”
-this bit because it conjures imagery that leads me to revel in the balletic nature of trees. A truly gorgeous thought, mate.
—
“just as the moon tugs silently at the tide
you are the gravity my heart gathers”
-this bit because it’s a beautiful take on the tug (or role) of gravity.
—
“you are enough
and your roots run deep
and I am convinced
that somewhere
under that all-knowing dirt
in the soil of our fermented lives
yours recalled me
and reached for mine”
-this bit because — and I mean this as encouragement, not flattery — you’re getting dangerously close to the quality and calibre of John Donne’s or George Herbert’s more beautiful work.
—
I’m just grateful for the full meal, mate. That’s all.
That was good.
joie de vivre
Thank you K
Take care C
Stunning poetry.
Beautiful, Kimbra.
Beautifully emotive and I love the watercolor as well.