Image by StockSnap from Pixabay
Poetry, like ballet, visual art, opera, and music, just to name a few, can enrich our life experience. Sometimes by enriching our experience of ourselves, as we allow ourselves deeper and wider emotions in the formal setting of theater, touring an art gallery, or quietly reading.
The following poem was written while I listened to a singer in a club, as he mesmerized the audience.
I noticed right away how rapt was their attention. No one moved, sipped at their drink, or murmured to a companion at those small tables.
I started writing immediately, in the notebook I always had ready in those days when spending time at a club or a cafe was a normal part of my life.
Ah, those days!
Magic enchanter arms raised
Is he innocent
Can he be
In the dimness, voice cradling the room
The light changes catching the glitter of the garment
Gleaming teal rivers rush up to his face
But already, head thrown back, the light changes again
A magenta moon sculpts hollows of darkness
His eyes glower like a captive in some
Terrible and beautiful allurement
He sings of rain and hummingbirds
Each listener lost in their own evening
The rivers converge, he smiles and an ocean
Of mysterious midnight thrashes over them
Then a whisper like a swooning kiss
Draws, the gentle undertow;
He slows it all down and space races by
A galaxy or two catching on the generous shirtsleeves.
Listeners, strewn about, beached on unknown shores,
Keep faith as the chorus starts again
The light turns yellow, desert dunes shift
Across the cheekbones, throat, slide down his shoulder
One more sharp intake of breath
They’re all inside him, waiting
The last note so soft, a child’s sigh in sleep
They dream their mother caresses their temple:
It’s over, he owned them
And they don’t know what to do.
Published in The Griffin 2012 http://www.gmc.edu/publications.php#Griffin