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Poetry Magnum Opus

They come


goldenlangur

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When the saw-toothed ridge melds with the constellation-strung night, they come.

 

In the arc of bare trees their faces are a mesh of light and shade. Their brows are umbrous ruts of karma through the bardo. In this late hour they glide to the edge of the sky. The one to the left, hangs low in the east by Orion's sword; the other to the right, hovers in the west under Jupiter's blue glow.

 

Their lips seal the silence of the dark. Only the chiaroscuro-hollows of their eyes speak. The one to the left looks past Orion's light and his iris mirror the gibbous moon of hopes that have waned. The one to the right, stares ahead in shadows of wordless pain.

 

At first light they fade.

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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You employ the loveliest night imagery, Goldenlangur! The "constellation-strung night" along with the "mesh of light and shade" and "Jupiter's blue glow" strike a particular chord with this reader.

 

I hope it's okay that I share a link to a site here in your topic (I'll add it to the Art forum, too). In case you're not familiar with it, this one has some wonderful images:

 

Astronomy Picture of the Day (archive)

 

Reading your prose poem (and others you have shared which also contain night imagery) is like looking at these images. Thanks for sharing "They Come." I love it! Whatever they may be, to me they are clouds ...

 

Tony

Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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Goldenlangur, at first let me tell you that I missed this voice from you. This is an amazing prose poem, and I love what I have read here. I agree with Tony's comment that the clouds may be the ones who are coming. You have created a perfect imagery.

 

I love this line:

Their brows are umbrous ruts of karma through the bardo.

If we take the original meaning of bardo when it's not specifically stated which bardo one is talking about, then it makes for an even more interesting imagery and metaphor. But also this poem makes me think of the second - Melam bardo, it looks like a dream...

 

Perfectly done.

 

Aleksandra

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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When the saw-toothed ridge melds with the constellation-strung night, they come.

 

In the arc of bare trees their faces are a mesh of light and shade. Their brows are umbrous ruts of karma through the bardo. In this late hour they glide to the edge of the sky. The one to the left, hangs low in the east by Orion's sword; the other to the right, hovers in the west under Jupiter's blue glow.

 

Their lips seal the silence of the dark. Only the chiaroscuro-hollows of their eyes speak. The one to the left looks past Orion's light and his iris mirror the gibbous moon of hopes that have waned. The one to the right, stares ahead in shadows of wordless pain.

 

At first light they fade.

 

Haunting gl. As soon as this reader suspended their notions about form, the words truly opened up the vision (a bit scary it was too!). The final line was some comfort...for now.

 

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