Illusory Shores & wreckage and bodies

[dr_con]

Illusory Shores

 

She sells sea shells on the sea shore-

Diction Pronunciation Phonics Resonance

lost in this maze of language always pointing

the wrong way-not deliberately by any means

considered ruminated or sensed the eternal lie

buried beneath any claim to truth a simple gesture

creates distortion this flower that rock a solitary birth

or the bleak pronouncement- We cleared wreckage

and bodies quickly it is almost done-Said pridefully

and yet what option was there but this innocence

this return without preference or value clouding

a necessary response to the unbearable

a singular burst of compassion.

 

 

 

wreckage and bodies

 

Naked drunk alone weeping

What a miserable glorious way

to express this infinite love

Seeing living as broken

statues in need of fixing

wounded healers all

 

One voice

alone in this wreckage

crying I am lost

the only sound

that keeps our hearts

beating- The tender drum

wakes us from dream

helps make the coffee

causes the mourning dove’s coo

 

This compassion

born from necessity

replies-

 

Listen fiercely to the call.

[badger11]

I have wondered if compassion is an instinct. Perhaps the reward is acceptance and the safety of a social group. Either way it is a need as well as a conscious moral decision.

 

badge

[tonyv]

The first reads like getting what one wishes for; the second is like the aftermath, a lone cry in the wilderness. I like how the two poems complement each other, how you included both.

 

Tony

[Frank E Gibbard]

Hi Doc, I may not have commented on the recent series but wonder at the fertile imagination exhibited, trenchant production like a tap, or oil gush but beneficial.

[dr_con]

Thanks to you all-more soonish! ;-)

 

DC&J

 

BTW- the first piece will be completely re- writen- I'm not happy with it and I don't believe most are- when the series is done in the raw....;-)

[goldenlangur]

Hi DC,

 

 

I could be mistaken in my reading here. I read the way you've placed the two poems as a kind of examining the contrasting different approaches to the creative art. In the first poem, you detail the artiste's awareness and indeed use of tools of the art. I though there's a wonderful irony that the artiste labors under all these mechanics and knowledge to convey or communicate something quite fundamental as compassion. The question that arose for me is: Can compassion be borne out of such means?

 

 

In the second poem you have the rawness of feelings, physical experience and the classic image of an artiste's solitary search and loneliness of spirit.

 

It seems to me that these are both extremes in the creative search and execution of art. There is a sense of reaching a plateau in the creative endeavor but you end on quite an impassioned note, that all is not lost.

 

I love this haunting imagery:

 

 

... The tender drum

wakes us from dream ...

 

 

 

Even if I am off the mark here, thank you for a stimulating and thought-provoking read.