Today for the first time in well over a year, I wrote a poem. I had almost feared that I had 'lost it' so to speak, and wouldn't be able to express myself this way ever again. Because I had tried. I wasn't just sitting on my duff the whole time, but every time I went to write something I felt incredibly empty, as if there was nothing there to spill out on the paper. Actually to be perfectly honest it felt like dry retching. Almost literally. And I love creating poetry. So imagine my joy when this afternoon I gave it another go, and something began to come. It would be lovely to say that it was a trickle at first, and then it widened to a stream which became a flood - but it felt pretty much like a trickle the whole way. But hey, who's complaining? That way it takes a bit longer, but the results are the same in the end. I was grinning like a deranged Cheshire cat when I finished it. So yes, you guessed it, now I'm going to take it out on all of you. It's called Grail, and though the poem has nothing to do with a quest the title seemed serendipitous: after long searching I finally found it.
Grail
Warm glows waft with scent of aloes,
Brushing well known paths.
Clothed in age worn fur lined robes
Fullsome silence pours his mead
Through night deep caves; sweet wash
Drowning stone and earth. The far sunk
Brown-smooth grail smiles as he is overflowed.
Outside a blood slick sun is setting,
Thawing like mud as it slips out of sight.
Wind flows safe through crans and hollows,
Spilling life and rest.
Panpipes, mournful-gay and strong,
Breathe a story-blessing; hills
Are raised and streams spring seaward
Gurgling pebble songs. The far sunk
Brown-smooth grail laughs as he drinks in the sound.
Outside a wine dark sun is dripping,
Draining the mountains of bounty and light.
Soil sows sleep in well ploughed furrows,
Reaping as she plants.
Bacchus, lord of feasts and revels
Lays a table gorge-high filled;
Air and fire, earth and water
Drowse in full fed ease. The far sunk
Brown-smooth grail nods as he closes his eyes.
Outside a death-calm sun is fleeing,
Gifting the old world to cold mist and Night.
4 comments:
Thank you.
And it was the bathrooms :) but I did them today. :P
Never do today what you can do tomorrow eh?
Well at first I felt drunk from reading your poem, but after doing some research on Bacchus I was so impressed by the subtle inference (not sure if intended) that the De Vinci Code is romantic mythology.
You once again manage to incorporate your rich understanding of history into your art with words...
I am sure you must often sigh and think us all dunsters with the mind you have :D
No need to reply to the last comment!
Well at first I felt drunk from reading your poem, but after doing some research on Bacchus I was so impressed by the subtle inference (not sure if intended) that the De Vinci Code is romantic mythology.
I'm afraid, my little big sis, that you've completely overestimated my depth - proving that your poetic brain is at least as good as mine. While I would wholeheartedly agree that the DVC story is romantic mythology, I didn't actually have that in mind when I wrote those lines. My intention was to evoke the drowsy (drunken perhaps? yes you picked up spot-on in that) carefree/carelessness of those who are disconnected with the troubles of the outside world.
Having said that, some say a poem takes on life of its own once it leavest the poets head, and your interpretation may be as valid as mine. :)
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