Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Raconteur

 
They had to go down deep into the seeds of time, into the dreams of their people, into the unconscious, into the uncharted fears, and bring shapes and moods back up into the light.
                                                                                        Ben Okri
I come back at dawn
blue and spiked in shadows.
My sister, the ancient  palm
giving her leaf -- in outline
to the duskened light.
 
I come back from stories
told by  bone and feather,
stars and lightning,
 
hand-sewn hides
bleached and beaded,
 
caw and moan
bellow and whisper
storm water and stillness.
 
I come back to you
from a tribal place, a cloud
that does not bear rain
but memory. A sea gull
glides within me. He's your heart
 
cast from a dream
wanting to bring home
this spirit of words,
this maiden tongue
 
of first things known,
of syllables grown
from seed into song.

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Note -- The beautiful painting is by artist, Susan Seddons Boulet.

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