Girl in Storm
Girl in Storm
In howling storm,
you are alive, waiting for me.
-
Here, now!
I see you!
Waves surge,
break over your rocks.
stream over you.
-
Here, now!
On sea cliffs in wet black rags,
a thin lone girl clinging,
sea streaming o’er
silver etched rocks,
crying for all to see.
-
Here, now, uncovered,
I long to touch…
Seascape
Once,
In this seascape of cliffs, I tried to reach her
and lost both her and nearly myself in the spray.
I thought to take her to the dunes and give her my warmth-
though she cares as little as the dark lichen.
-
Now,
I wait,
on the cliffs,
clothed in yellow and gold,
till she comes.
Ah, Golden Light.
Click photo for better quality
posted by johnthebarman at 1:22 pm
34 Comments:
Hello John. enjoyed this. is this an original poem you wrote? never sure.
glad to see you here. Happy New Year.
Hi john, storm of love reminds me of me.
Thank you both. Yes original photo and poems. I always name the author if its not me. Perhaps Seedrum you think it was by a real poet. Been thinking about it for months if not years. I'd made notes and it took several hours this morning to write. The photo I took a few days ago. The image of the waif of a girl on wave battered sea cliffs is a lovely obsession, an impossible love that never disappoints. So glad Sue that you can identify with some of this. I changed the title to 'Girl in Storm' as 'Storm of Love' was pretentious and also not what poem is about. I'm sure Sue that you are a Storm of Love.
Very nice....I guess I did stop and look at this yesterday and didn't comment...
I was puzzled by the phrase "real poet"....what IS a real poet?
" ... an impossible love that never disappoints." ... " a lovely obsession " ... indeed.
:)
A restless and impatient tide rushes against the steadfast and reluctant reason a stray witness would venture such a dangerous view.
From a distance ... mystery is always beautifully alluring. ... eh ?
Thank you for sharing.
Veilie opened up a big subject. I think we are all sometimes real poets and, perhaps less common, sometimes we hear the poetry of others. I found a quote of Jim Morrison which I abbreviated to:
"Real poetry opens doors. You can walk through anyone that suits you."
Thanks itsallinasong. Not just the tide but every storm wave.
"From a distance ... mystery is always beautifully alluring. ... eh ?"
And the more exciting as we get closer. I wasn't explicit in my poem but the embrace with the waif on the rocks was certain death.
he said: 'Diamond Sutra' is the world's earliest complete survival of a dated printed book. It was made in 868.
me said: back to the topic of poet and original works
Appreciate the clarification. If I see no reference to others, I will just take it all in and enjoy the moment and read. Poetry is a special form to me. Like music, it eludes me. I read. I feel the sense of it all, but can not do it on my own. So is appreciated: your original work or just a mentioning of something that is significant in the moment for you.
Reference points in a floating world of self-construction. Gives me safe harbor, away from the rocks and pounding surf. Envious in some ways, but rather, enjoy coming to visit, because of your efforts and talents and because you present a different form, that calms me.
Linear and not anchored. Lack tradition and proper training. I am.
Back to real poet. Was in a class room for a whole summer with Theodore Roethke (1908 to 1963 ) I was young and restless, but sensed the impotence of just being in the same room with this man. Jim Morrison and Roethke are my experience of what a real poet might be. Will give thought to this. Will pursue. Real I think is influenced by the time period one happens to be in. Now or then. Rotheke in 1961. In 2012 would he be the example of what a poet is, or would the words and influence of John on the internet, but the standard I cling to. Poet. Words just written and presented to me. Visual and lasting impression. Picture and Words. Real. Poet. Yes, indeed.
I posed the question about what a "real" poet is, because some very talented poets have trouble calling themselves such. It's as though their inner critic will not allow themselves the title of poet....as though they have not attained the title.
A "real" doctor who has been educated has a degree, and a practice, and patients. He or she would never hesitate to say they are a doctor. And yet, in the artistic field, there are some who have received little formal training and yet produce very fine works of art.
I know real poetry by heart and seek it out by following my heart. Not all that I read of published poets moves me so well nor sets an image like your own has done. I don't believe in flattery. I know what works for me and I call it poetry when words are captured in a musical wave even if you can't write a note of music. btw, I can't write music but my words are often lyrical. IMHO you have the heart of a bard.
visiting Vellie and appreciate the continued discussion. took some time and wrote a blog: real poet. just posted and enchanting. the phrase and the subject. was not in any way... suggesting a motive for using the term, was more interested in John's talent and his mentioning of Jim Morrison.
Yep I understand....I was just clarifying :)
What a good deluge of ideas and thanks so much for your encouragement! I am overwhelmed. You are, as far as I know, the only people to read my work . It is enough, and a pleasure.
Veilie makes a true point . We (notice how he takes the bait) depend on the fickle Muse and to an extent are only as good as our last work. Accepting or taking the title of 'Poet' is dangerous. I'm sure it can lead to arrogance and egotism.
I wear the ill fitting mantel infrequently. Usually you will find me in the mountains, forests and sea cliffs. Today I will listen to the spring bulbs, the snowdrops, daffs and bluebells stretching into the light before they must bow beneath the leafy trees.
Is it not folly to fail to recognize in yourself that which you readily recognize in others, John? It is not ego to accept self as worthy. We are so often discouraged from self acceptance and our finer attributes yet we are quick to find our faults. Balance is necessary on rock bound coasts and mountainsides. I enjoy reading and am free to choose. I am never disappointed with your offerings.
Sorry everyone. Cant understand how a blog got reposted. I will delete and put your comments here:
From midnightrainbow:
Little Good Harbor
Leave me in peace
to sit on the rocks in Georgetown
o'er looking the bay
The essence of she/witch
arrives on the wind
and she's promised to visit today.
These were truly inspiring. Thank you for sharing. Stay safe but I do wish I could join you on those cliffs. I love when it gets wild!
From vergavia:
nice image and words, metaphors and associations.
Also from midniterainbow:
I understand that you got some pretty intense winds recently. I was born during the gales of November and they call the west wind the witch who comes screaming.
One for midnite rainbow for a good wild day on the cliffs:
Following an ancient path along a wall
above the cliffs of Mingulay.
Arriving at the edge.
Gannets above and below.
Fulmars glide sociably by.
He undresses and
standing angelic in the warm sun and breeze
dives.
Feeling the rush of wind, a rush of excitement,
life flashing, a hundred sun strobe lights in a blue sky.
Islamic glass,
patterns of light.
Jonathan Livingston Gannet!
Instinctively his wings sweep back
and he shatters the ice hard ocean,
to drift, rejected
by sea and sky,
a feathered man.
Love him and he lives.
he said: waiting: 3 hours for a bus
me said: What we will do for the ones we love is countless and outnumbers the stars overhead.
And appreciate your visit. just dropped by to mention that. know you are busy. be safe and travel well. friday 13th. Still winter. Just wanted to say hello. And thanks.
he said: Cracking good material. I'm expected at work counting eggs but I'll be back soon. Enjoy an omelet if you can. Eggs are expensive here.
me said: John. You crack me up.
And in a world of our own making, idioms and local particular speech, still we get the general idea of what they are saying, doing and feeling. We get it. these two are hilarious. A regular comedy crew. they are.
Kundalini Shakti might inform my image. It presents union of Shiva and Shakti, Silence and Energy. We embody both.
http://youtu.be/VDa6nScKbKo
The wind blew high, the waters raved,
A ship drove on the land,
A hundred human creatures saved
Kneel'd down upon the sand.
Threescore were drown'd, threescore were thrown
Upon the black rocks wild,
And thus among them, left alone,
They found one helpless child.
A seaman rough, to shipwreck bred,
Stood out from all the rest,
And gently laid the lonely head
Upon his honest breast.
And travelling o'er the desert wide
It was a solemn joy,
To see them, ever side by side,.......
from 'The Song of the Wreck' by Charles Dickens
he said: Last Thursday had a first Yoga class with an American teacher. Felt good for a few hours. Will go back this week and think about pretzels.
me said: this is the last blog posted and I drop by here to distribute chatty email like response.
was good to see you out and about. Yoga and when I do it: allows the fluids to flow and enhances my sense of well being.
be well John . thanks for stopping by.
I'm still very much alive. So much I could chat about but you deserve something bigger. These cliffs will I think be the place I return too. There my imagination finds release. Yoga tonight.
aye, the cliffs, those jagged ledges
oceans tattered lacy edges
stinging wounds that quickly heal
oh to be that golden seal!
Pemaquid Point is No Place To Play
I stood behind a jagged ledge,
my strapping son with me,
We dared the waves along the shore
and laughed to taunt the sea.
A mighty wave came over all
and set us both to float
while seagulls laughed in merriment.
"That teaches you to gloat!"
Most sobering, it set us down.
That wave that bore our weight
And let our feet gain purchase
before it was too late.
Humbled then, we quickly climbed
where only rogues could reach
and even there, stood back a bit.
Atlantic with no beach!
Just barnacles and seaweed grip
those rocks that she allows
and those she hides beneath her tides
as traps for sailors bows.
Bev. Just found your great comments. Thanks.
"aye, the cliffs, those jagged ledges
oceans tattered lacy edges"
Adds so well to my imagination of the girl on the cliffs.
And such a good story. x
I be a sailor's daughter. war damaged his peace forever. He needed several goddesses to heal his soul. I was the one with the moon in my magic and the earth beneath my feet. I pushed and pulled the tides on every side. If nature could create herself as a woman, she would have been me or at least my state. ME.
Great to know you Bev. I feel the pull of the moon, the earth under my feet and finger nails. Bless you.
It is truly wonderful to share with you, John. It is as safe as any dream and quite fulfilling in a way that I never would have anticipated. I thought I buried that woman in me at the turn of the millennium when my partner/friend couldn't admit his love for me because he meant his vows to the mother of his children. Even though she left him thirteen years earlier, he always hoped for her return. He never understood that puppy love isn't mature love and they were virgin puppies when they began. I believe losing that sort of love after a lifetime of committing to it, does indeed cause cancer when your heart argues with your head about where your devotions should lie. People think that the heart is supposed to remain faithful but it always does, doesn't it. It is faithful to genuine love and always seeks the purest example. Guilt happens when we realize that we made a mistake and must break another heart. I break none since I belong to none. I am as safe as your next dream. I am as promiscuous with my love as I am sincere. I had to look up mendacious to decide whether or not it applies to me. While I am a believer in creating fantasy, I also respect truth. I am far more comfortable with it than most because I face it daily.It doesn't scare me a bit.
However did I miss this treasureable image? Must be that Multiply didn't always share your best with me since I always expect it. I have a new page of my poetry on Facebook under my name Beverly VanBuren. You're welcome to check it out. I don't quite know where else to go where I can meet new friends but still keep treasures.
Glad you found it and I'll find you.
A Golden Sunrise
One morning quite hopefully
the sun shall rise and I shall see
He's found ME
standing on my lonely points
casting beacons
across this sea
of humanity.
Thanks. Memorable image. You are a beacon.
I am delighted to know your entire family a bit more. They are real treasures. Your posts show that you know that which makes me really respect you all the more.
Post a Comment
<< Home