In M3’s 250th post, we are going to take a very large detour. No construction barrels or barricades were harmed in the making of this post.
Do you recall The Night Scene? Click on the link, since it will open in another window. You may just need to see it to understand what is to follow. And you may need to sit down before we get to the end.
Complete Change Of Tune
There are at least four posts decrying M3’s status as a porn site. Yet, there was one allusion-ridden poem which belies the sheepskin wrapper swaddling the wolf.
There is no discounting the consensus the poem represented divorce and remarriage or death and rebirth. Both allusions were clearly on the surface. The former, at least to the poet, more than the latter, but both were clear. The inference of the death of the body and rebirth of the soul is comforting in the last lines.
Also on the more obvious side, though not quite as much, was the fear of the poem: The fear of what lay beyond the darkness of closed eyes and doors and in the silence.
One of the underlying currents of The Night Scene was only brought in the comments by a single person: Raymond Alexander Kukkee.
Mayhap, a reread is in order.
Tonight’s poem is far less entangled and overly layered. I say overly because nothing I pen is solely as it appears on the surface. Nothing.
The most obvious theme is apparent in its subject, setting, rhythm and possibly its title: Quickening. The underlying question? Is this a dream?
The gathering nightshade beckons with
Trees wave naked branches
bent in windy chills.
Your mind swirls the moonlight ’round,
Glittery eyes lock yours.
You place your hand in the palm.
Lips tremble voiceless words
As the melody hides the beat.
Bodies close, breath warm on skin.
Fingers trail from ear to chest
Without pause, tender along the neck,
Reaching for the quickening pulse within.
The silence broken only by breaths,
rapid and deep.
Desire, long dormant, unleashed
in love to steep.
The soul mate’s passionate attention
ensnared to keep.
(c) Ann Marie Dwyer
Was it real? Is it a fantasy or a memory?
(c) Ann Marie Dwyer 2012
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