poem: What if a Spear Drew Real Blood From Riverbanks?

a nameless face in a dream of great beauty

What would you say to me

if we encountered, this very night-

if you and I somehow

became versed in the art of wind-

and your sirrocco softly caressed, then tamed

the flows of my drenched nor'easter;

or my nor'easter brought perspiration-

the sea ripened bouquet

of the emerald waters churning

 nutrient laden treasure of the Grand Banks-

to your desert onslought?

 

What if we gift-wrapped tenderness

in laughter, and shyly

 handed it to each other like preteens;

then turned a respite

into the fountain of youth-

Diaz in another life would lead the way

as the jungle waters turned to wine

and I licked a perfect drop of ambrosia

from each fingertip

of your hand, my teeth

grazing your skin, communicating

gravid thoughts of an ovulating cerebrum-

fresh, ripe, and more tantalizing

for being a species feral,

cultivated by spirits-

untamed?

 

What if a spearhead thrust deep into

the clay of our river bed drew real blood-

what if it flowed freely,

and we drank it anyway-

What if I told you, "No, no-

this cannot be true

it can only ever BE a dream,

and you scare me because it is too real:

the nighthawks told me so,

and the moonlight flowed

backwards from

the surface of that lake where

we swam by day in warm waters,

silver wraiths ascending

like fires to Her celestial face?"

 

Would you tell me I was right-

mortals can only taste eternity

in delusion. What I hear

when I look into the space behind

your beautiful eyes

is self-fulfilling madness,

a caress whose touch will live in

perfection forever for its never

having been tendered

in this plane of existence?

Or do you have the strength

to take my bleeding palm in yours

drink the redness of my desires-

impregnate the fertile womb of my mind,

and proclaim

that forever does not and never did matter-

because we CAN hold the eternal

in the span of one night's worth

of soft moonlight on water

the caress of rose petals on skin;

remembering you in me, me in you-

each time the wind

strokes our bodies anew?

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Fernando Pessoa]

I don't know how you create such vivid worlds in your words, but your extravagance blows me away! There is the dreamish tenderness and metaphorical magic that absolutely stuns the senses. Keep dreaming, and know that we have only ever tasted the tip of reality's essence. There is more; so very much more.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." - Hamlet

[Marie Anzalone]

Paul, it is always such a treat to read your reviews. My "dream-sequence" poems are the closest I have ever come to surrealism/ magical realism. I used to think I wished I could write in that form, freely, but then I saw the awful toll it can exert on the mind and heart and body. So I sit at the edges and dip my feet and dabble. One day, I fear I will slip away entirely. I hope to have time left to get a little work done before that happens.

"Love taught me to die with dignity that I might come forth anew in splendor. Born once of flesh, then again of fire, I was reborn a third time to the sound of my name humming haikus in heaven’s mouth."
— Aberjhani

[DrD]

This work, Marie, is a rarity in its quality, insight, mechanics, word selection, virtually every aspect of composition. I cannot praise it highly enough and others here will confirm that my praise is not easily won. I thank you so much for this because it gives evidence that what we do here does have its extremely memorable moments.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you very much for your kind words on my writing, Dr. I can say this was inspired by a dream... more than that... well sometimes my thoughts are half-tamed horses- they need to be let loose to run. Sometimes I like the destination, sometimes I am startled by it, sometimes I am unsure. Sometimes, all three. Let's just say this one ended up being closer to ym heart than I imagined it would be- one of my own personal favorites of my own work.

[DrD]

It's your favorite? It should be. I think this is your hallmark work and gives you evidence of the greatness within you.

[Marie Anzalone]

Perhaps not my favorite.. but one of them, for sure. By the way, I cannot tell you how much I truly appreciate reviews from writers such as yourself. You inspire me to keep writing.

[Castonovia]

Descriptive, vivid piece an old sort of magic courses through every syllable with a sensual type of desire and phrases of mad delirium... it brings such realistic life to the dreamer catching every speck of alluring grace. Evokes so many emotions each with a thought that could mean many a different thing, absolutely well penned indeed :)

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you very much, Chelsea. You are correct- I did feel, writing this, like some New World old magic slipped inot my pen. Being in central America can do funny things to your mind. The veil between worlds is thinner here somehow.

[Castonovia]

I agree completely, strange things can inspire us... the magic slips through the cracks ;)

[bob, small b. aka invs]

this is really an amazing piece of writing. i wish i had the capability of coming up with such dense imagery and expressive phrases. i think you truly were inspired. my favorite line/thought from this...."mortals can only taste eternity in delusion". here's to the dreamers.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, invs. Yes, the dreamers are here I think to set the pace for the rest of us. We see what is real, they show us what is impossible. I wrote this based on imagery from a very real dream. When I awoke, I had 2 dreamers in mind- you are correct that this inspired. Thanks for stopping by.

[Marie Anzalone]

I menat to say they show us what is POSSIBLE.

[Antonio Valentino]

"Would you tell me I was right-

mortals can only taste eternity

in delusion. What I hear

when I look into the space behind

your beautiful eyes

is self-fulfilling madness,

a caress whose touch will live in

perfection forever for its never

having been tendered

in this plane of existence?

Or do you have the strength

to take my bleeding palm in yours

drink the redness of my desires-

impregnate the fertile womb of my mind,

and proclaim

that forever does not and never did matter-

because we CAN hold the eternal

in the span of one night's worth

of soft moonlight on water

the caress of rose petals on skin;

remembering you in me, me in you-

each time the wind

strokes our bodies anew?"


Good lord Maria.... ..

that was just absolutely stunning

I have to tell you, you are one intriguing human being

there is light in your meaning

and pull from your spirit

passion of conciousness just doesnt get any more fetching then this

how luck we are that you share the specialness of you

:)

[Marie Anzalone]

Wow, Antonio... thank you for your praise of my work. I try to paint, in words, what I see, and I fear I am and never will be as well-versed as others; nor will I ever be able to capture abstract thoughts and weave them into stories like you do. We each find our own style and voice. I sure appreciate yours- and I am glad you appreciate mine, as well. It is a pleasure to share words and thoughts with you. I am glad that you were able to see the marriage of passion and mind in this. As i pointed out to other reviewers, this one surprised me in its intensity as I wrote it, in much the same way and for the same reason "Formless" did. Something is stirring, something big. Wonderful day, my friend.

[Antonio Valentino]

grace and humility, mist and heartbeats.. that is whats stirring within you..

allow your spirit to stimulate that pot of truth and nectar ever further.. the fragrance of it is as enchanting as it is seductive..

:)

[Art]

just fantastic...emotional love that breathes depth...you have a very exceptional piece here Marie...simply fantastic...

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you very much, Art, for your review and words. This one was complicated, and tough to pin down for me. I did not know when I started it that it would be a love story at all. it kind of snuck up on me. Happens thatw ay sometimes, I think.

[R J Askew]

brilliant. the sensuality is sustains and swells towards the end. I esp like: .. gift-wrapped tenderness in laughter .. and we drank it anyway .. the redness of my desires .. in the span of one night's worth of soft moonlight on water

[Marie Anzalone]

thank you, RJ. As I mentioned to the other reviewers, this one wrote itself, and it has a message for me I have yet to uncover. I was surprised at the frank sensuality that was evoked when I explored the eyes behind the mask in my dream. Not sure if it was for a real person, or if there is some deeper metaphorical meaning. That ever happen to you, my wise and deep literary friend?

[R J Askew]

I think writing the stuff we do strips away all kinds of layers from us. We dig into what we are, how we feel, and what we want perhaps. This is the poetry coming through us. We receive it, are sort of conduits for it if we are lucky. As you say, it wrote itself. I also reckon this is why a lot of people have trouble reading poetry. They are uncomfortable with naked emotions. But others find great joy in reading such things. Maybe our role as poets is to submit outselves to whatever we are destined to receive. We must never worry about people criticising it, dismissing it, or shying from it. Others will surely love it if we write honestly. We are lucky to receive poems, that is our payment.

[Marie Anzalone]

Pondering your response, RJ, and thinking there is a lot of truth in what you say. I know I have for years been afraid to write down the truly deep and private stuff, and I turned off some friends when I started. I think that if poetry does not make you feel uncomfortable, or like a voyeur, or expand your horizon in some way with its story (not its message- its story); it is not acting as poetry should. I wrote once about the difference between people who like to read poetry and those who are condemned to live it. It seems you are saying they are, by design, one and the same. And yes, I agree that we are truly gifted when we receive words, truly blessed, truly rich. I would prefer to be penniless but able to express myself freely than the miser who agonizes for years over the words to tell a woman he fancies her, and whether or not to tell her.

[R J Askew]

You are right. That ability to express oursleves is a key to our humanity. I have learnt a lot since I joined WC in 2005 and started reading and feeling poetry more keenly. No price can be put on this joy.

[Marie Anzalone]

That joy shows in your work, RJ.

[R J Askew]

And it is definitely in your poem here. It felt like you didn't want to stop writing it :)))

[Rick Puetter]

Wow, Marie. So sensual. Perhaps this is South America working its subtle magic!

This is a wonderful piece. Amazing language and emotion. So greatly enjoyed. Highest marks.

My very best regards,

Rick

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you so much for stopping by, Rick. I started with an image form a dream, while I was still in the dream state- and let it become what it wanted to. I was honestly surprised how sensual it turned out- in a very life-affirming way. I need to explore this deeper. this one touched me deeply as it wrote itself. I want- need- to know more.

[Tree]

Visionary. It was as if you brought this poem back, from another realm. The image of the spear thrusting into the earth near the river was vivid, telling. A fascinating mind altering poem, Raquelita. Another stunning write.

[Marie Anzalone]

I have missed your words, my friend. Thank you for stopping by tonight. Yes, this one did come from another realm. As I recounted to gombeggar, below, there is a message trying to make its way to me. I can see the messenger's eyes, not yet his face. This one was inspired by a dream, and the stream of conscious evoked by it produced... this. You never know where inspiration is going to come from.

[Marie Anzalone]

I will pose the same question to you that I posed to RJ... have you ever had an experience like this, where you were unsure if a dream was trying to lead you to reach out to someone specific, or if it just had a deeper metaphysical meaning?

[Tree]

Interesting question, Raquelita. I believe I have. My experience is that sometimes dreams are more than just the subconscious trying to work out issues on behalf of a resting conscious state. You once metioned Jung and the idea of universal consciousness to me, well I think there is now some scientific evidence emerging to give some credence to that or a similar type idea. The key I think is to be able to tell the difference, between a normal dream, and say a deeper one a more profound message: a Vision. First off a vision is rare. They find you more often than you finding them. You know it's not just a simple dream when you just can't get it out of your mind, it lingers. Haunts you. It's a feeling akin to leaving something undone, an important unfinshed task that is knawing at you. I actually wrote a poem about this subject, buried in a journal somewhere, entitled: Is It A Vision? Or A Dream? Or something like that. Anway the whole idea is fascinating but not an old one. The dying art of shamanism is probably the closest we can get to the true masters of this art... But it is harder and harder to find such people.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, Diego. A dying art yes but not dead... I just wonder if I will ever complete my own training. Thank you for the clarification on vision- I had learned that, but forgotten it. This is why we need to corroborate reality with others sometimes, I think. We forget, we get lost, we get confused. Yes, this has been a series of visions. Delving it, surprisingly not of one
person, but two. The situation of one, the eyes of another. Both have something to teach me. I know I will reach out to one, unsure yet about the other. Too early yet. I am also unsure which one is moving me towards sensuality. I thought that ship had sailed. I wonder if you have read about the classification of dreams- the release dreams, fear dreams, wish dreams, processing dreams; and then true visions, visitations and premonitions. What you describe falls into the latter grouping; and as you point out, are very rare. Ordinary dreams fall into the first grouping, and do not linger, although images may haunt us. But yes- that itch you describe. Unfinished business. Good way of putting it. Excellent mind, my friend. Your words always make me look more deeply- a very rare talent. Please do not ever stop writing.