Echoes

Echoes

A Poem by Kristina Moulaison
"

Longing for wisdom, for a more enlightened world, to feel the connectedness of all things. Time is a string folding in and around itself.

"

Somewhere in the mist of this night must lie a memory,
a breath I took while sleeping, that could fill this...void.
The green path stretches far...too far to dream, almost.

Still beyond this fog I see a hand outstretched-
fingertips curled to beckon me onward,
lips pursed to blow me wisps of fairy dust
that I might hurl myself at last upon this shore
where wisteria curtains drape,
ivy spills itself over walls of stone
and where, beyond the rolling hills, a canyon lies
where no man shouts at the wind to hear his own voice
but feels instead the silent expanse of sky and soul as it ripples
through the parallel layers of time
that he has dared to mount-
red, rich clay whose pores hold secrets
tight within their ticking metronome
trapping every voice, every trickle
all the flipping fields that have rocked them
through midnights of blue
exploding with globes of sparkling ancient eyes
that look back through rivers of time
and glitter Morse code
down upon infants
with their eyes closed

still dreaming

of a memory...



 

© 2014 Kristina Moulaison


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Featured Review

This is sweet and dreamy. Strong poetry and insights, wonderfully romantic piece. I liked

to hear his own voice, but feels instead the silent expanse of sky and
soul, as it ripples
through the parallel layers of time, that he
has dared to mount-
red, rich clay whose pores hold secrets, --- because sooo airy! Sweet and upon existance.


Posted 16 Years Ago


6 of 6 people found this review constructive.



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Reviews

Lovely!! Keep Writing Like This, and You Will Make A Million!!

Posted 16 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Kristy, I've been putting off reviewing this, mostly because I keep getting caught up in it, and not being able let it back out of my head. I get caught up in the dream, and can't connect things - maybe I'm not supposed to. I love the imagery and the language throughout, but I especially like the first three lines. Perhaps, I get caught up in the search for truth - I see it all around, but maybe I don't recognize it.

I'm curious about your line breaks, I can't find a syllable pattern that explains the enjambment, starting the next phrase at the end of a line. I kept wanting to pause at the end of the line, especially in cases like this where the word also makes sense as part of the previous phrase.

red, rich clay whose pores hold secrets, tight

In spite of my questions, I still find this immensely satisfying.


Posted 16 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Insanely beautiful. I am know my opinion must be lost in the others' praise, but this was just beautiful. I lost my breath - no lie - when you said "beyond the rolling hills a canyon lies, where no
man shouts at the wind
to hear his own voice, but feels instead the silent expanse of sky and
soul, as it ripples
through the parallel layers of time" Just so amazing. Well done!

Posted 16 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

I liked this poem, I enjoyed the images that your words painted. I felt the passion and the longing that I think that you wanted to convey. It was very romantic as well, and who is not a romantic at heart. This was a very well written and picturesque piece.

Posted 16 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Few are the dreamers who yet dream . . . and hope. Visionaries in modern society, I wonder, are they truly rewarded (unless their visions have some practical application that fuels progress)? And yet, I believe we all thirst for something beyond the material, practical, and necessary (though no more so than this otherness we crave). I've spent my whole life trying to figure out just what that missing element is, what it consists of, and what it means. I'm not sure that I'm any closer to an answer, but in the seeking, one finds . . . something, in oneself.

As you so astutely recognized here, it gets passed down to the next generation, in the hope that maybe, just maybe, they'll dream a little . . . and find what we've missed.

Michael

Posted 16 Years Ago


3 of 3 people found this review constructive.

all the flipping fields that have rocked them, through
midnights of blue exploding with globes of sparkling, ancient eyes

I love those words, this entire piece was written in a tone that I just fell in love with. This is a magnificent piece, and one I'm glad I read, because it's some of the best stuff I've read in a while. Great job.

Posted 16 Years Ago


3 of 3 people found this review constructive.

i love the innate tone of this piece..the voice narrates the scenes well and the beginning was perfect to keep me interested..well done.!

Posted 16 Years Ago


3 of 3 people found this review constructive.

Somewhere in the mist of this night must lie a memory; a breath I took while sleeping...

Beautiful!

The whole thing is absolutely beatiful. Imagery is imaginative and excellent.


I loved it. Perfect.

Posted 16 Years Ago


3 of 3 people found this review constructive.


Hey that was really nice, I do appreciate the ethereal feel to writes like this of gassy stars and dreams and time, dreaming of a memory, its just lovely the thought of a baby dreaming of a memory. I read this out loud and often I find with people I cant do that smoothing because people write to their own beat lets say,, but this read fairly well to me� Thanks for the send I enjoyed it



Posted 16 Years Ago


4 of 4 people found this review constructive.

This had a magical quality which captured the illusion of fairy dust very well. The dreamlike state explored was mesmerizing and haunting. I especially liked the glitter morse code section.

Posted 16 Years Ago


6 of 6 people found this review constructive.


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998 Views
31 Reviews
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Shelved in 3 Libraries
Added on February 6, 2008
Last Updated on January 28, 2014

Author

Kristina Moulaison
Kristina Moulaison

Bellingham, WA



About
I write. Read me. We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, la.. more..

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