Graveling Point~

I beach my car at the concrete

barrier

between my skin

and the dew of the sea

 

Mornings collect in mist

a curiously comforting shawl

around old men in cars

scrutiny in their cataract eyes

observing the white veil

pull

away

from Atlantic City

on the horizon

across a stretch of sea

 

The boats bob

fishermen hip deep

pulling sea life

from the bottom

for the restaurants along Route 9

 

My dawn

draws herself across the sky

my carapace

thirsty for the edge of the shoreline

I exit metal

for gravel and sand

 

My arms move

like Thai dreams

the atmosphere

my loom

feet in rhythm

bleeding above shell casings

the music

of waves

in an otherwise silent

performance

 

I wonder if they think me mad

their Graveling Point

morning girl

dancing for old men

by the sea

while they sip youth

from a McDonald's coffee cup

and pretend to read the paper

 

Divinity

connects

itself a pattern

in brindled hands

wrinkled

by the tides

 

My latte cools

in the distance

of a human memory

unimportant

as the sea

enters

my bones

as I enter ancient eyes

weeping above the steam

of dark coffee

 

Graveling Point

has its own magik

between a concrete barrier

and a mad girl

with

ankle bells

jingling

 

 

copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

Author's Note

~ a bit of truth in this~every morning Graveling Point pulls my thread to its shores~ =)~

Reviews

[JelliFyshKissUs]

Isn't it amazing what one simple but profoundly beautiful birth of nature can do for our souls? Hearing the purest of sounds--the earth's own music. Its call for us to join ourselves to the sea. We see our world, our surroundings in an entirely different light! As for this tale of a simple day at Graveling Point, my dovely, you spin into a world of gypsy love and wrinkled-faced reproof and admiration. Delectable!

[Lachenille Papillion]

You are blending the light of day with the sun that shines within your mind again... and it's a beautiful collaboration.

[Bard Constantine]

When magic has been slain, we must recreate on our own; those intimate moments when we escape the steel and concrete and digital oppression... and take in the world that exists behind the illusion...

[Quinn Blackburn]

"Divinity

connects

itself a pattern

in brindled hands

wrinkled

by the tides"

Such a beautifully woven array of images throughout, this was my particular favorite. gorgeous wordcrafting, my friend

[.]

You write like a mistress of the written word! Ankle bells jingling..so they all hear you coming ;)

[Brad]

your style is so versatile, each one you've been putting out as of late, this one awoke some distant emotion i hadn't looked at for years

[Peter Joseph Swanson]

Marvelous!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Dinesh Sairam]

You're officially added to my list of poets whom I wish I could understand. The others you ask? TS Elliot, Sylvia Plath and to a little extent Emily Dickinson.

[Jūdan FyreHeart]

This sounds like a fantastic way to find yourself and remind yourself of the feel of things fresh in the morning. The way we seperate ourselves from the physical and lose ourselves in the other realm, dancing with the earthly energies and ways.

[David W Moore III]

lol, all i can picture when i finish reading this is a mad thai goddess, belly dancing in front of a bunch of copies of the guy from "Up". sorry, I think i lost my concentration!

[Crowley]

Its these kind of things that make life interesting and well worth the ride...I hope I get to be one of those fisherman, getting a show and a days work all at the same time....ankle bells sound happy no matter what the backdrop...great scene.