GHAZALING ON WORDS AND BODIES
Roam around the skin before starting to ghazal.
Loosen it from the bone. Let it spill.
The lap is hollow and shrouded in dark silk.
It aches for its losses and so it is never empty.
There's one on whom the eye can never rest.
The arms are still and well behaved, but the pulse is racing.
In hot weather blood grows thinner than water.
Magpies beat their wings in your hair to keep you from their young.
I remember the day my palm was plump with love.
I stroked the locks your hair and found them wet with dew.
Pam Morrison
Concerning Nell:snow and critters
2 months ago
Fascinating and intricate, powerful and physical. Great images. Love the magpies in the hair!
ReplyDeleteSexy poem, Pamela. x
ReplyDeleteThis is indeed a sexy poem, PamelaMM - memory and the present expressed in the selfsame moment. L, C x
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ReplyDeleteHmm. I don't see sexy at all! I see loss -- tender and wistful loss.
ReplyDeleteA lovely and moving poem, Pam. It's wonderful how the feelings 'pour' from line to line, like water running down stone steps, and each line is
ReplyDeletea surprise and add meaning both seamlessly and unexpectedly.
Dear Pam - I've returned to your ghazal several times since you first posted it here.
ReplyDeleteT. Clear reminded me of my first response (thank you, T. Clear) when I, too, rested in the "hollow lap'. Yes, ache and loss are here.
I also find it visceral (which, of course, need not imply any sexual overtones). It's been interesting to ponder the places the poem has taken me - as Vespersparrow suggests, the feeling runs like water down stone steps.
Life's palette?
I wonder whether each focussed moment miraculously contains the ingredients of all our 'other' moments?
L, C x
For responding and for your responses here - thank you! px
ReplyDeleteThe lap is never empty - an image to keep. Thank you for posting a Tuesday Poem, Pam.
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