Ghosts – the alone

ghost1Cracked and whispering,

smeared

across frayed and faded

veils of memory,

dissolving

fractured interstices

of stained days,

the one alone,

lost.

 

Loss and paradox

chime

dried bones in dank tunnels

beneath a burning bridge

where bright darkness

casts an eye,

staring down my soul,

stirring my cells

translucent.

 

Intimate spirit

trapped,

struggling for escape

but chained

to rusting remnants

and luminous ice,

a nameless shadow

craving release,

freedom

 

to be loved into

tree skin,

sleeping rocks and gulls,

wolf and worm,

petal and seed.

To enter floods and dust,

and the rising moon.

To let go.

Transcend.

 

Mixed media painting and poem by clinock.

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24 thoughts on “Ghosts – the alone

  1. Your rendering of luminous ice and rusting memory is haunting. And the poem, so beautiful to read John, after that tempestuous moon. She was a task mistress this time, stirring even the subtlest shadows from the ash, fanning the sparks of longing into small mimicking flames. Yes…to be ‘loved into tree skin…sleeping rocks and gulls….’ Superb, my friend…

    1. I am honoured by your words Jana, a superb poem in themselves. Yes, that ‘tempestuous moon”…she was shouldering me and “fanning the sparks of longing’ as I conjured “even the subtlest shadows from the ash”…thank you for strengthening me with such beauty…

  2. I can imagine these words coming through the radio static overwhelming as they find form and peace. Great writing with a brilliant image.

  3. I’m struck too John, like Jana, by ‘loved into tree skin.’ As slippery as it is rough. As moist as it is dry. As protective as it is exposed. As expanding as it is constricting. A whole new level you open up with that thought.

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