The Feather Seed
(a 55)
There was a feather;
it grew from my eye until
it was my eye.
There was a word.
It grew from my quill until
it was a wing.
There was a seed;
it grew from the soil of
every word decaying, until
it was a tree where
quilled birds sang
like candles in the dark.
August 2022
posted for
hosted by Carrie Thackery Van Horn
and
Sherry Marr's
Helen here ~~ this is exquisite poetry, Joy. (Galen would agree with me.)
ReplyDeleteThanks, Helen. I always think of Galen when I write these. I owe him hundreds of poems.
DeleteMy comment disappeared. But this poem went straight to my brain and my heart. It is superb, every word is perfect. I absolutely LOVE it!
ReplyDeleteThank you dear Sherry. Your prompt got me started.
DeleteJoy, this poem is deeply beautiful. The progression of growth to the tree and birds singing like candles in the dark is absolutely wonderful. A poem full with the hope of growth and that is my favorite kind! I am so delighted that you joined in at the Muse this week my friend!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Carrie. You had some sweet pics this week.
DeleteThis puts me in mind of Robert Creeley's poetry, except without the beat inflections, and with your own sensibility behind it. I am struck by the opening idea of the feather and the metamorphosis, or perhaps alchemy, that takes place. The rest of the poem continues this idea of things becoming other things or more accurately, changing and merging with those things and ending up with that gorgeous, haunting image at the close. Is this what we do as poets? Set out to draw something from ourselves and put it down in words, only to find that the process has changed us and that neither ourselves nor the poem are the same as before we began? In any event, we give a little light from it all. I will think of this poem again, and that stellar ending.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Shay. Yes, I think that's what we try to do, and sometimes we get lucky. The best thing about the 55 is that it forces you to be direct, to mind your words. Thanks again for reading.
Deleteafter reading this poem, all i wanted to do was jump off my balcony and fly away, probably good that i didn't... this poem has mighty wings, this human body, not so much.
ReplyDeleteshay said "Is this what we do as poets? Set out to draw something from ourselves and put it down in words, only to find that the process has changed us and that neither ourselves nor the poem are the same as before we began?"
that's really insightful. that sounds like my process in a nutshell (or what i have learned to simply "let happen"), and i wonder if that is what has kept me addicted to poetry for all of these years, that endless discovery, endless reinvention. perhaps i shouldn't think about it too much, to know the answer might completely ruin the experience. this beautiful joy, love this metaphasis
For me, it's a source of amazement that we find what we find, that we don't know everything about what we draw out, but that it has an independent integrity of its own, perhaps because it comes from a truer place. Thanks, philip, for the conversation and the kind words.
DeleteRewilding as a concept makes me think of nature's resumption after we're gone, but it's really about the wild singing despite our attempts at control. That's the budding and flying here, where poetry is the natural consequence of every word ... and why not? Who draws the line of difference but the separate and alone? This 55 (bless Galen) is a kickass charm for a thrice-bound triolet where words become a singing candescence. Such poems are blessings. Amen and amen.
ReplyDeleteThanks, B. Less is more for me these days.I was knocked sideways by yours, --chiming the charm yourself.
DeleteA very intriguing poem. So different. I guess it takes one small step to usher in a great change.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful, meaningful, and filled with so much to think upon in such few words. Perhaps as poets we plant words with inky quills that the future will be hungry to keep it growing. If we can be one tree for one bird to sing on our limbs, we will be the light for the future.
ReplyDeleteYes, Susie. It's hard always trying to be the light in such a dark world, but we keep doing our best to shine anyway. Thanks so much for reading, and for the pleasure of your beautiful poems.
DeleteJoy, this reads as an incantation and I do see it in my mind as I read it. Wonderful interpretation of the image.
ReplyDeleteEach word is perfect. I love what you took away from this image.
ReplyDeleteHey Hedge, hope everything's OK. Miss you round earthweal.
ReplyDeleteMiss being there. Lots of issues and troubles here that have shut off the word flow. Hope to be back when they are resolved. Thanks so much for your concern, and hope you're enjoying retirement.
DeleteI love how delicately this begins and how sumptuously it ends. Your poems have such a quintessential presence.
ReplyDeleteI didn't notice it was 55 until I read the tags. I can only echo Shay; depth here, but also lightness - a fine trick- but not a trick, just fine writing. ~
ReplyDelete