~~~
Watching from the Other Side
Things have never been better than this
Heaving in slow purposeful breaths in dreaming
Every moment is rest and ecstasy
Resting on laurels yet earned
Each accolade whispered into the necklace's home
Is there a reason to this contemplation
Searching the backs of eyes for more
A day is an eternity
While we watch she sits quietly
Inside her thoughts with only she knows who
Needing to feel what she feels
Getting closer to the finish
Everyone watches
Donning the cap of voyeur
Woman in pleasure is beauty
Ohm or Oh are so close together
My imagination demands her story
Another life, another time
Never taking flight though obviously free
Kneeling at the edges
Next is the divine
Each is divine
Each is sin
Living here where the walls meet
Inclined to the sky
No one can take it away
God is in the details
In case we thought we mattered
Names have been erased from the stairs to heaven
The silent vigil continues
Hex and incantations imagined
Etherial and supernatural
Cunning linguists think they can break her code
Or at least get closer than any other
Running mouth marathons
Needle and thread in small strokes
Each is simple and only good enough
Reaching a summit of everything
Our minds come up with our own ideas
Fornicating softly in her heartbeats
This is nothing and all
Help us to understand, Sweet Vision
Each of us is grand in our own mind
Rich men have tried to buy her
Others tried flattery
Only she knows the key
Many have tried to get it from her
~~~
From Rachel McKibbens' blog:
MONDAY, JUNE 15, 2009 WRITING EXERCISE #12
Let's use a "ghost line," shall we?
"There is a winged-woman kneeling in the corner of the room."
________________________
The Patient
Her face is a jittery hare torn out of its fur.
The bottom of her dress is pinned beneath
one of the machines, but she does not seem to care.
We sit in the blue room together. The news anchor
is done up in lipstick and crime as the roses are dying of thirst.
There is a baby screaming down the hall,
and my old body hears her.
My breasts sulk in the trash can, shriveled
like tongues.
- - -
(From an image by the artist, Snik.) <-- color="#999999" font="">The link in the original post no longer had an image so I linked to a different article with the winged woman shown above. The artist also has a facebook page if you're interested)
~~~
Personal note on the process...
As if the prompt image itself wasn't a challenge enough, I considered doing an acrostic using the ghost line! First though I looked at the image... I also looked up instrumetal tracks online using "winged woman instrumental" and the two most promising were Stevie Nicks "Edge of Seventeen" (Just like the white winged dove) and a Celtic mix... I prefer to use music that I am not familiar with so I started with the Celtic mix. but it didn't suite the obviously urban American image... so... to Stevie Nicks. Still no... so... just tried to see the story in the image without reading Rachel's example (which usually throws me off because our styles are so different and she is so much more edgy than I am).
What I saw:
the ecstasy
elegance
sensuality
dark feathers
cleavage
dreaming?
It still wasn't forming into a (good) poem for me yet so I gave in and read Rachel's example. She included the cleavage in her own hyper imagery way. Back to the thought palace to find out where this "angel" lives and how... back to the acrostic idea. Something about having a letter to start with seems to help. Then the poem was finally born!
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