your eyes are searching
underneath white starched shirt
is your wild heart
no one hears it but you
pulsing river tide
hungry for smell of freedom
wide-angled as blue vein sky
and when the night
fragments your chest to water
ask the bird for feather bone
ask the moon for verdant light
somewhere a corn stalk is ripening in its time
you have wings
paper-light, fashioned out of tiny scars
the mirror doesn't show it
but you are beautifully
made, always
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - We are writing about Joel Robison's Photography ~ I am pleased to be the pub tender for Poetics ~ Do visit and check out amazing images and words ~
Oh to have wings (even invisible) so that we could soar...following the beat of one's wild heart!
ReplyDeleteThe secrets that we hide.. the dreams are like paperwings, and sometimes it's the dreams that make you beautiful -- isn't it?
ReplyDeleteNot sure a bird would give up feathered bone haha letting ourselves soar is sure a need at ones feed
ReplyDeleteOur dreams, even the wildest, are part of who we are as they define in part who we might become as long as we do not break these paper wings.
ReplyDeletelovely pice grace ...
ReplyDeletepeace and love
1Manview
grace, this is magic...and beautiful....so many great lines, seriously...
ReplyDeletewhen the night
fragments your chest to water
ask the bird for feather bone...is just one of the transitions that jumped...some surprising images as well...like, much
Dear Grace
ReplyDeleteYou make beautiful poems and I love the way you combine it with photos!
It was a big pleasure!
Hugs
JetteMajken
"blue vein sky"..this spells freedom & wonderful images through out...
ReplyDelete"underneath white starched shirt
ReplyDeleteis your wild heart" - That's a powerful image. Beautifully penned. :)
the imagery here is gorgeous, just like the photo... love how you mentioned those scars the mirror doesn't show; the times where we fail and get knocked down are apart of our character as well. And how we handle those is either the wind that makes us soar, or the cage that keeps us from flying. An amazing write, Grace!
ReplyDeletei like to believe we are wild underneath our domesticated selves..in fact i like to do it too..
ReplyDeleteThe wings are already tHere
just waiting to be found..
and floWn
again....
Makes me think of all those dreams and hopes that so many of us hold secret...dreams unspoken...
ReplyDeletewow..this is beautiful. Nice to read your words again.
ReplyDeleteWings made from scars...very cool concept that what wounds us can also make us stronger and even allow us to take flight!
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely amazing Grace!
ReplyDeleteThis is beautiful Grace. So many spectacular images and words. The pain made wings of scars. Wow. So lovely. Truly you have an amazingly poetic mind.
ReplyDeleteLovely Grace, we need to accept who and what we are, then life seems so much easier to negotiate.
ReplyDeleteno one hears it but you
ReplyDeletehungry for smell of freedom
but you are beautifully
made, always
So many beautiful lines, sigh,
Grace, this is a lovely poem and thanks for hosting.
ReplyDeletehungry for smell of freedom
wide-angled as blue vein sky
I think we are all a bit hungry for some sort of freedom..
such beautiful imagery that works perfectly with that shot.
ReplyDeleteI admire your ease with imagery. This is absolutely beautiful. :)
ReplyDeleteNo one hears our wild heart - except if we speak it out here at dVerse Poets Pub, where others might listen and understand. Beautiful words to fit a very soulful image.
ReplyDeleteGrace, i echo everyone's perspective of your words. hopefully the image you see of yourself is like the one you just purged from within. lovely as always, mi amiga. 'grace-fully' written, 'grace-fully' said
ReplyDeleteYour words reflect the fragility of those paper wings and how easily broken they can be without care.
ReplyDeleteOhhh... such haunting grace woven here. Poignantly beautiful
ReplyDeleteAye if wings are made of scars then i am high most of the time.
ReplyDeleteamazing and beautiful!!
ReplyDeleteWonderful imagery, Grace--your poem soars on the wings of your words.
ReplyDelete"paper-light, fashioned out of tiny scars" this makes me feel as though each paper where I bare myself (my scars) through poetry could be folded to form wings that help set me free. hmmm...
ReplyDeleteYes yes, the wings, imaginary or real, have the substance of journeys mapped outside of what we know. Beauty is made of this, as is daring and sometimes death. This is my new favorite! Thanks!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful Grace:)
ReplyDelete"underneath white starched shirt
ReplyDeleteis your wild heart"
BeautifulYour words, like the photo that inspires it are intriguing in imagery.
Astonishing poetry to match the image, Grace! Great poetics...i regret i missed the link's expiration time.
ReplyDeletea lovely match to the image ~
ReplyDeleteYour descriptions brought me right to the picture and your poem really opened my mind to the paper winds literally. And wishing we could fly.
ReplyDeleteoh my lord, Grace - the beauty of this took my breath
ReplyDeleteand when the night
fragments your chest to water
ask the bird for feather bone
ask the moon for verdant light
lines that will stay with me - just beautiful
K