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"We're all just walking each other home." - - Ram Dass







Wednesday, November 2, 2011

As I enter here...


my mother's womb, full as the rich soil
lay heavy with ripened crop

along her path leaves burning red,
that match the birthing blood

bending, ebbing road and body
rock her to a rhythm of her own

 the boundary waters hurry past
as her current brings forth life

the raven with its sharp, strong cry
echo my own deep drawing of first breath

...at last darkened hands that work the land,
now work the outline of my face.


(shared now with dversepoets)


14 comments:

  1. How lovely and powerful this metaphor...

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  2. The rhythms of life are altogether and beautiful and haunting.

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  3. ok my breath caught at the ravens call...wonderful and evocative imagery...

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  4. A beautiful poem ... the images fade one into the other, and the end is excellent.

    You grabbed Autumn and rolled down into words ...

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  5. rarely do i read such poetry that makes me gasp. this is sheer beauty tara. thank you.

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  6. My heart rose and fell back home with your words. Thank you.

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  7. nice...look who popped into dverse....very cool...again, that ravens cry is def the cinch line for me in this...love the close on this as well...nice natural touches through out...

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  8. Your words are hauntingly beautiful.

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  9. This is raw and real, you've brought life into sharp focus, like the cry of ravens.

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  10. Your couplets draw a fine picture of life coming to be amidst the human endeavor to sustain its life on earth. The way you have described the natural landscape birth makes the closing stanzas that much more powerful:


    the raven with its sharp, strong cry
    echo my own deep drawing of first breath

    ...at last darkened hands that work the land,
    now work the outline of my face.

    Those lines bring into focus so much.

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  11. I'm most struck by how dark this birth is, and I'm trying to come to terms with it. The last couplet suggests fate in the form of others building molds for the infant, and at the same time a hint of the gravedigger.

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  12. I take this as an elegy to your mother. Your birth in some way presaging her death with the symbol of the crow, the blood of autumn leaves, and her face much like yours at the hands of the gravediggers. It's dark, quite beautiful, and most innovative. I love all the expressive images.

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