Love

I could have made a tenuous link to the brief this week, but my own poetic inspiration got the better of me, again. I've been reading more Shakespeare, Vicki Feaver, Barrett Browning, Tennyson and John Clare, all of whom have written about the topic of my poem this week, love. Many of these poets have described love, celebrated it, warned against it or lamented its loss. This one by Tennyson is quite beautiful: he remains one of my favourite poets.

Now Sleep the Crimson Petal

Now sleep the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.
The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake.
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

When I read poems which communicated their adoration of someone, something, I realised that right now love is something completely different for me. Still wonderful, a true gift, our heart's greatest desire, love also brings grief when someone or something is lost, still fights your reason and your rationality when you need them to be the winners, only thinks of itself. I'd say that sometimes love is impossible, holding you up against a wall, where fighting becomes obsolete. Love, in reality is selfish. It so often hides behind the other faces of humankind, a seemingly dormant source of motivation for our actions, yet its strength is in fact immeasurable. Because you can't destroy love, you can't deny it, you can't ignore it. Masked behind a different face, it will surge up and over that wall, and flood the place. I still marvel at how our body, our emotions are capable of feeling this intangible enigma which is love, in all its different forms. But that is besides the point, although perhaps not besides the brief... Anyway, now I've stopped rambling...

Love

Out damn spot, love's recall a haunting
of togetherness and nurture,
Blinding all to greyness and lack,
Filling out the space like the tide reaching the wall,
Flowing down to the wheel to crank slowly into motion.
After all this time, this chronicle of wasted time.

My heart's resting place invaded, squeezed and stretched,
The rack on which lies the symbol of your house
Your home, your flower.
Words spoke from you as chords do from the string,
And blood burns around my heart,
You've seemed to hear my silent voice
Which rested sleepy, dreams of night.

This coat, your gift, now weighs heavy
My shoulders fight to throw it off,
But then the cold seeps into my bones
and I am filled with thoughts of the warmth I once felt.