deepundergroundpoetry.com
Narcissus Moon
Did you look up last night
to the brightened sky dove;
breathing, and did you walk
in the shadows of a lunatic’s love,
above with the light of being,
Graybeard that hung the lantern,
walking in clouds of white pillows,
the disguise of a place that drapes in space
as the crescent hand that willows the face,
following drifts of the misting,
in the light of the Narcissus Moon.
Did you feel it with your eyes,
swooning over and beneath
the bending disguise that listens
with a face that symbols peace;
I found him there, and weeping,
Graybeard that hung the lantern,
playing your cords of smiles and grief,
the disguise of a place that drapes in space
as a crescent hand that willows the face,
never to miss a revealing,
in the light of the Narcissus Moon.
to the brightened sky dove;
breathing, and did you walk
in the shadows of a lunatic’s love,
above with the light of being,
Graybeard that hung the lantern,
walking in clouds of white pillows,
the disguise of a place that drapes in space
as the crescent hand that willows the face,
following drifts of the misting,
in the light of the Narcissus Moon.
Did you feel it with your eyes,
swooning over and beneath
the bending disguise that listens
with a face that symbols peace;
I found him there, and weeping,
Graybeard that hung the lantern,
playing your cords of smiles and grief,
the disguise of a place that drapes in space
as a crescent hand that willows the face,
never to miss a revealing,
in the light of the Narcissus Moon.
Published 6th Aug 2014
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6th Aug 2014 3:46am
6th Aug 2014 2:27pm
6th Aug 2014 7:26am
Lovely
(you seem to be 'on a roll')
I'm one of them cancery, crabby moonchilds
(you seem to be 'on a roll')
I'm one of them cancery, crabby moonchilds
6th Aug 2014 2:28pm
7th Aug 2014 4:59pm
Anonymous
6th Aug 2014 9:42am
well done! beautifully expressed
6th Aug 2014 2:28pm
6th Aug 2014 5:06pm
7th Aug 2014 1:59am
6th Aug 2014 8:38pm
Excellent work. The way you use imagery to build the scene to a climax. Great ending as well
7th Aug 2014 1:58am
7th Aug 2014 00:51am
7th Aug 2014 1:57am
6th Jun 2015 1:23pm
This is wonderful. I love the point of view you have taken with this.
A little off the subject, I remember reading an interpretation that Narcissus did not fall in love with his reflection, but rather did not recognize himself and fell in love with an aspect of himself that has become numb or unrecognizable. The word Narcissus is from the Greek for "narcosis" which means numb.
A little off the subject, I remember reading an interpretation that Narcissus did not fall in love with his reflection, but rather did not recognize himself and fell in love with an aspect of himself that has become numb or unrecognizable. The word Narcissus is from the Greek for "narcosis" which means numb.
Thank you so much. :) There’s one line there that I feel is still offbeat “walking in clouds of white pillows” it should match the trough and crest of “playing your cords of smiles and grief” Thank you for sharing that nook on Narcissus. :)
I’ve heard myths & legends, but most of my life narcissus I knew as only the flower, Mother called them jonquils of spring. I refer to a jonquil wind every now and then; this means happiness to me. Poetry writing has been cathartic. Like a pain killer for numbness, it takes the unnerving and difficult memories of childhood and tames them, poetry is the pain from where I came and what was done, and I know a lot of people feel this way.
My soul has created an incredible debt to poetry that I can never repay. Poetry brought a very large piece of it to life that was always dead in me. It hurts to see it so abused and redefined today – but art is ever changing. Such as certain genres of music…what is that? And then when it’s said that its music; I laugh. :) It has been most difficult to learn what I know about poetry, on my own. In truth, I don't consider myself an artist at all, but I'm working on my superficial side that needs to be developed. I got in too much trouble as a child when caught being anything more than humble.
Sorry I got off the subject a bit.
I thought you might enjoy this,
In the beginning:
“The alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had brought. Leafing through the pages, he found a story about Narcissus.
The alchemist knew the legend of Narcissus, a youth who knelt daily beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called the narcissus.
But this was not how the author of the book ended the story.
He said that when Narcissus died, the goddesses of the forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.
'Why do you weep?' the goddesses asked.
'I weep for Narcissus," the lake replied.
'Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus,' they said, 'for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand.'
'But... was Narcissus beautiful?' the lake asked.
'Who better than you to know that?' the goddesses asked in wonder. 'After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!'
The lake was silent for some time. Finally, it said:
'I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected.'
'What a lovely story,' the alchemist thought.”
― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
It always reminds me of my one first poem: I knew when this came out of me, unprovoked by Rumi, I had poetry inside and it made me want to write and share it with a world that only a few could understand, and that perhaps all the injustices actually stood for something, and it finally gave me meaning.
and did he teach you to read...
no mas
for he taught me to see
the majesty & beauty in me
for the mirror I did find
that i had the courage to gaze
reflected understanding in you
I’ve heard myths & legends, but most of my life narcissus I knew as only the flower, Mother called them jonquils of spring. I refer to a jonquil wind every now and then; this means happiness to me. Poetry writing has been cathartic. Like a pain killer for numbness, it takes the unnerving and difficult memories of childhood and tames them, poetry is the pain from where I came and what was done, and I know a lot of people feel this way.
My soul has created an incredible debt to poetry that I can never repay. Poetry brought a very large piece of it to life that was always dead in me. It hurts to see it so abused and redefined today – but art is ever changing. Such as certain genres of music…what is that? And then when it’s said that its music; I laugh. :) It has been most difficult to learn what I know about poetry, on my own. In truth, I don't consider myself an artist at all, but I'm working on my superficial side that needs to be developed. I got in too much trouble as a child when caught being anything more than humble.
Sorry I got off the subject a bit.
I thought you might enjoy this,
In the beginning:
“The alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had brought. Leafing through the pages, he found a story about Narcissus.
The alchemist knew the legend of Narcissus, a youth who knelt daily beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called the narcissus.
But this was not how the author of the book ended the story.
He said that when Narcissus died, the goddesses of the forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.
'Why do you weep?' the goddesses asked.
'I weep for Narcissus," the lake replied.
'Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus,' they said, 'for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand.'
'But... was Narcissus beautiful?' the lake asked.
'Who better than you to know that?' the goddesses asked in wonder. 'After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!'
The lake was silent for some time. Finally, it said:
'I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected.'
'What a lovely story,' the alchemist thought.”
― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
It always reminds me of my one first poem: I knew when this came out of me, unprovoked by Rumi, I had poetry inside and it made me want to write and share it with a world that only a few could understand, and that perhaps all the injustices actually stood for something, and it finally gave me meaning.
and did he teach you to read...
no mas
for he taught me to see
the majesty & beauty in me
for the mirror I did find
that i had the courage to gaze
reflected understanding in you
7th Jun 2015 1:10pm
I have read The Alchemist years ago. Its nice to see those words again that I have forgotten. Thank you for that. :) And for sharing one of your first poems.
