deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Open Mandala
It was hinged in manifold of rue and scarlet fate, pooling the young maiden’s hand. Ghastly hewed, I scarcely dimmed where the sound and soul had so wantonly paced; so strangely familiar to these bruises 'pon my port Village.
One must take heed, as madness too dwells in these tired
countries.
Balance holds briefly,‘tween a flint and dry spark of wool and all the idle hours, all our daily countering, swayed under crow fed language, will nigh cease this eternal stalking. Shadows define the candle-wall days effortless, once we barter our ends toward our end;
Clarity bounds these streams deep as the river’s grave, pray it forms from colors, pray it forms from fangs affinity. The bloodline auguring a quiet evening to come; An evening where land forgives us our mental status, where all in greed is here forth forgotten and redeemed. This and all awaits our voice in answer, we must begin to know this challenge before us; as it creaks unhinged within the fate of our young maiden’s hand.
Published 24th Oct 2015
| Edited 5th Nov 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2
reading list entries 0
comments 11
reads 739
Commenting Preference:
The author is looking for friendly feedback.
Anonymous
24th Oct 2015 10:55pm
<< post removed >>
Thanks! The voice, it does throw us curves upon occasion but always, as i will tend, swing for that wall as if "our mental status" depends upon it. Glad to hear you enjoyed and a pleasure to get your feedback!
25th Oct 2015 4:51am
A heart comes to mind, foremost and above all..quite the amazing of
all trinkets I would say as such your last poem shined out into the infinite. Thank you sir~
all trinkets I would say as such your last poem shined out into the infinite. Thank you sir~
Anonymous
25th Oct 2015 9:26pm
I think the main issue I have with this (and I've read it over and over trying to give it a go) is it chops and changes and jumps around everywhere. The narrative is descriptive, but not necessarily directional and that's what makes it difficult for me as a reader I think. There are images in this I can appreciate however, and I cannot argue with the lyrical quality of the language.
It would be good to chew through this one at some point, as understanding is the key to so many things. Thanks for the read :)
It would be good to chew through this one at some point, as understanding is the key to so many things. Thanks for the read :)
Well the reader is never wrong in my estimation. You get what you get and some get less and some get more. Readers feel what they feel from a poem and some feel more as others feel less. Hard facts. I will always appreciate your input so never worry about this poet. I would say that it would be nice to discuss this out but then I would be losing my voice by reasoning your interpretation and not my intent which I would hate to suffer the loss of that as this is one of my favorite ditties, and you and I, well, we do seem to enjoy arguing our points..lol. I wish I could place my Poe and Hinges into your impression but it belongs to you, as well as all the others on all the other sites, so for now I have only appreciation and hope that maybe one day an awakening of sorts will land on your shoulder and perhaps whisper something that builds a bridge to relay my point, for now I am seriosly grateful that you took the time and delved into my poetry as it is one the greatest of compliments....Bitch...lol,,jk. Thanks for stopping by poetress extraordinaire. It would be fun indeed, to chew on them bomes of your of insight. And next time, could you let me get just a little sleep before responding...lol.
26th Oct 2015 9:38pm
While I could relate to much of what Missy said, there are parts in this that are
"so strangely familiar to these bruises 'pon my port *Village (OR. Villahjshe or Villahche)."
I have an affinity with mandalas; they pool in my (not maiden) hands, and carry me through the dry spells of creation. I enjoyed the relation.
"so strangely familiar to these bruises 'pon my port *Village (OR. Villahjshe or Villahche)."
I have an affinity with mandalas; they pool in my (not maiden) hands, and carry me through the dry spells of creation. I enjoyed the relation.
Well, she be a talented writer and can see where the reader as well as oration needs it's gentle punctuations as well as pusles, via comma, period, semicolon..,.etc.This being said, never give up your spirit for the form as there wiill soon build a blackness, a mingling disruption and cancer, where life, once breathing into action, actuality and into passion is now deeply into oppostion, mad handed of it's belonging that solace and metphysocal solopsism takes away the mind into lovely art and churns it into the mind of dark malnutrition. What hand pools at yours, dare I ask.... think in white corruption, splattered with our trr]ue freedoom, where your mind forgets the air of Aristotle , is it the reality of virtual metaphysical solipsism, the making in love that pools at the energy in mad simplcity maiden. Or is it the unwed Matrix collecting/pooling into the unwed maiden?
My father taught me to never answer a question I didn't understand despite how ignorant it made me look. He said, "There's a difference in ignorance and stupidity, and the latter is answering something out of the former."
29th Oct 2015 8:17pm
29th Oct 2015 8:46pm
