The Sound of Wings
Listen Here
Poetry, I’m often told, is something made of words. I think it really goes the other way around: words are made of poetry.
Robert Bringhurst
There is something deep inside of us that wants out. At the very same time something wants in. We are driven by the hunger of skin and the celestial intimacy of the stars. Place and space collide in the taste of the wind and the sound of the moon. Time and age disappear into the warmth of skin and the brine of the sea. Wings unfolding. The world opens passages that call us in.
We enter into a cosmic poem. Words don’t write the poetry. Poetry writes the words. Poetry is not interested in language. Poetry is interested in what is on the other side. Spilling across a bridge. Crossing a divide between realms.
Skin and stars. Sometimes. Just sometimes. Way out on the edges of it all. They touch. They converge. They become one. Naked revelation. The waves of the universe merge between the no longer and the not yet. The sound of wings.
The Sound of Wings
Locked in.
Pulsing.
Held in the force of a grip.
Tangling into the quiver of a groaning trance
shedding the boney grasp of its antlers.
There’s no way out. Only a deeper door
to discover. There’s an animal
captive within you. Trying to break free.
An apparition longing to invade.
Thrusting into the mystery of smoking
dragons screaming in flight.
Fire breathing wings beating hard
into the living pulse of the stars.
Carrying the wind
to collide into a moment
that melts away the world.
No gravity, no name, no body.
Straddling the cosmos.
Caught between the intimacy of skin
and the echoes of disappearance.
© Jamie MillardThank you for Being-Here.
May your poetry write the words of your own unfolding.
The sound of wings.
Have the best of days.
Lots of Love,
Jamie
Wonderful! And uncanny!! So much resonance with the next wordcast urging to be written ~ to be published in two days time ~ connecting with your post through the gravity of spacetime. The collision of place and space. The pulse of the stars. The sound of the moon and of wings unfolding.
And not just poetry, Jamie, prose too can write our story through the words it drops into our heads, demanding to be tapped out at our fingertips.
Thank you for your magic in the mystery of poiesis through spacetime 💙 🙏 🪄✨ 🌕
Hi Jamie, how beautifully stunning, blending every dimension of our expansiveness, our being - an enticement of wonder and feeling into portals of our essence, the cosmos. Sensual and evocative - l feel the droning hum of wings. May the whispering winds of spring brush your cheeks soon. Thank you for sharing your writing. 🙏😊💜