UNTOLD

i wrote this for you

but i don’t know who you are

so i guess it must be for me

 

although the problem remains the same

 

to remedy this

i have begun peeling back

the layers of accumulated

time-tinged paper

that create

 

masks of stories

of who you are

of who i am

 

sedimentary deposits

of life

that stain and obscure

even obliterate

 

now they have no place to stay

 

become homeless drifters

blown dancing ( or flailing)

on the wind

 

paper

on which is scrolled

those stories

 

those squiggles of  life

that really

are not you

or me

 

that paperless self

 

now

it is free too

 

but with stories release

has no visible outline

no form

 

just raw experience

formative fear

naked and vulnerable

unseen and shivering

in the dawn of our time

 

birthless

 

and

as these stories leave their

nest

i wonder

 

who is the Seanchaí

the one with no story at all to tell

 

but that which is eternally untold

 

in the gentle lapping of a loch on a windless morn

in the arc of a wing calling silent freedoms to the earth

in the plunge of rainfall to refresh and renew spirits downed

in the kiss of dew that brings goose-bumps to the waking world

in that crashing dance of heart that breaks always upon human shores

in the pain of birth blinding us from the inevitability of our death

in the twist of the knife as we kill only ourselves whilst not looking

in that longing for soul so hidden from plain sight by our own words and deeds

in that keening stretch for a home that is so close but constantly just out of reach

in the whispering rustle of an ancient Oak that you just know is truth timeless

in the voice calling you to just let go of any idea that you might know anything at all

in the wispish brush of hair across a windblown lovers cheek at the ocean’s edge

in the light within a pair of eyes that says you are present here in me always

in          the          spaces          that          the          poem          leaves

in morning tears that fall from a face that is so much older than the day before

 

My submission for the Tuesday Platform over In The Garden and another step on the road to 30 in 30 for NaPoWriMo.

 

More information about the Seanchaí

 

15 thoughts on “UNTOLD

  1. sanaarizvi says:

    A breathtaking poetic form, Paul!💞 I love; “in that crashing dance of heart that breaks always upon human shores.”💞

  2. elleceef says:

    Oh my goodness, this poem really resonates with me. It causes me to feel melancholy for all that’s gone before. Your last line too, as I’m on the long side of life 🙂

  3. coalblack says:

    My goodness, Paul, this was unexpected. You are normally so light-hearted, but here you show tremendous introspection and depth. Sometimes the only way to process certain emotions is to write them out, as you have done here.

  4. Kerry says:

    Paul, you have captured so much of the paradox of poetic writing – we write for an imaginary audience, or at least, write, not knowing if anything will be read, so we do it for ourselves, but also for something more.. a shout out to time?

  5. Margaret Elizabeth Bednar says:

    I know we did not have to write to the Kandinsky images – but if one searches those colors and squiggles I almost think I can see most of them.. I love the ending “tears that fall from a face that is so much older than the day before” I’ve felt this way …

  6. kanzensakura says:

    An incredible write Paul. This is introspective and yet, magical. I love the line: “tears that fall from a face that is so much older than the day before”. So wise and so very true.

  7. kim881 says:

    I love the way the poem builds up, Paul,uncertain at first, not knowing your audience, and growing as you peel back ‘the layers of accumulated / time-tinged paper / that create / masks of stories…’ I especially love the phrase ‘sedimentary deposits of life’ . I also love the list of things that free the poetic spirit, especially the lines:
    ‘in the spaces that the poem leaves
    in morning tears that fall from a face that is so much older than the day before’.
    Superb!

  8. Rosemary Nissen-Wade says:

    A surprising poem, going a certain way and then flowering out into something unexpected, the way our thoughts sometimes do – almost like two different poems, only one can see the progression. Beautiful lines; my favourites: “in the gentle lapping of a loch on a windless morn / in the arc of a wing calling silent freedoms to the earth”. It could be seen as, finally, despairing, but perhaps that would be too shallow a reading.

    Thanks for the link to the storytellers.

    • paul scribbles says:

      I’m not sure this is finished Rosemary. It is in then guiding our thoughts to the place where no mask is needed..where all is well…despair and joy equally. Thanks for the feedback.

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