Tonight Brian Miller has us writing to some of Leovi’s pieces of artwork at dVerse . Follow the first link for more incredible and wonderful photos
At this point history
breaks free of its prison.
After a million-year lockdown
and hard-pressed in rock layers,
these planispirals shatter
a thousand ocean drops.
Clear as crystal they crest
the waves of time.
Leaping into the now,
their sculptured beauty
brings a long lost past
capturing human eyes
for the first time.
This is a glosa which is a form of poetry from the late 14th century and was popular in the Spanish court. The introduction, the cabeza, is a quatrain quoting a well-known poem or poet. The second part is the glosa proper, expanding on the theme of the cabeza, consisting of four ten-line stanzas, with the lines of the cabeza used to conclude each stanza. Lines six and nine must rhyme with the borrowed tenth. This challenge is the work of Sam Peralta over at dversepoets.com/this-is-us/ . Go check it out!
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
(The Hollow Men, T S Eliot)
These are the men of no-lands.
Rootless, sweeping on past you.
A wind brushing your cheek.
This disturbance of air
unsettles your senses,
but they’re not riders to fear.
Locked into an ancient journey,
they stare over your horizon.
Their vision is clear.
The eyes are not here.
They see things that are beyond you.
Your haven carved out of the land
does not distort their compass.
Purpose is driving them on.
In this seemingly safe place,
a choice to which you adhere,
puts eternal travels
in a different dimension.
And though you are sincere,
there are no eyes here.
Their dust trail swallowed by dusk,
nomads drift into the night,
soon to bed down under heavens,
leaving behind a reliable place.
Tucking itself up,
roof, walls and closed door mars
the purity of life unfettered.
Settling into a permanent sleep,
this small town of lights with the night spars,
in this valley of dying stars.
It’s not a place of adventure,
there’s no mystery of the unknown.
Settlers don’t want the drift
and the pull of a force outside their control.
Blindness and deafness cloaks a spirit,
chaining slaves of safety to a galley
that can’t even sail on dreams.
All that excites them is the building,
the street and the alley
in this hollow valley.
Tonight at dversepoets.com/this-is-us/ we’re being asked to bring a poem about things that motivate and inspire us. Simple answer for me is nature and for this poem in particular mountains. Born in North Wales I inevitably took up rock climbing at 11 and Tryfan was the first mountain I went up. Here is the poem and a couple of photos that capture it. I have actually carried out that hairy jump by the way 🙂
A whale back ridge rises out of Ogwen valley.
Its ridge climbs up from the llyn,
leads your eyes and feet to Adam and Eve.
Back to the beginning.
Waiting is a dare.
To leap the gap
between the petrified pair.
Up there in the gods, clouds clothe your breath.
Serpent mist writhes, opening up
snap-shot views of the Glyders ring.
Here at the top,
facing the dare.
Shall I leap the gap
between Adam and Eve?
But worn out by the climb
I stop.
I sit.
I drink
and bite the apple.
welshstream 