Floating in suspended animation.
Eyes in rem and strangeness swims before them.
Dreaming deep in splendid isolation,
I rest-arrested rather than condemn.
I choose to disbelieve in my grieving
I school my soul to fail to understand.
I did not plan to be self-deceiving
but some secrets force neural sleight of hand.
It seemed all was perilous and brutal
though senses clearly argued this was wrong.
While heart beat in protest that was mutual
my dumb-struck soul bunyiped* in billabongs.
My soul is growing wistful, heart molten
but crossbowed fate has left too many bolts in.
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*The bunyip, or kianpraty, is a large mythical creature from Aboriginal mythology, said to lurk in swamps, billabongs, creeks, riverbeds, and waterholes.
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John William Waterhouse (1849-1917), Miranda—The Tempest. 1916. Creator, William Shakespeare
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Dragonish
PoetryPART 1: Seven poems that explore love. The sated wind doodles mischievously no longer the ravening raptor loosed that scratched sharp claws to my unfettered glee. Now are you temperate, husky, obtuse. PART 2: Follows the tale of a persecuted dragon...
