Tuesday, May 17, 2011

counting syllables

i am not here in fruited falsehood
the sky will not let me
lie straight up

there is wind in my hair
and it layers truth upon my supine soul

the ground becomes alter
and sacrifice becomes useless
to redemption - a vein split wide open gathers
rain washing the self clean
a false prophet could not have laid me here
prostate to torrent, callous
of imperfect timing - counting

copyrighted 2011


  1. I want to feel that wind in my hair, too. On good days...I feel the truth.


  2. That's for me: "...there is wind in my hair
    and it layers truth upon my supine soul..."

    It is obvious that I never 'count syllables'. And so I may just "R.I.P." I like this, Barbara


  3. Coming to believe is, I think, a matter of knowing less and less, of removing the half-truths and falsehoods from the spiritual plate. We get naked and lie down and receive the elements (and elementals) this way. Stripping a poem down to its essentials is the same prayer, as you show here ... It's not a matter of "counting syllables": Mozart was outraged when he was criticized by the King for putting "too many notes" in one of his chamber pieces. (He knew the exact count defied the day's laws of composition and couldn't care less.) Rules are just serving suggestions, good to know well enough so we can bounce every whichway off from them. The poem is a matter of getting naked with the nature of things, so there is no wall, no divide, no hesitation to our saying Yes - Brendan

  4. your writing keeps getting more and more raw - you seems to being peeling back layers of falsehoods and reaching your true self more and more with each write. how does it feel? because it sounds scary yet invigorating, painful yet serene...

  5. Peeling back the layers, indeed! First of all, I feel in love with the image, then, the contrast of the words placed against it. There is a strength that whispers within the plea, a strength that is done with doubt, done with fitting oneself into another's definition. As always, the language is absolutely spellbinding, and once again I leave, hoping one day, I can write like that! Thank you!

  6. One, two, three, pure magic! Thank you so much. Counting syllables is just perfect.

  7. smiles - i counted lots of syllables lately with the monday octain form...love the raw energy in this poem bk and yes - feel the wind in my hair

  8. "my supine soul," lovely turn of phrase. I was not familiar with this form until I read Claudia's comment.

    The indented stanza of wind felt a bit like it had been blown across the page from the west! Lovely. Amy

  9. Love the feel, the breeze slipping through... 'my supine soul' says so much yet without words.

  10. Beautiful. I especially love "there is wind in my hair and it layers truth upon my supine soul." Wonderful!