to the well again

FinsburyParkCarrots

You will run the wet fields barefooted in the raining dawn. You will dally, lovedally down, skipping in windblown patterned skirts along the rustling dewstarred boglands by the mouth of Doona shore, the black ford, under a sky awhirl with raven stars. You will ramble down to the sandybank well, your waterpails keenclanking, keen clanking. Pails to be filled, to be brimmed, to be oceansteeped and weighted; a heart to be filled in an ocean dawn of rain. You will cross the green bound rushwet stones,dewshingle mistmorning sandybank mantled, your bare feet imprinted with insignias of grass and toes twined with skirts of bog pink posie petals. You will pass Corrigan's field in the September rain with Achill winds blowing your goldenhair, ablaze in sunny longshadow rain like the mane of Grainuaile on the prow of her proud ship, aflame and aglow in sunrise breezeraying seaspraying oceanrain. You will feel the wordless waterwhisperings of women whose mountain heartsongs rained throughout centuries of love like dew that fed deep veinous roots in the cuddled earth beneath your naked feet. You will skip the path to Corrigan's well, your broad deepthroated pails catching rainbow glimmers from the cleft of Saddle Head. And you will lean to the well's brick white grounddeeping wall, feeling it under your palmtouch to be, to be, not solid but a mass of fizzing, whizzing shimmerings of electric pulses, conversations within withinness, while your woman's breath diffuses with the deep, clear filmless water within, a water of a face, your face, bright, timeless, fluid, jewelbesparkled; a face liplapkissing as water, as dreaming, as diving,as fishpassing under the surfroaring surface of the sea in the shimmer shallows and deepest blueing gulfs of stream, of bending spectral light, of aqua sound. You will feed the deepest veins of roots of new wild western ocean blazing flowers; you will wave deep flower tangles in underwater sun, you will grace wild twines of rush underfoot; you will wear gold suntangling hair of a seaborne pirate queen; and you shall shimmer as the deepest seamade veins of the true heart's core.

justam

:d

justam

justam wrote:

This was supposed to be a big smile.

FinsburyParkCarrots

It's an old poem. I'm into kennings and compound words in a big way, again. I'm bored with the English language.

FinsburyParkCarrots

When I say old, I mean 2004.

Got lots of new stuff, but it's lyrics. You'll hear all that, in time.

justam

FinsburyParkCarrots wrote:

When I say old, I mean 2004.

Got lots of new stuff, but it's lyrics. You'll hear all that, in time.

moreandmore

i might, but what
without a friend?

Ms. Haiku

I'm in an insomniac almost-morning, so I have time to read this. You made up some of those words, didn't you? It definitely goes beyond the use of words as conversation, and uses them as paint as on a canvas with many longs swatches of color emphasized with little dots.

Ian M

now THAT's what I'm talking about!!

if the Germans can splurge their words together haphazardly then why can't we?

ich hab' rasthausgesterngegessen

Ali

this is wonderful to me,
it would be my life in reality everyday reading it.
very well good chap.

hearts and ciao,
allison