HER OWN SOCIETY
The soul
fed up with its own
immortality
decides to take a holiday
from being itself
to just...being.
It grows a body
first the toes & then
& so on & so on...
It just says so
'And the word was made flesh! '
it laughs to itself
pronouncing each part
clearly & distinctily.
Then it toasts
some wholemeal bread lightly
melts some cheddar cheese
untill it bubbles
tops it all with some half-cut cherry tomatoes
flecked with freshly cut carlic & sprinkled with basil
settles down
on the comfy couch
ouch...skins a shin against
that always potententally dangerous
low flying coffe table
& then begins
to read Emily Dickenson.
'Mmmmm! ' smiles the soul. 'Mmmmmm! '
*******
PERCHANCE TO DREAM
The soul
fed up to its eyeteeth
with its own
immortality
& having become
a body
in order to divine
just what being
human
means
was amazed to see Venice
erased by mist
as if God
having done a quick preliminary sketch
still...wasn't satisfied
with it
& rubbed it out to begin
...again!
God was always such
a perfectionist.
The soul thought God
had gotten it just
...rigtht
& should have left it
just as it is.
The soul stamped
its feet
against the cold
drank a quick deliciously
thick Espresso
& had its photo
taken at San Marco
amongst the flocks
of pigeons & Janapese tourists.
The soul
kissed the lips
of the woman
it loved
& almost cried
in disbelief at
'...how wonderful
it is! '
Later, that night
the soul slept soundly
wrapped in the arms
of this naked little lady.
Never ever
was the soul so
glad to have
a human body
that hungered so
for the body
of this strange
impossible other.
Slowly sleep
(although it did not wish it to)
erased the soul's thoughts
as easily as God
with little touches of mist
erases Venice.
Now the soul learned
what it is to
dream
& dreamed &
dreamed.
*******
'LA MUSICA!
The soul
fed up & bored
with its own immortality
& curious to
taste mortality
(as humans do)
had grown
a body
but had, as Time
dragged on
grown weary of
the experiment
become
even further fed up
with this mesh
of flesh & thought
that being
human
is.
The soul(eager now)
to escape this human construct
longed to be
body-less
to be
only itself
again.
So, finding itself one day
in the Dorsoduro district
of Venice
the soul searched church
after church
for some semblance
of itself
the haven
of itself
but Heaven was not to be
found among stone.
Footsore & weary
(damn this all too solid too too tired flesh)
this all too human
breath
& hungry for more
of what cannot be
known
but needs must be
known
it slumped(eyes shut tight)
in the Chiesa San Vidal
unaware of humans
filling the emptiness
with longing
...longings.
Suddenly...a vibration
of the air
nothing less nothing
more
but oh so very very
Vivaldish
stripped the soul
of its flesh
allowing it
once more
to be
elemental
&
divine.
The soul
started crying.
The cellist bowed
to the soul
& the soul bowed back
to the cellist
both becoming
now the music
...la musica!
Donall, your poems are always such a scrummy treat to the senses (and the soul) ...... but now, of course, I want some cheese and toast with cherry tomatoes and garlic and herbs ...! ! ! Lovely poem - all the best for the festive season. HG: -) xx
WOW and mmmmm and me smiling (bright smile) after reading the first lovely lines: The soul fed up with its own immortality decides to take a holiday from being itself to just...being.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And now I say with a broad grin: -] an even bigger thank you as I realise this poem was for me! So silly of me not to notice the title! ! Thank you, thank you, thank you... HG: -) xx