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Note: For some of us, our writing – whatever it may be: poetry, fiction, nonfiction, journaling – is our daily spritual practice. It is the place where we consciously connect with our core Self: the Ineffible, which some call God.

Here I am, suspended breathless
between language and myth.
Strands of undomesticated words
weave ladders to freedom, and

a dove in the stripy-barked birch
recites the works of Homer.
I found the rules of grammar
written on my tongue by the wind

and the alphabet strung like
seed-pearls around my willing neck.
Each day I take to the quarries,
hard mining for the sweetly lyrical,

blistered from digging in hot sands
and hard stone for parables.
The very walls that bound my heart
are fairly breached by the

gentle solace of poems spun
on a vision quest, on toiling
though the hill country of
my youthful and once indomitable

dreams: like dandelion fluff,
I blow them into history.
I write as though poetry is
the only real nourishment –
. . . . . .  .perhaps it is.

© 2016, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved,  Photo ~ courtesy of morgueFile

9 thoughts on “Breathless Between Language and Myth

  1. I just wanted to say how much I love this piece, Jamie. It really speaks to me on another level – poetry truly can be spiritual, and poems like this only reinforce why. You capture so well what it means (feels like) to be a poet. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  2. This poem represents the sentiment and spirit that is at the core of our mission here, Jamie, the Bardo/Beguine mission. It’s not surprising that it comes from your pen.

    “… as if poetry is the only real nourishment. Perhaps it is”.

    Perhaps, at the same time, a call to the pen, rather than the sword, is also a source of nourishment that will yield, eventually, a harvest for the world.

    Liked by 2 people

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