Your totem
your talisman.
Around your neck a pendant
an assistant
to your ascent.
I felt your chest heave
your breath come short
your heart race
your mouth go dry
as you summited
as you reached the rarefied air
of your accomplishment
your stimulus
your actualization image
your climax
your Sherpa
left now
on the ledge.
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 License.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 License.
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Welcome to "When I Wax"-- a place to escape the pedants and wax poetic, or even wax artistic.
The mythologist Joseph Campbell was asked by an interviewer how a regular person could preserve his sense of the mythic when so many feel too besieged by the claims of every day living. He said, "You must have a place to which you can go, in your heart, in your mind, or your house, almost every day, where you do not know what you owe anyone or what anyone owes you. You must have a place you can go to where you do not know what your work is or who you work for, where you do not know who you are married to or who your children are."
When I Wax is such a place for me. Blogging drafts of poetry and other sundries is like practice fly-casting on the front lawn... it may look silly, but it's effective...
The mythologist Joseph Campbell was asked by an interviewer how a regular person could preserve his sense of the mythic when so many feel too besieged by the claims of every day living. He said, "You must have a place to which you can go, in your heart, in your mind, or your house, almost every day, where you do not know what you owe anyone or what anyone owes you. You must have a place you can go to where you do not know what your work is or who you work for, where you do not know who you are married to or who your children are."
When I Wax is such a place for me. Blogging drafts of poetry and other sundries is like practice fly-casting on the front lawn... it may look silly, but it's effective...
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CURRENT MOON
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Thank you
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd;
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
George Gordon Byron
The Destruction of Sennacherib
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 License.
4 comments:
Beautiful description of accomplishment in very few words! This is just ambiguous enough to be literal or figurative. Nice.
After a few reads, I wonder if it is a death experience? *or* Perhaps an actual climb, where a sherpa is no longer needed. Or, is it an attainment of higher knowledge or an ultimate physical feeling that results between two people? I like that is left open to the reader. In any case, the mountains loom! Beautiful work.
This is really neat! I like the sexuality buried within.
Karen- thanks as always.
K. - You hooked into the various meanings, and the desired effect of the amalgamation of them. The mountains loom indeed. Thanks for the comment.
Rachel- Sexuality... under the surface, always, but just barely. Thanks Rachel!
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