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3 poems of 1/28/09

1. 

dung beetle


even the wind
is clever,
erases your journey
yet you keep rolling
the dung you have known
your whole life
as if you have forgotten
how beautiful
your beetle-back
as it shines,
you wallow in your stories
trapped
like the vibration
inside a mission bell,
you are a martyr
to your own destiny
buried
just below the surface
of the dream that would
set you free
to carry the sun.

2.

Who carves

Who carves the rivers
of silence through the
arcade of fire?

Who rings in the clarity
of truth as it meanders
through the body electric?

Who is wiser? The serpent
that crawls through the fissures
of Etna?
The owl with the ouroboros of time
in its talons of death?

I am Anna of Ohio,
our winters are the same ever-green water
Moses parted
we flow through the urban forest
into hands that dream

Yes to the love
that aches with being.


3.

bathing in the Nile, Bathing in the Ganga


i stepped into the Nile yesterday
i was Cleopatra, waiting for
my Antony or Caesar
the asp already held
closely to my heart,
i stepped into the Ganga
this morning
through the blinding snow,
sleek shining ravens flew
away with my blue saree,
threads of gold
binding me
to the red Kundan
adorning my neck,
i am bathing in a lake
where time melts
with Dali's paintbrush
and the river freezes
with the closed eye
of an archer
as she pulls back the bow.




— Kailashana, Jan 29, 2009

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infinite_dwarf

infinite_dwarf

17 years 4 months ago

Anna

From dung beetles to Cleopatra! What a swing! Was the transition intentional? By the way, interesting how you decided to write about dung beetles - amazing what inspires you to write. I wouldn't have thought of those nasty little things! ~Jess K. ---------------------------------------------------- -"Handle every situation like a dog: if you can't eat it, or screw it, piss on it and walk away!"
Kailashana

Kailashana

17 years 4 months ago

Not so much of a stretch of

Not so much of a stretch of imagination, Jess. In ancient Egypt, the dung beetle/scarab was sacred. There is a common thread in my multiple daily poems. Ya just have to use my mind to see them. ;-) Hug. ~Anna Dung Beetle http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dung_beetle From http://www.egyptianmyths.net/scarab.htm Appearance: The particular species of beetle represented in the numerous ancient Egyptian amulets and works of art was commonly the large sacred scarab (Scarabaeus sacer). This beetle was famous for his habit of rolling balls of dung along the ground and depositing them in its burrows. The female would lay her eggs in the ball of dung. When they hatched, the larvae would use the ball for food. When the dung was consumed the young beetles would emerge from the hole. Millions of amulets and stamp seals of stone or faience were fashioned in Egypt depicted the scarab beetle. Meaning: It seemed to the ancient Egyptians that the young scarab beetles emerged spontaneously from the burrow were they were born. Therefore they were worshipped as "Khepera", which means "he was came forth." This creative aspect of the scarab was associated with the creator god Atum. The ray-like antenna on the beetle's head and its practice of dung-rolling caused the beetle to also carry solar symbolism. The scarab-beetle god Khepera was believed to push the setting sun along the sky in the same manner as the bettle with his ball of dung. In many artifacts, the scarab is depicted pushing the sun along its course in the sky. During and following the New Kingdom, scarab amulets were often placed over the heart of the mummified deceased. These "heart scarabs" (such as the one pictured above) were meant to be weighed against the feather of truth during the final judgement. The amulets were often inscribed with a spell from the Book of the Dead which entreated the heart to, "do not stand as a witness against me."
W

W.C.Wampler

17 years 4 months ago

3 poems of 1/28/09

K., You are digging in some fertile soil of imagination. I especially like "Who Carves". ...who rings in the clarity... wcw
Y

youarehere

17 years 4 months ago

common threads and like minds

"There is a common thread in my multiple daily poems. Ya just have to use my mind to see them." sutras slipping swiftly through tensioned lives the weft marking stories ochres berries umbers on cave wall stone stories woven and there is no weaver and there is no painter and the stories that we claim as mine yours ours Platonic flickering caverned shadows that refer and refer again to the source of the light that splits nothing into the refracted lives severed from the elements by this woven coat and that painted cave and still these pigments and lights are one sutra threading ourobouric from before the Dawn and through the Twilight outside of time suspending our inward shimmering lives as jewels around the belly of Heaven as she dances the worlds -Michael