BLUE ANGEL- A poem by Alan Patrick Traynor

When a land sings,
silence becomes us
                                      The flow of its streams,
                                      the gush of our blood

Presenting a poem that moves beyond the ordinary -a sensual delight, a poem that speaks not through mere words but through the very feel, the form, the movement and the grace of it turning language into a willing slave and bursting through dust and bone into the blood. Thank you Alan for your generosity in allowing me to share this poem.

BLUE ANGEL
BY
ALAN PATRICK TRAYNOR

I see a piece of you

white
breast darting

she who wings her chest to swoon the moon

Prow the native torn out from her heart
walls will make you
listen
                                    …and Chalk!

it’s how she wrote in school
to make the
sun

talk

Pull the blinds woven down in through her aran
oh galway knitted mouth you
Leave too
much 

breathe too much, too little

Acicular curves swollen
growing
up 

She knows the marrow’s taste                        
                          and how it listens

And we kill what God has taught
                and She kills what love is not
There are no straight
lines

flowing scything blouse so roaming wheat goes through
                                          
                                                Come forth
Oh you who speak of breath
Oh apple storming
mouth
is

how the r(e)ains feel

Long woman swerving turning blade, you only speak of lemon
blue
and

Nude 

 

                        …into the land of hidden desk  

is how I wrote, when she 

forgot me

by Alan Patrick Traynor
© March 4th 2014