Pierced to a Cry

In the darkness we imagine
a brilliant articulation
but we don’t yet know who speaks.
Will it be us?
Agent or reactant,
we pause at the crease.
Or are we the fold itself,
hidden from ourselves that which
is exposed to the world?
We are porous to it,
that much we know. But eyes
aren’t made to see some things
until the body is pierced to a cry.

A voice poem for Brendan

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This entry was posted in poem, Prayers and Curses. Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Pierced to a Cry

  1. Sherry Marr says:

    “…eyes arent meant to see some things….” nor hearts to feel such dismay…..lovely poem, Mark.

  2. M says:

    Sometimes I wonder what those who lived in the Middle Ages felt, if they were permitted to listen to this exalted music – if they even knew of it.

    So many piercings to come, I fear. ~

  3. Brendan says:

    In that darkness we are led (are lured, err, desire, pray) onto the balcony of infinite night, there to hear the nightingale sing, our hearts pierced by the sorrowful beak of Philomena. We think we dream, but are we “agent or reactant?” We think we sing, but are we at those moments of composition more truly “porous”–capable of great hearing? Certainly there is a middle agent, something which allows a medium beyond sight. Eros? Thanatos? Lamia? Psyche? Translating yearning into that dagger’s hot thrust. Great packing house of a poem, Mark, much enjoyed.

  4. othermary says:

    “Agent or reactant” that’s the crux for me. Though, as Brendan said, you’ve packed a lot in these few verses. Love your musical choice too.

  5. hedgewitch says:

    Epiphanies work both ways, indeed, and what is more unknowable than the self? We inhale the fumes of prophecy and who is to say to whom/what belong the voices which employ us–a brilliant articulation, or merely the cry of the rabbit as it is torn. Or both. So much seems beyond words, beyond articulation of any kind these days, and yet, what other options have we? The succinctness of this is like a spear point, Mark.

  6. I can sense how skin is thin at night… (or porous as you say)… sometimes that’s the blessing, but often voices are menacing at night… a wonderful poem Mark.

  7. sanaarizvi says:

    Goodness those last lines really hit home!!

  8. Susan Scheid says:

    The poem is stunning, and the music choice perfect. Thank you.

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