The Curation | The Doctor - Joanie Adams | Poetry | Sightseer
When this Poet Failed, He turned to Songwriting
“What feeble shadows are men, and what feebler shadows are their dreams”, AWJS
The seas I’ve sailed have always been good to me. Decades of sailing, years of becoming twisted, beaten, salted to overdone, crisp as an Arctic wind. I place this here unapologetically. No song written ever said it so well.
When one grows apathetic with age and
Sated with feelings; glutton’d to plateau
With living that one can feel on demand;
Never let one’s heart to so oaken grow
I shall never tire of exclaiming
Of the warmth and the beauty of the sun,
Shall never tire of complementing
Sunset, its coloured display outdone
Never by another play presenting,
Shall never tire of telling the most
True complements of this mortal station;
For not of myself but truth I do boast
Complements of truth are woven into art
From the most central fibers of the heart
Tale of Love, of Destiny ours always;
Here wilt thou read recorded on my heart,
In crevice low, ‘neath my crimson archways,
Love too deep; Trust, not the sculpture’s art;
No marble becomes our love-solid heart;
But we, living statues of warming heat
With passionate sweet tenderness. Impart!
Each we give ourselves to another’s destiny.
On thy sweet breast with care, I’ll lay my head,
Find peace in snowy flesh, love free given.
I bathe thee in poems from my heart said;
Without thee dove, where would be my heaven?
Thine beauty doth soothe my eyes aching groan;
For now, thy one true lover sighs alone
In our tender love, thy tender-sweet voice,
Sails on airy waves as Neptune’s water,
Shall call my spirit, joyful in our choice
If I’m Hades, you’re Demeter’s daughter
Persephone, of Elusian field,
With thee, my place, to thee I always turn
In love, and, with honor duly sealed,
With hotly felt passion deepening burn
My epitaph shan’t be my name alone,
Thine happiness shall sweetly crown my life;
I will be with thee all my days. Loving moan
To be all yours, to have all thee, my wife
All this, our happiness, will never happen,
This remember’d, and this never forgot
Remain! Yet gentle still the winds doth blow;
Sailing empty halls they call me onwards.
A fate, if I accept, they shall bestow.
Onwards, onwards, journey forwards, upwards
Low whispering warns, oracular sage;
Tragedy sinks suns, melancholia;
For such dark depths become my crown of thorns.
Rescue from such demands something extra
One love, true love, aye, love such a woman,
Who brings warmth to cold, succor to hunger,
Aid to him whose life is too much burden,
A lifetime worth, for love ages younger
When salvation doth save thee. I accept
True love. A life worth, demands to be kept
Seen only through the hazy and heavy air,
Acrid, ash-fill’d pulsing waves repeating
Atmosphere by cinder’d oppresséd flare
Do produceth tear and lungéd wrenching
The sound, baffling blaring roars, screaming loud,
Exhumes the airy breath from the body; smoke,
Obscuring light, the fiery orb’s shroud;
Near-hellish heat, darkness in a muffled cloak
Fierce heat, roaring high, beastly it grows
Consuming, yet, nothing behind it leaves;
It burns, and burns, all and nothing oppose
Lonely, it scalds its only home and grieves
Inextinguishable fire-born coal,
Unnerving fire, is the soul
She, to preparéd place in the choir,
They clapp’d their hands and cried, thou must confess,
Unless thee be an infinite liar,
The music that is round ‘bout us does bless
She appears as an Eastern queen on Howdah,
Her face blowséd with paint of all passion
Might be the wife of some high honour’d pasha
Cloth’d in the very report of fashion,
Men seeking her, words they much accoutre.
In plenteous demand, charm overly
Applied, she doth doff her many suitors
She wants her knight to come; hope fades dimly
Sinking beyond the horizon; hope survived
‘till she never expected arrived
If I indeed were a knight when we met,
And thee damosel with countenance fair,
It was I in distress, not thee, and yet
In all that time thou foundest way to care.
The key to life is to find love in hate,
Pleasure in pain, plenty in dearth, knowledge
In ignorance, even if bliss, find fate
as lun’ry age sages acknowledge
Perplexed by the labyrinthal mind.
The enigma far more to those closer
Than those far with impressions maligned,
Those who wish for the fate they be the composer
It is the happenings of fate and life,
A continuous battle and fight of strife
A wind bitterly blowing, sleet building
In drifts and pure white snow falling in waves;
Fire’s light and warmth cheerfully gilding
On walls of abode from winter it saves
Wind, bitter and repressive in extreme;
Icy harshness, intemperate foreboding
Within the home safe from weather dream
The young, while zephyrs are still outside gloating
Beasts of air and ground seeketh refuge
‘Gainst bluster that is the hammer of troll
Roman when in such force to harm; deluge
Snowy and cold, filling crevice and hole
The white menace melts and the gusts recede,
Banish’d winter, it doth for now concede
From afar and bankèd shoal of time,
A ship puts to sail with but one goal.
It swiftly flits and darts upon the seaway prime,
Always vigilant, watchful its self-containèd soul
In tempest tossèd, foamèd seas never weary,
The sails flagging and important speed lagging,
It knows it must not at all, never tarry,
For hopes and dreams never sagging
The restless wind beating headlong against the ship,
The journey progresses and time seems yet to speed
No wind, current, or order given, can yet overpower the grip
The ship's journey ends. With no necessary plead,
Putting into port at destination home, final destiny reached,
Captain flies to his lover’s arms from the landing boat beachèd
If you, too, want to appreciate word usage, date it, adore it, savor it, and envy the writer’s command of it, do what I do: read The Doctor — Joanie Adams with a dictionary on your desk. It will give you such joy as I never imagined.
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