Posted by: janetleigh | March 15, 2009

A place called Liberty

Liberty is like a river that knows no bounds;
swells and contracts as it makes its way
to the vast roily sea.
The sea is a metaphor for all tears cried.
Like when Liberty died.
I guess being composed and centered is like majestic
mountain over there, splayed out in front of azure skies,
the color of your mother’s eyes.

Liberation is participation in the vision described above.
As it is, the river of my body chugs along,
has an inkling of unclogged rivulets running,
no.. rushing, rushing up and down my arms and legs.
Living in oppression is like being my ankles
pleading with my blood to climb up into my heart
where hope lives, pumping.
Hope is like hearing the beats of your own drumming
heart steady and defiant.
.

When you’re filled with hope, you are the river.
.

[From _A Tale of Two Verbs_ a work in progress]

Advertisements

Responses

  1. By definition, a river has bounds — its banks. If it has no banks, it’s not a river. Maybe it’s a swamp or a tsunami.

    Gotta be careful of the concrete meanings of your images….

  2. intriguing subject , i like it

  3. Your body, your soul, your country, your world, rolling red, white, and blue; and the sea salt within you matching womb wetness and ocean depths, your fibra mialga sitting in your shadows, ready to reach out with its dark fingers of pain to color your world with grays, the beiges, the duns, the earth colors that appear when any the chakras are activated, as your close your lovely lids and see this crazy world through thermal, cutaneous, and olfactory input, the world from a poet’s eyes, that even when closed create poetry from what still enters and mixes in the maternal and magnificent mire of your unique perceptions. Thank you.

    Glenn

  4. In reponse to midiguru, sir or madam, this river of Liberty is a poetic creation, free of restrains like unconventional free verse; it goes where it wants, where it needs to, always always working its wet way to the sea. So if the sea is a metaphor, so is that river, that river/that knows no bounds. Janet leaps into the spiritual and the metaphysical often, and circumnavigates the literal. So her river is beautiful and free, like her and her poetry.

    Glenn

  5. Janet, this is GRAND. That’s the word that instantly comes to mind.

    In response to a previous comment, a river doesn’t have literal bounds. There’s always water splashing, touching the land. Then there are the rivers that are so strong they carve their own paths and cut through stone. No boundaries there.

    Grand.

    Liberty and Liberation. I smell the river in the air.

    “the color of your mother’s eyes” makes me happy.

  6. But I will also say to midiguru above that constructive criticism is somewhat lacking on WordPress…. so often we simply say the good without the suggestions, so I think it’s cool that he left some constructive words. I invite that on my blog… come on over!

  7. […] Click here to read A Plan Called Liberty […]

  8. […] Click here to read A Plan Called Liberty […]


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Categories