Between a book and a hard place (or "There's always poetry"

Intelek Int'l By Intelek Int'l, 23rd Sep 2015 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Poetry

As the "Heiros Gamos" short-story flatters to be a novel in disguise, I rest my weary mind and eyes, taking refuge from that deluge or delusion in a poem.

When she's wet

The allure has left
As quickly as it came:
The smoke of a short-story, billowing -
Fluttering and flattering to be a novel
Has given way to the flames of a poem.

Against wit’s white hot heat retreats
The essay:
Incisive imagery’s bare steal slices its way through
The thin, tremulous sheathe of elaborate ideas.
Intricate neural pathways stomped on
Along with Wordsworth’s daffodils;
Lustily lengthy strides of our bare feet
Clamber up the hill to Tanzanian tranquillity.
The rambunctious ravishing of the ideal inside me
Bludgeoning the earthy bare body beneath.
The rift valley rape of an emergent ecstasy
The river rushing into that space
Moistened by the premarital seep
Of semantic expectancy.

And some would say this makes sense;
That this nonsense naming of the numinous is a kind of salvation.
That the dissecting of the immanence is
Sounder than the salvaging of the sequence.

I say let them play.
Let the children have their moment
The lovers have their thrill.
The body have its release
The spirit have its fill.

The muse-like tributaries will bring fresh music to the arid plain.
The rocks will cry out again, singing in the rain.



Daffodils, Rift Valley, Tanzania, William Wordsworth

Meet the author

author avatar Intelek Int'l
"I think therefore I jam"
I'm a holistic communication and education specialist, trading as Intelek International (
I write about spirituality, science, philosophy, politics, love.

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