The Healing Wound
“View through a window may influence recovery from surgery.” –Roger S. Ulrich, Science. 1984 Apr 27
The healing wound
Cuts its dash
Forty stitches deep
To keep the hole of me
Together–against
My seething self’s calamitous urge
To corrupt–to disperse unordered to the fetid air
Unbreathable unbearable weighted with a worrying pain
Almost–except each everyday–exceptional–yet there
This view to steal the heart–wrap it in the cloth of fancy
The tidal sea–shear shifts of dazzle–slow and pewter smooth
Eight sly swans–all grace and killing under bare Benbulben’s bulk
A funky sulk teased–dappled by the silly sun–set solid scuffed unhurried
Still and sturdy under nimbus–cloudy clusters blue-grey grievous with slighting rains
Run rainbows to my boychild’s eye
Lightning strikes my glassy vision
All of this–and all and over
A daily blaze to raise me
I See You, Calliope
You’re so sharp–now a knife
Your shine of self–tough tempered steely to a razor’s edge
Sheer beauty–poised
To carve your noise into all this hard-edged worldly stuff
The stillborn stone
The granite grain
Carve your name–into the oldest ever tree
Swiftly so the sound sings down
Its old-aged gnarly-rooted trunk
Uproot it–I dare you
Send it over to me
So I can wonder at it
Softly brush a touch
of sound-scarred hexed-hard-wooded ends
Rune-run a spell–cast it so
Come-go!
My next beginning
Chris Sparks is quite an old person but new to creative writing. He comes from East London but has ended up in Sligo, Ireland. For many years he taught, researched, and published as a political theorist. Now he finds that (weirdly) every dark thing that once was theoretical seems to be becoming actual. So, for his sanity and soul, he has decided to come at things from another angle and this is why he writes poetry. His poems can be found in The Ekphrastic Review, The Cormorant, Scrimshaw, Poetry 24, and in one or two Irish online event recordings.
Sparks of Calliope 