Her Shipwrecked Home
© Surazeus
2025 05 10

Eating at round kitchen table of hope
with birds transforming from her wingless eyes,
she dreams her house is floating on the sea
with skirt of her obsessions as broad sail
that captures wind of sorrow blowing wild
so she can find the land where flowers sing.

With hands that know dark passion of the soil
from which ghosts of her ancestors spring tall,
she eats the holy sandwich of regret
in fraught communion with the solemn door
through which no devil knows to tread again
to wreck ship of her sorrows on the sea.

Despite sharp eager pain of wordless love
that bleeds from arrow Cupid fires each hour,
she walks broad avenue of fluttering trees
to follow signs revealing secret names
that guide her journey to the public square
where children play around the fountain pool.

Immense attrition glowing silver wind,
her heart sustains from harsh attack of faith,
rebuilds her world view with conceptual code
contrived from grape vines tight around her heart
at sight of one young boy with tousled hair
who sails his toy ship on the restless sea.

Though she stands still as statue of brave Joan,
burned at the stake for fighting tyranny,
sharp nails of her despair spill from her purse,
which devils use to pierce hands of free souls,
and scatter clacking on communal stone
with ringing melody of angry hope.

Attempting to retrieve from wounded hearts
sharp nails of anguish she denies are hers,
she asks stone angel on the fountain pool
if he will build new house from secret dreams
to shelter her soft lacerated heart
in ship that sails forever on wild seas.

Broad wings of his incapable respect
crack hard conventions of dutiful fate
to shroud her fragile body with his love
when stone angel of socialized acclaim
bears her fear-weakened soul in gentle arms
safe to her ship that floats on fertile waves.

Still half awake before dawn bleeds desire,
she stretches languidly in bed of trust,
and gazes lovingly at rain-worn face
of her stone angel whose intense respect
impregnates her with mountain god of love,
then cooks him breakfast in her shipwrecked home.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus wakes at dawn at smell of eggs and sausage, so he sits at the kitchen table with Ophelia who blushes as he drinks orange juice.

#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #Transrealism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism