Oblivion's Throes

About this poem:

"Oblivion's Throes" is a poem that I wrote in December, 2015.  In this 4-part elegy, I  attempt to describe how I experience visions of angels who are preparing me for death, through my delirium of fever.   ~Denise Goodwin

OBLIVION'S THROES

I. 

Outside, the sky was alight, lazuline and gold,
Which begins to describe a summer's day, of old;
When I entertained unexpected company,
Under a slumbering canopy of trees,
Where we hoped to capture even the faintest breeze.
It was all a vain attempt to escape such humidity.
But, the trees gave scant reprieve, on that sultry day;
Their leaden leaves drooped in liquid, languid repose;
Heavy and listless, against the changed sky,
Now of indigo, amethyst and rose.
Heady blossoms released intoxicating essence,
and sweetly perfumed the air and our presence.
How distinctly I recall the scents, from that day of summer;
I mused they knew not time, the month or hour.
And yet, their fragrance haunted and hovered,
much like a concerned and doting young mother.
In that moment, on that afternoon, beneath the trees,
It seemed to me, the world was in deep contemplation.
(This was my passing observation)

II.

The soggy trees and the incessant heat,
are still fresh and alive, in my memory.
When, alas! a sudden trill disturbed my lethargy.
I bowed forward, toward a curious face, known not unto me.
She sat, like royalty, in an ornate chair of bleached vintage rattan.
Donning a gossamer gown of beaded lace and white chiffon.
She whisked air over her face, with a delicate, ivory fan.
I observed scant droplets trickle down her sculptured throat;
And, over the thin brow, where golden tendrils met skin,
I moved closer, so that I may hear the words she spoke,
as her voice was paper thin.
I leaned in, with a sense urgency;
As if it were a necessity, for I must see,
this vapid apparition.
As I beheld, the eyes of whom the sun hath set,
over a rippling river, 'twas then I realized,
I heard not words, only a mournful whimper.
Yet, the eyes were vacant, and gave no reaction.
When suddenly, my own gaze was distracted,
I watched her pull fine filament, and wove a tapestry,
with no design, or plan or map.
Her pale and nimble fingers pulled white threads;
from needlepoint she held upon her lap.
And, all the while, a companion stood behind her,
like a royal Chamberlain, or a brooding chauffeur.
He appeared to await her orders,
or, to intercept or accept her callers;
Or more cynically, me thinks,
He was a swine, she had brought to slaughter.
In his hand, belled melting ice against a crystal globe,
which contained a pearlescent ooze; What, I did not know.
He, too, suffocated from the humidity and the heat;
As I noticed, he had loosed his tie,
and wore nothing on his feet.
I took a chair, opposite, consort and the fairy maiden,
and watched her fingers work, in utter fascination.
Not a word was spoken, as I slowly nodded, entranced;
I had not heard the vesper bells,
nor had I known, that sunset had advanced.

III.

I awoke quite rested,
In the chair that I had nested;
Yet, I did not recognize this location,
As it lacked the former illumination,
And the summer's day had grown cold.
Shipwrecked, from a storm and tossed to sea,
These were the frenzied words that came to me;
As I struggled in the shadows of oblivion's throes.
I had not a candle, nor a lantern to carry me hence,
my heart was heavy in a despairing lament.
Hoary frost has settled across the patio,
and all was veiled and wrought with snow.
Alone in this cold hollow,
I called out to the unknown,
Bellowing frantically to either friend or foe.
Yet, returned to me, was merely an echo;
An echo from above, or below;
I do not know.

IV.

Here, in my delirium, I awaited exultation;
I anticipated that the clouds would burst, in joyful elation.
But, the sky did not open, ablaze in hopeful glory,
Nor had I been given a chance, to repeat this story.
Lo, no voices were heard; and, all remained undisturbed.
I questioned and considered the uncertainty,
And, discovered that my body was no longer fatigued;
Hot tears fell, as I could not control nor pacify reality.
I had been aflame in fever, accompanied by the divine;
She had stitched a shroud, into which I had climbed.
And, it was her familiar, who had carried me;
Where bitter wind, my only friend, is my eternity.
No crashing sea, nor blooming flowers keep me company;
Forever eclipsed in a ivory swaddle, sewn just for me. 
Paradise, for me, it seems, is this cold and lonely hollow, 
Where each day repeats, and in that I must sleep. 

© Denise Goodwin, All Rights Reserved
Written and published on moonspyre.blogspot.com on December 13, 2015

Image credits:

1. rinostefanotagliafierro.com
De la roche Kunst le rs Toten bett (animated)

2. dailymail.co.uk
Gabriel von Max --The Ecstatic Virgin Anna Katharina Emmerich (animated)

Dreams and The Sea

I have written *poetry for many years, and will concede that it frequently has a dark flavor.  I suppose it is the means in which I process emotions, and is a safe way for me to rant about topics of which I cannot otherwise write.  Today, I have selected 4 original poems to share with you that are related to water and/or dreams.   I post with a bit of trepidation, as I fear criticism.  On the other hand, I feel that one cannot write without a feeling of dread, for our egos are easily bruised and it is healthy to keep ourselves in check!  

"I Remember Thee" are the words on my grandmother's gravestone.  Though I had her in mind while writing this poem, I held onto the notion of a man sailing off to sea, never to be seen again.  This poem represents what could have been left behind.

Similarly, "Down to Sea" is my memory of living on the harbor in Gloucester, Massachusetts.  As I looked out of my apartment window, across the harbor was the Fisherman's Statue, and down that same Boulevard was The Fisherman's Wives Statue.  This poem is about an elderly woman that I would sometimes speak with, and I embellished my thoughts to create this poem.

"Water Dreams" is intentionally meant to be surreal and is what I consider to be free verse.

Finally, the poem "Oblivion's Throes" is a 4-part tale that I attempted to describe sublime to decline, and it describes the visions or journey, of a person who is dying, and then the eventual realization that it is the end.

I REMEMBER THEE

She wakes to the sound of thunder;

The clamoring roar hath disturbed her slumber;

Tossing,

Turning,

She listens,

as it changes by degrees.

The rain splashes over eaves,

and onto leaves of grand oak trees.

It drops down crawling tendrils of verdant vine,

Bruising morning glories, and drowns the heads of columbine.

It falls through the sinewy trellis of cross stitched lattice;

Branches scrape the window panes with skeletal scratches.

It plunges and splashes, pooling onto the earth below.

With the wailing wind, she hears a distant murder of crows.

And, as the rain begins to wane, and is slowly dying;

The cunning moon resorts to spying,

as it seeks its source.

The percussion is an echo of the ocean, that is undying,

Repeating a fading concussion, beating onto shore.

And, as it winks light through its gossamer veil,

She scarcely dresses, and softly exhales.

Barefoot, she steps out of doors,

onto the weathered wood of a decrepit porch.

She gathers the fabrics of her night skirts,

to walk a path of decaying planks and dirt;

Exposing a thin limb of porcelain flesh,

As the deluged earth caresses every step.

The night has awakened the lilies, and the musky scent of yarrow.

She travels to the crowning mound, that emerges like an ancient barrow.

She bends at the rosebush that once soothed a pulsing heart;

Arising like a royal sentinel, it now stands guard.

She reaches for a sodden flower,

One, the rain had drowned, and the earth devoured;

Waking the velvet petals, from their dreamy rest.

A single crimson pearl manifests from a fingertip,

as a pointed thorn pierces skin.

She looks to sea and sky, and onto the foamy shore;

Her heart now, is barely beating;

Like the tide, receding.

Faint and faltering, like a canyon echo.

As she recalls the gentle words so long ago.

He left her with a kiss and flashed a smile.

"With a fortune I'll return...I'll only be gone for a while."

Beside the roses, is a grey stone, etched with a sailing mast,

and inscribed with words of three,

Beneath the stars and the thunderclouds, and the incessant sea:

It silhouettes the barren womb, 

the eternal chamber of an empty tomb,

"I Remember Thee".

© Denise Goodwin, All rights reserved.

DOWN TO SEA

One morning, I watched her from my window, 
Outside, in the fog and drizzling rain,
She is alone, and wandering, 
down the lane again.

Near at hand, 
the grayish sea batters land.

She is wearing that same thin lavender frock,
with a pattern of flowers, sprinkled through-out.
As I watched her bull-legged, elderly pace, 
I recognized the distinctly crooked face, 
I wonder, what returns her to this place?

From the large pockets sewn at each side 
of that thread-bare day dress, 
Crooked fingers extract a cotton handkerchief, 
that she presses to her face.

As she looks out to the cheerless sea, 
cruel and angry, on this day;
What is it, that she holds in her memory?

Though many dawns have come and gone,
and the inevitable conclusion has been drawn;
The imagery, is still in our minds.
As she is one of many wives, 
who said goodbye,
and then, waited patiently.

Far out to sea, they sailed; 
Perhaps a sou'east wind prevailed.

Trawling familiar grounds, 
Into waves, crashed the stern and bow;
When lo, the ship was troubled, 
Something fore or aft had broke and buckled.

Imagine the pushing and shoving,
the fumbling and grumbling;
Among the white caps, and warning bells claps;
The creaking, crushing, bubbling, and flooding,  
From the ship, that was buckling.

Suffering such terror and dread,
Grown men crying, 
as if dreaming;
The gulls were flying, 
calling, screaming, 
over head.

© Denise Goodwin, All rights reserved

WATER DREAMS (Free Verse)

The faucet is leaking.
Collecting rust 'round porcelain
like a bloody stain.

The slow, obnoxious drip,
drip,
drip,
down the rusted drain.
I hear it's drip in concert
with the grey and falling rain.

I listen to the hollow echo,
Hear the persistent allegro,
Whispering my name.
Voices call to me, from beneath;
I opine, the weary finds no relief.

At the river's edge, 
my love awaits;
Hand outstretched, 
as I reach, it fades.

I contemplate that drowning offers sleep.
O, to submit to such relaxation,
and the thought is sweet.

Subsequently, I am standing at the shore,
Where the salt and sand swirl round my feet.
Dreams of water, water dreams,
The moon is aglow over a turbulent sea.

At dawn, I awake with a revelation.
Disturbing and deep, was my sedation.
Curtains swell and fall with the breeze,
The drone of honeybees,
lull me back to sleep.

© Denise Goodwin, All rights reserved.

OBLIVION'S THROES

I. 

Outside, the sky was alight, lazuline and gold,
Which begins to describe a summer's day, of old;
When I had attended unexpected company,
Under a slumbering canopy of trees,
Where we hoped to capture even the faintest breeze.
It was all a vain attempt to escape such humidity.
As the trees gave scant reprieve, on that sultry day;
Their leaden leaves drooped in liquid, languid repose;
Heavy and listless, against the changed sky,
Now of indigo, amethyst and rose.
Heady blossoms released intoxicating essence,
and sweetly perfumed the air and our presence.
How distinctly I recall the scents, from that day of summer;
I mused they knew not time, the month or hour.
And yet, their fragrance haunted and hovered,
much like a concerned and doting young mother.
In that moment, on that afternoon, beneath the trees,
It seemed to me, the world was in deep contemplation.
(This was my passing observation)

II.

The soggy trees and the incessant heat,
are still fresh and alive, in my memory.
When, alas! a sudden trill disturbed my lethargy.
I bowed forward, toward a curious face, known not unto me.
She sat, like royalty, in an ornate chair of bleached vintage rattan.
Donning a gossamer gown of beaded lace and white chiffon.
She whisked air over her face, with a delicate, ivory fan.
I observed scant droplets trickle down her sculptured throat;
And, over the thin brow, where golden tendrils met skin,
I moved closer, so that I may hear the words spoken,
as her voice was paper thin;
I leaned in, with a sense urgency;
As if it were a necessity, for I must see,
this vapid apparition.
As I beheld, the eyes of whom the sun hath set,
over a rippling river, 'twas then I realized,
I heard not words, only a mournful whimper.
Yet, the eyes were vacant, and gave no reaction.
When suddenly, my own gaze was distracted,
I watched her pull fine filament, and wove a tapestry,
with no design, or plan or map.
Her pale and nimble fingers pulled white threads;
from needlepoint she held upon her lap.
And, all the while, a companion stood behind her,
like a royal Chamberlain, or a brooding chauffeur.
He appeared to await her orders,
or, to intercept or accept her callers;
Or more cynically, me thinks,
He was a swine, she had brought to slaughter.
In his hand, belled melting ice against a crystal globe,
which contained a pearlescent ooze; what, I did not know.
He, too, suffocated from the humidity and the heat;
As I noticed, he had loosed his tie,
and wore nothing on his feet.
I took a chair, opposite, consort and the fairy maiden,
and watched her fingers work, in utter fascination.
Not a word was spoken, as I slowly nodded, entranced;
I had not heard the vesper bells,
nor had I known, that sunset had advanced.

III.

I awoke quite rested,
In the chair that I had nested;
Yet, I did not recognize this location,
As it lacked the former illumination,
And the summer's day had grown cold.
Shipwrecked, from a storm and tossed to sea,
These were the frenzied words that came to me;
As I struggled in the shadows of oblivion's throes.
I had not a candle, nor a lantern to carry me hence,
my heart was heavy in a despairing lament.
Hoary frost has settled across the patio,
and all was veiled and wrought with snow.
Alone in this cold hollow,
I called out to the unknown,
Bellowing frantically to either friend or foe.
Returned to me, was merely an echo;
An echo from above, or below;
I do not know.

IV.

Here, in my delirium, I awaited exultation;
I anticipated that the clouds would burst, in joyful elation.
But, the sky did not open, ablaze in hopeful glory,
Nor had I been given a chance, to repeat this story.
Lo, no voices were heard; and, all remained undisturbed.
I questioned and considered the uncertainty,
And, discovered that my body was no longer fatigued;
Hot tears fell, as I could not control nor pacify reality.
I had been aflame in fever, accompanied by the divine;
She had stitched a shroud, into which I had climbed.
And, it was her familiar, who had carried me;
Where bitter wind, my only friend, is my eternity.
No crashing sea, nor blooming flowers keep me company;
Forever eclipsed in a ivory swaddle, sewn just for me. 
Paradise, for me, it seems, is this cold and lonely hollow, 
Where each day repeats, and in that I must sleep. 

© Denise Goodwin, All Rights Reserved.

*You may read all of my poetry at: MOONSPYRE

The Little Girl Giant

"The little giant girl

woke up one morning

got a shower from

the Sultan's Elephant,

and wandered off

to play in the park..."

theatlantic.com

theatlantic.com

Somewhere between the quiet mists of fantasy and the pages of a childhood story book emerges the "little giant girl".  She is 30 feet tall and weighs 1764 pounds, and yet, the enchantment of this giant marionette - even whilst cables are being commandeered by human beings to control her movements - has stirred my imagination, as well as my heart, for about a decade. 

theatlantic.com

In this brief 5 minute video, you can see her come to life while the music entitled, " 'Decollage", by Les Balayeurs du Désert plays.   Suggested: To view this 5 minute video without the background music playing, use CTL+END to take you to the bottom of this page.  Turn off the youtube video that is playing, and return to the top of the page by using CTL+HOME and click the arrow in the middle of the video, to view. 

"I've learned to clip my wings

And soften my ways

I've learned

These are ordinary things

like you'd estimate, just average

But evidently she does not agree

like you'd estimate, just average

But I've learned to clip my wings

And soften my ways"

I first watched this video, when a friend posted it on my 'wall' on myspace, just about 10 years ago.  It was magical, and it still is.

Typically, when one thinks of a marionette, we envision a puppet master either standing or hiding behind a mini-stage to control the strings of the figures.  A marionette is a puppet controlled by a person, from above, using wires or strings depending on regional variations.  In French, marionette means "little Mary", and was derived from one of the first figures that was made into a marionette - the Virgin Mary.

google images

etsy

On a much grander scale, the Royal De Luxe company began in 1979 as an acting trio which was led by Jean-Luc Courcoult, who attracted audiences by their outdoor performances on the street and in public parks, in Aix-en-Provence.  

messynessychic

The company traveled the world, and as the stage was set for each show, the next would become more magnificent then the last, until they received a call from the Mayor of Nantes in France, (1989) who ultimately offered them the money and a warehouse as a home-base from which to work and prepare their shows.  The genius and imposing creations began to evolve into a series of unforgettable parades that began in the early 1990's.  

"This is a company of inventors, stuntmen, poets and scrap-dealers all at once, led by Jean-Luc Courcoult. Royal de Luxe are currently considered to be an iconic, almost mythical, street theater company - equal to the Theatre du Soleil for conventional indoor theatre."  Source:  royal-de-luxe.com/en/company

theatlantic.com

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The little girl giant was part of one of the troupe's early shows entitled "The Sultan's Elephant", that took four years to produce. Each show has a theme, and this event was commissioned to commemorate the centenary of Jules Verne's death, and it was first performed in Nantes and Amiens, the author’s places of birth and death, respectively. It was then presented at several locations around the world between 2005 and 2006.

impressivemagazine.com

The giants are generally made from poplar wood, and are controlled by a system of hydraulic pulleys, motors and levers, which are operated by 20 to 40 members of the Royal de Luxe troupe.  The people who control the giants are called Lilliputians. 

messynessychic

As I mentioned each show commemorates special events in history, and many other "giants" have emerged for these incredible productions.  Another spectacular instance was one born of the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic to pay tribute to the victims of that disaster. It was entitled "The Titanic Sea Odyssey":

 dailymail.co.uk explained the back-story: 
PUBLISHED: 13:03 EST, 20 April 2012  "Over the course of three days, the supersized puppet show tells the story of an 11-year-old girl named May McMurray, who wrote to her father when he was aboard the RMS Titanic - three days before the liner hit an iceberg and sank.

dailymail.uk.co/©getty images

dailymail.uk.com/©gettyimages

theatlantic.com

dailymail.uk.co/©flynetpictures.com.uk

But the tragic tale will come to what organizers say is a 'heartwarming finale' on Sunday, when the grieving Little Girl Giant character is reunited with her 'uncle' at the end of a 23-mile route.

French creators Royal De Luxe took inspiration from the real-life letter May sent to her father, which is on display in the Merseyside Maritime Museum.

Artistic director Jean Luc Courcoult has adapted *the story to focus on the relationship between the girl and a fictional uncle who has been searching the sea bed for 100 years to lay his brother to rest.

fr-online.de

During the search he discovers the letter written by the Little Giant Girl, vowing to return it to the author and tell her what happened to her father.

He began his journey from Albert Dock on the city's waterfront at 2 p.m. this afternoon and will make his way towards his giant 'niece'." -dailymail.uk.co

theatlantic.com

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messynessychic

*Here is the wonderful story, "L'INCROYABLE ET PHÉNOMÉNAL VOYAGE DES GÉANTS DANS LES RUES DE PERTH", written by Jean Luc Courcoult.  (click on the picture of the little giant girl).

Official website of Royale de Luxe - you can view many more fabulous creations by this company... you won't be disappointed!

More great photos.... here.

Familiars a.k.a. Animal Spirits

Do you have an animal spirit?

Today, we are able to boast about our beloved pets through social media, posting pictures and videos of our four-legged friends.  It is also not uncommon for people to post pictures of spirit animals, fantasy creatures and beasts.  You may believe that you have an animal as a spirit guide, or perhaps you may think that you have a  spiritual connection or a deep bond with your pet.  It is believed that a familiar can be corporeal (flesh and blood) or incorporeal (a spirit body).  

Your familiar can be your closest companion, offering emotional support, knowledge, or aid in physical healing.   It can be an insect, a mammal, a reptile, a bird, or anything else to which you find comfort (or fear).

Through Medieval times, (and before) the belief that familiars existed for good or bad reasons, were broken down into two categories: Those that served witches; and those that served "cunning folks".  

Witches were thought to produce evil forces, and their familiars were often classified as demons.  (Think of the quintessential witch with her black cat, or flying bats or pet wolf).  Every witch was believed to own an animal that served as some type of malevolent familiar.  The familiars were shape-shifters that could easily turn from human to a demonic-like creature at the witch's whim.  The witch's familiar was considered to be as threatening as the witch, perhaps even more so, with its ability to be a supernatural being who shift its form without notice.  They were natural spies or perceived as a danger because they could easily cause harm - or raise hell - when least expected.

Cunning folks were those who practiced what was called White Magic, were healers who concocted herbal healing potions, created charms and were served by benevolent creatures who conjured fairies to aid them.  They commonly were sought to expel evil spirits, and drive out black magic.   They were useful people who kept under the radar of authorities because they were known to be "good".  Their familiar was the otherworldly spirit helper who could shapeshift between human and animal form.  Cunning folk were also known as blessers, charmers, wisemen and wisewomen.

Kaaren Christ of Llewellyn Journal explains, "A “familiar” is simply a living creature having personal and spiritual meaning to you, and the experience is available to anyone who seeks it. No need for otherworldly experiences or altered states of consciousness."

Since the 20th Century, a revival of having a familiar or an animal spirit or guide has occurred, and the concept of having a pet or an invisible spirit is actually quite common.

Personally, I have only owned cats.  Sgt. Pepper (a.k.a. "Kitty") was a [mostly] black female that was rescued from a horse farm and our family had her for 17 years.  Sebastian, I bought at a local animal shelter.  I brought him home because his paw stuck out of the cage and touched me several times... there were over a dozen cats from which to choose, but I thought that his reaching for me meant something.  He was a 23 lb. cat, that was a true character, a real man of a cat, and I had him for 14 years.  Now, we have the stray "Puddy McGillicuddy Goodwin" and she's been here about 2 1/2 years.  I don't know her age or from where she came, but she is the most loving cat I've ever owned with the sweetest disposition and she is very social.   All of my cats have been black and white. 

In this respect, I have a handful of creatures to which I am drawn.
From his book, "The Once Unknown Familiar", Timothy Roderick breaks down the traits and characteristics of these animals.

CAT:  Mysterious, independent, intellectual, inventive

Influences:  Magical visions, independence, strengthens one's psychic potency, ability to move between the worlds with ease.

Personality - the cat personality carries over into the entire cat family - lions, tigers, cougars, etc.  So apply the powers and the personality traits listed here to the entire feline family.   The cat personality is highly independent.   Cats have ways of getting what they want, one way or another.  The won't often thin of how their actions affect others, but they generally don't intend malice.  Cats are born mysterious and can evoke spiritual aid without much trouble.  They are trickster-teachers who might just take a swipe at others in order to teach them a lesson. They can revert to being wild creatures without much notice.

BEAR: Nurturing, loving, maternal, strong willed.

Influences - Promotes healing, motherly love, guardian of emotional strength and mental stability

Personality - Bears can't help but intimidate others who may not know them,, but in truth is that they can be very nurturing, open-hearted and playful.  Bears are highly intelligent and their curiosity is easily piqued.  A bear always knows what everyone's weaknesses are and will strike in the soft underbelly if threatened. 

DRAGON:  Powerful, grand, wise

Influences:  Magical adeptness, mastery of self-control, reveals the hidden knowledge of ancient mysteries, evokes aid of salamanders, mastery of the element of Fire.

Personality - The dragon is a very wise being.  Usually the person with the dragon personality seems like an "old soul" capable of inspiring those who are seekers of higher truth.  The dragon guards it jewels of wisdom jealously, giving them only to those who prove themselves worldly.  

ELEPHANT:  Justice-oriented, people loving, dominant

Influences: Longevity, memory enhancement, restful sleep, impervious

Personality - Elephants are wonderful individuals.  They are just in their dealings and can't stand situations of imbalance.  They will go out of their way to correct an out of kilter situation.  They are take-charge individuals and frequently take positions of leadership either in their field of work or in their community.  

RAVEN:  Innocent, playful, joker

Influences: A prankster, begins new ventures, success, power to make the right choices, reveals future lives

Personality - Animal equivalent of the Tarot Trump card, The Fool. Ravens can be quite profound in their philosophical thinking, yet they present themselves in such an unassuming way that it is difficult for others to get the raven's message.  They are life-affirming and prefer simplicity in all matters. They are problem solvers and can handle even the most difficult people with success. 

Though, I don't recommend it, you can go online and take a quiz to find out who or what your animal spirit is.  I don't recommend it because everything I looked at was fluff and foolishness.  If you wish, you can find out what your animal spirit is, by thinking about to what creatures you are attracted.  

It is as simple as that.  Have you dreamed of a certain animal?  Are you frightened by it or do you love it?  What is it doing?  Is it your companion or a threat?

Just think about what animal you are drawn to, or perhaps dreamed of or love to look at, I personally do not believe that I have a "familiar" or an animal spirit that guides me, that I know of!  But, it is a very personal choice!