Strokes of Recall
Saturday morning caress (Photo credit: dsevilla)
They’re welcome scars,
or even inkings, I pray
won’t fade from my skin
as the days and months,
like numbered autumn leaves,
fall from the darkened walls
within which we lay.
I barely sleep for fear of
losing these strokes of recall,
let alone dream new wounds.
Anything resembling dreams
I alone bring to life,
I, the imperfect god who breathes
these sensations into existence.
From the fallible clay
of malleable memory I mold them
about me like a scabbard.
And when I touch the scars,
it is your stroke my mind says
I feel, into which I sheathe
such saw-toothed desires.
©Joseph Hesch 2012
Linked to the September 4, 2012 Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub
- Posted in: desire ♦ imagination ♦ mindfulness ♦ secrets
- Tagged: darkness, Dream, scars, sensuality, soul mates
Beautiful poetry, dear Joe…the scars make us who we are “From the fallible clay
xox
of malleable memory I mold them
about me like a scabbard.” ~ tender & moving….than you for your words
“dream new wounds” … this has such echoes of love and longing throughout, just beautiful
saw-toothed desires…felt write joe..tender, reflective with a hint of melancholy as well…loved…breathing sensations into existence…. and thanks for tending bar sir…
Joseph–really liked this–I alone bring to life, I, the imperfect god who breathes
these sensations into existence. Fantastic poem.
Those scars make us the people we are – even if sometimes we’d rather not have gone through the experiences that gave them to us. And it;s in easing the pain of each other’s scars that real friendships are found.
this is a beautiful poem. i especially love the sturdy tangibility of your last stanza.
These are wonderful lines about the physical and emotional scars that make us who we are. They speak of experience, of fires we have gone through – and survived. Having survived, these scars then speak to what we have become, and become precious delineations of not just our outward selves, but of our souls.
Dare not to dream and soil the memories. This is a powerful if somewhat almost painful write Joe… and I really like it!
This is very sensual, the pain is as much loved as the bliss (I feel) Truly beautiful poetry.
Beautiful touching writing, as ever. This line especially captured my imagination:
From the fallible clay
of malleable memory I mold them
about me like a scabbard.
Absolutely gorgeous write, beautiful mix of reflectiveness and fear of loss…. Fine stuff…
Tender, evocative … a wonderful little poem … love the lines ‘Anything resembling dreams/ I alone bring to life,
Purely lovely to read. I got a little lost in you poem ( in a good way)
Such a sense of longing in this piece–beautifully done!
Oh, surely one of your very best, so much sighing in such a small space
! Marvelous!
nice…i really like the moulding of them around you like a scabbard…that is cool imagery but makes for a great symbol as well….great piece sir joe…and nice job at the bar as well….
sweet scars… wrote with passion
Oh, this is so beautiful ~ sighing and soughing and longing and lusting and … and … just lovely
the fallible clay of malleable memory. i’d like to steal that!
Ringing alliteration; passionate poetry…
Hey Joe…thanks for hosting! Such intelligent words n thought provoking! This would be good read aloud I think. I’ve no poem tonight but enjoying as many as I can.
!
“I barely sleep for fear of
losing these strokes of recall,
let alone dream new wounds.”
this is packed with goodness…
i have a scar….on my chest …and its not mine anymore…it became him..the first time he touched his lips there….smiles…sorry….tmi but i wanted to share after reading your lovely ramble….
Lovely poem – especially the close – the sawtooth and the scars – k.
Joe, this leaves a little heaviness in the chest and at the same time a smile, beautiful words that flow into each other like a song–I too loved those words “fallible clay..malleable memory” very clever!
You are the sword and the scabbard, and maybe the scars too– think though that they are yet scabs, not quite healed into either marks of honor or seasoned stories. I love the poem this way.
Without scars we have no character… the fallible clay of malleable memory – this image will haunt me – I wish I had thought of it…
“From the fallible clay
of malleable memory I mold them
about me like a scabbard.”
Such lovely word choices throughout. Whether physical or emotional, each scar ingrains a memory, forces us to become stronger, forms us into who we are. Well penned, my friend.
I know that particular yearning too well Joe – you do a great job of laying out those barbed encounters with willed memory.
Scars, wounds make us who we are, often for the better.
Wise wonderful words.
Anna
]
So lovely, Joe! I feel the well-known desparation of something so dear and trying so hard to enjoy it instead of fearing its disappearence…keep remembering…wow…wonderful!
I especially love your first stanza…so captivatingly beautiful.
Scars leave trails and this one is well woven
I am enthralled by this write!
Beautiful
I specially like the last stanza ~
And I am pleased to be sharing the page with you over at Nain Rouge first publication ~ My first, so this is memorable to me ~
Such scars can tell many a tale, holding on to them is something of worth as well.
Great poem, loved this “From the fallible clay
of malleable memory I mold them
about me like a scabbard.” Cheers!
Touching, beautiful poem.
The senses of a weekend morning
Linger in poetic memories.
So real…so true…it seems like our scarred selves are what connect us to one another…
Lovely writing Joe. Our scars, the worse ones invisible, are a big part of what makes us human.
very nice…love the saw-toothed desires….bkm
The scars from which all love is born–lovely sensability in this piece for me—
“And when I touch the scars, / it is your stroke my mind says” … this line had my mind sighing….
a beautiful piece.