This Poem was Submitted By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2005-01-23 13:42:06 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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Keeper of the Gems
I have a canvas bag slung over my left shoulder
filled with opals of all sorts which I evenly sift
through my fingers into the furrow. It's the time
of year for opal planting, that short span between
winter and spring. I espy a harlequin with its reddish
shadow, rare and favored by my people. Out of a clear
sky, the light begins to dim, the clouds tenebrous,
amassing, and I feel an opaline warning play along my
spine. Winds blow ambiguously, a slap, a sigh, a lash.
Flashes of lightning are of opalescent hue and from where
I stand, I see the storm gathering speed with clouds
painfully pregnant with rain. At least half my opalites
remains in my bag and I will plant them tomorrow. I hear
their soft groans of disappointment and I caress, pat,
and comfort the tiny buds. After cajoling and soothing
them with promises of their beds tomorrow, I hear sighs
of contentment as they shift and settle for the night.
Every day a grace, nothing out of place in the milky
light of living and I feel the blessings to my spirit.
As the sun rises and sets, so I follow the rules given
me by my ancestral guide. The winds blow, I feel
the weight of my diadem, my crown and its surround
and I remember the responsibilities of my role. The
jewels are symbol and sign, a praise for the ways
of the divine. |
|
Copyright © January 2005 Mell W. Morris
This Poem was Critiqued By: Kelly Denise LaBeff On Date: 2005-02-05 00:56:29
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.92157
Ms. Mell,
(Or should I call you.....)The maker of myths, the teller of tales, the spinner of stories, the framer of fiction, the lips of legends, and at last the princess of poetry.....I speak these things of you with the same generosity and diversity of which you used in description of your ancestor’s opal, jewel and symbol alike, a praise for the divine ... just like you!
In your verse, your language is creatively divine, deeply rich and rousing, freshly stimulating to the eyes, and uniquely suspenseful for the soul. Of all the phrases within, I simply love these the most:," a slap, a sigh, a lash” {I love these three words together and what a sight to behold}, “painfully pregnant with rain” {Here you used humor and wit, another sight to behold - a big bellied cloud ready to spurt it out,,,fun}, “the milky light of living” {That‘s just plain ole soothing to the soul, comforting to hear} and lastly “my crown and its surround” {Here I like the cadence and rhyme - excellence on each accord}. Each of those phrases remind me of words sewn together in a perfect pastel stitch and when complete a beautiful garment yielding the radiance of its makers’ gleam is produced. Just the same, the flow and rhythm within your verse is a smooth and easy read; a desert absorbed as deliciously as sugar-seeping cotton candy! I have loved the word, ambiguously, since the late 80’s since the first time I used with a purpose, which was while I was working as an inspector for a government/military contracted program. Given a task to do, count ten of thousands of squibs and the like hourly, I was asked to write a discrepancy report detailing the difficulty of doing such and I chose to use the word ambiguous - which is exactly what it was - absolutely ambiguous! Anyhow, I love the way you used ambiguous in your verse while speaking of the clouds! I just love clouds, too! You personified clouds and opals alike giving each a life, a personality of their own, and that undertaking was a magnificent idea that added highlight after highlight to the drama of your tale. I admire the way you write, giving even the most trivial piece of matter detail like when you said, “slung over my left shoulder, not slung over my shoulder or just slung, but slung with direction/purpose”....it’s bit and pieces like this that add zest to the life of your verse! You always use verbs and action words like cajoling and espy for example that seem to rise above the occasion and flare out that dress more so than the girl coming of age! LOVE IT! All the stories you share with us, whether they are real or not, somehow become real for you tell them in such a fashion that regardless of nature they are believable. Additionally, your stories seem to unfold right before our eyes! It’s a rare novelty possessing such a talent and even more so special being able to convey its bloom the way you do! Your narrative voice not only livens your verse with images of reality, but it also puts me in the here and now inasmuch that all things become tangible. While engaged in reading your verse, I can see the storm, feel its wind along with the opal’s weight and hear its contentment sigh yearning to be planted. Every word you paint is a Mona Lisa reincarnate! Seriously! I admire and look forward to seeing your name on my list every time I click on “poems to critique”..smile. Thanks for sharing “Keeper of The Gems” for this one indeed is a gem! Admirer, Kelly
If I stand correct as sometimes I have sometimer's [LOL], but in your last reply, you said you had recently been under the weather and are housebound, I know the feeling and hate knowing you share my fate, hopefully spring's arrival will cheer us both, you think?
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2005-01-28 06:50:25
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.82500
The beliefs of Native people, and the heritage they left and there belief that the Opal is a life force...Jerry has Indian heritage as his great grandmother was pure blooded Indian....Beliefs of such importance, passed down from one generation to the next, if you believe you too will hear them speak to you...as they come from Mother earth and we, in return shall return to Mother earth....the stone itself is beautiful, they are a water stone....to carry such stones in your pouch on your person gives your persona the life source it sometimes needs over and beyond.....or it allows you to help others in their time of need as well......so many beliefs.......Well constructed, words that flow bringing forth images as one reads on......
I hear sighs of contentment as they shift and settle for the night.
Every day a grace, nothing out of place in the milky
light of living and I feel the blessings to my spirit.
As the sun rises and sets, so I follow the rules given
really like the though of the above lines.
A lovely tribute to Native beliefs......and the association with the Divine....
Thanks for posting and sharing with us, be safe, God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark D. Kilburn On Date: 2005-01-27 17:39:23
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Hi Mell, I had to read this one when we were mixed up. Most most most excellent job here!!It's (did I do that right?) a total gem. Okay sorry-Truly an A-1 poem. The ending really brings it all together for me but I admit I had to get my dict. out and then do a re-read a few times. As deep as anything you right.
I'm impresseed... mk
This Poem was Critiqued By: Turner Lee Williams On Date: 2005-01-25 16:08:28
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.86364
Mell–Anyone assigned such a task as the title would be singled out due to
a code of extreme merits and held in high esteem. This reader has read your
offering several times and the very second I thought I had gleaned a bit of
insight or small clarity, my feeble mind raced in another direction. Maybe
this bit of libation and Wes Montgomery will help-smile. Well, here goes
nothing. The piece is definitely saturated with inferences of protagonist link
to a Native American Heritage: well known this people reverence for “mother
earth/nature.” Also metaphoric references to effect of opals (various colors
being responsible for separate functions) for their mystical/appeasing/protec-
ting/prosperous powers through timely “sowing:” regardless of problems/trou-
bles/situations, “Keeper...” by staying on the prescribed path inevitably “reaps”
benefits which have been ordained. IMO the crux of theme born out by;
“As the sun rises and sets, so I follow the rules given
me by ancestral guide. The winds blow, I feel
the weight of my diadem, my crown and its surround
and I remember the responsibilities of my role. The
jewels are symbol and sign a praise for the ways
of the divine.”
Reads like a resolve to live daily life according to the “good book” no matter
what personal affronts or the environs bring. I hope I haven’t strayed too far
from this heady post intentions. TLW
This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2005-01-25 15:02:48
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.76000
Ohkay, nice story. You write about "my people>" Who are they? Are you Native? Can you plant me
some 100 $ bills spread around a few diamonds? Wouldn't that be nice? I always thought Native
people planted tobacco. This piece is very easy to read and it got me from the first line. Just wondering about the last line of diadem/crown...don't they both mean the same thing? Could you not drop the
word crown or vice versa? Just a thought.
Thanks for bringing me there. I always appreciate your writing.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2005-01-24 18:55:23
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.76471
Mell oh Mell,
You are so clever with your ideas.
The bag of jewels/opals [praise for the ways of the divine]
to be planted at this time of year......[when the depression of winters here?]
You are an opal planter, with your every breath.
I'm proud to know you....
Very nice work.
d
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne Duval Morgan On Date: 2005-01-23 19:20:35
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
You know Mell, I'm struck with the beliefs of Native people, and the heritage they left and there belief that the Opal is a life force, I feel that way also, even more so in that the Opal is my birth stone. So the opal stands for a belief, passed on, the symbolism isn't lost to me, for I feel when I hold my Birthstone the message each and every gives, for they come from the earth, and we know we all return to the earth in the end. Their beauty is amazing, and they are a water stone, to retain their glow and pules water needs to aid they retain their stature. I imagine the native people with pouches keep on their person, and the opals contained with emitting a life force, strong beliefs, and wonderful for everything is of the earth and the opal in it's natural beauty denotes this, and each one is different, each one speaks when worn, the warm sensation that everything is right is emitted to the wearer.
So your poem is the symbolism of the opal to life forces, how each one gives life different from the other, and the metaphor for planting is lessons learned and passed on.
A deep poem my friend written exceptional well, and a tribute to Native beliefs, after all they believed in Mother Earth and all the life forces and traditions she gave. So a sort of Indian wisdom, a belief that hold true when an Opal is in the possession of one who understands.
Love it, but maybe my Indian heritage is showing through here, and if I missed the intent, I apoligize, for it's a loverly poem....Love, Jo
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2005-01-23 17:26:16
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mell-O:
This is one of those moments which prove the theory of synchronicity to this reader.
Your poem, on the topic of opals, coincides with my reading of "OPAL" by Katherine
Beck. It is also coincident with the time of year in which (personally) I long to
plant things, and look to the plantings of bulbs to begin their arduous ascent
from the depths of the soil to daylight, and the resurgence of hope. The symbolism
of the opal seems to be a spiritual one in this poem, as the stone itself resembles
nothing so much as elements from the sky -- rainbows, lightning, fireworks, et al.
Your poem plays fireworks in my mind, with your unparalleled imagery, your
surprising, fresh ways with words. For example, the sound of "bag/slung/fingers"
gives an emphasis on the earthy 'g' (Gaia, our planet's name to some) -- yet the
vibrating v's of "canvas/evenly" and often ones of "left/sift/flashes" lend a
fiery vibrancy to the work immediately. I wrote an introduction to these comments
which was lost (coincidentally) by a wrongly-flung finger? Alas -- in it I discuss
my mother's opals, ones left to me, with which I have done nothing because they
feel alive in my hands, and I have no frame of reference with which to properly
honor them. Now I will sort them and decide (at long last) where to 'plant'
them. Robert Jameson, in "Characteristics of Minerals" wrote: "Some minerals,
when held in particular directions, reflect from single spots in their interior
a coloured shining lustre, and this is what is understood by opalescence."
I think your poem has this quality in abundance. My comments will not do it
justice, but give you some of my own discovery of it. This is a poem I want
to read again and again, as it will not be possible to take it in today.
Shakespeare wrote in Twelfth Night "Now the melancholy God protect thee, and
the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal."
Was he likening the play of color to play of mind?
"I espy a harlequin with its reddish/shadow, rare and favored by my people."
I wonder if the reference here is to Native American Indian people? I know
that the fire opal (volcanic opal) found in the state of Oregon and in
Mexico is held as sacred by tribes there.
"Out of a clear
sky, the light begins to dim, the clouds tenebrous,
amassing, and I feel an opaline warning play along my
spine. Winds blow ambiguously, a slap, a sigh, a lash."
Your sonics are unparalleled. I wonder if the reference to feeling the "warning play
along my spine" is a somewhat literal reference to the speaker's own spine, and also
possibly to an awakening of the 'kundalini' force, the legendary spiritual fire
which is thought by some to reside there?
Yes! The qualities of the opal are like rainbows, like lightning, like fireworks --
"out of a clear blue sky" strikes me as a spiritual reference to the way both
life and death seem to come. The word "tenebrous" immediately reminds me of the
tenebrae, a service observed during the final part of Holy Week commemorating the
sufferings and death of Christ. Of course, the clouds are dark and threatening,
as is the unknown darkness of the grave. Do the speaker's actions of planting the
opals refer to a hope of resurrection, or at the very least, hope for a life
beyond the physical?
"I stand, I see the storm gathering speed with clouds
painfully pregnant with rain."
The speaker's prescience about the storm to come -- her experience of the
clouds as "painfully pregnant" elicits for me the pregnant state of a mother
of triplets who were just born, my god grandchildren. Half of the speaker's
treasure remains in her bag, and she has hopes (plans) to "plant them
tomorrow." Why do they emit "soft groans of disappointment" that our
speaker hears and responds to with caresses and pats, to "comfort the
tiny buds." But does the painfulness stem from the speaker herself?
If a poem can be compared to a waking dream, does the speaker long
to escape some sort of pain, whether emotional or physical, perhaps
to be born anew? Here is where any sort of objectivity I might have
had completely disappears.
"After cajoling and soothing
them with promises of their beds tomorrow, I hear sighs
of contentment as they shift and settle for the night."
"Their beds tomorrow", in the soil of the Earth (Mother Earth) elicits for this
reader images of a comforting grave.
"Every day a grace, nothing out of place in the milky
light of living and I feel the blessings to my spirit."
There is a legend, I believe, from around the nineteenth century that life force
can be caught in the opal. If the fire in the opal is extinguished, then the
life of the wearer is in jeopardy. The speaker reaffirms her appreciation for the
"grace" of each day, enjoying the "light of living" (as in the light within the
opals, which long to be buried in the earth) as she continues to "feel the blessings"
to her spirit. She quieted the opalites by soothing them with a promise. She quiets
her own spirit by acceptance: "As the sun rises and sets, so I follow the rules given
me by my ancestral guide." The speaker accepts the limitations, "the weight" of her
"diadem" and remembers "the responsibilities of my role."
"The jewels are symbol and sign, a praise for the ways of the divine."
The entire destiny of a tribe or even a nation was often decided by signs in times past.
As technology expanded, we became more isolated from our connection to the earth and
our inner wisdom. In this poem, you reconnect the subject and the reader with this
wisdom -- "the ways of the divine." Having lost our ability to listen to secret
messages around, the wise reader may begin to see the signposts in his or her own
life by reading and comprehending what you, poet, express here. I am saddened by
my own inability to stay objective, and on the feeling level am disheartened by
the need to accept what your poem tells me. On the other hand, there is no greater
joy than realizing that this poem contains the hope that is nearest to your heart.
With your intuitive artistry, your reconnection with your Cherokee heritage, you
offer us access to your own deep inner resource. What more can I write to say that
this poem has shown me how to access my own very personal hidden gift? What a rare
genius you have for wisdom and share again with this work of grace!
Every song remembered,
Joanne
This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2005-01-23 16:10:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.87500
Hi Mell,
I have one burning wish and that is to be a better critiquer just so I could do justice to your
work. This one is beautiful....maybe the most lovely....your talent amazes me. But this paticular piece
hits me deep inside as it is full of the traditions and responsibilites of your ancesters which has been
passed down through the ages and now materializes in your written words....lest anyone may forget. I don't
know the symbolism of the opal planting (please enlighten me) but the way you have written it here meakes
me think I do. In my minds eye I can see the dark haired men and women in their moccasins, fringed skirts,
loin cloths, black eyes, and tawny skin. I can feel the wind and see the lightening with opalescent hues.
Clouds painfully pregnant with rain....I was glad to read you still had some of your opals left to plant
for tomorrow as this magical time should last more than one day. You caress, pat, and comfort the tiny
buds...(flowers or gems?) God I hate to be so stupid about the opals...hope you answer me soon so I won't
go completely crazy....I am even more so now as the pain meds make me loopy....'every day a grace, nothing
out of place in the milky light of living' I would steal this line from you if I could as it is just
fabulous.....'the jewels are symbol and sign, a praise for the ways of the divine' this line should satisfy
me but I thirst for a more detailed description of these mystic opals...the idea is so intriguing to me.
So much of your culture is steeped in tradition as evident in the singing, dancing, chanting. and the attire.
to mention a few. This is another winner, Mell, and a beautiful tribute to your heritage. Can't wait to
see what you come up with next!
This Poem was Critiqued By: Wanda S. Thibodeaux On Date: 2005-01-23 15:02:52
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.93333
Dear Mell,
Where've you been? I've missed you!
I see the muse has been by. This is just wonderful. How do you do it? Guess it would
be interesting to go opal mining. I love the vivid colors, the milky white opals are too bland.
"It's the time of year for opal planting, that short span between winter and spring."
Such an original theme, it is earmarked for success this month.
"Every day a grace, nothing out of place in the milky light of living and I feel the
blessings to my spirit." Wonderful! You are so blessed to be able to write these
glorious thoughts and share the splendid imagination you have.
"As the sun rises and sets, so I follow the rules given me by my ancestral guide" and
obviously, they were very wise. You have become a harvester...if only by imagination.
"The jewels are symbol and sign, a praise for the ways of the devine."
And so, I hope your furrowed fields produce and you become an opal-aire. Your words alone
have produced great pleasure and insight into our roles of responsibility here, perhaps we
need to plant praise seed also. I always get an uplifted spirit from your work and that is
why I enjoy it so much.
Best always,
Wanda
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