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"I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars." - Walt Whitman, Big ole flowery-faced ganger be he - latent mucky sun-worshipper be she, Bring me sunshine in your smile bring me laughter all the while, But every time it rains You're here in my head Like the sun coming out, I feel the earth move under my feet I feel the sky tumbling down, I talk to the trees that's why they put me away, I'm your Venus I'm your fire, If you can't move the earth for me - can you at least carry my shopping home from Aldi, Like Thunder and Lightening the way you weather me is frightening, Mr Blue Sky, Nature boy, she's like the wind - minus the smell
The Country of Your Kind.
I am the country of your kind,
Your kinder country.
I am your land,
Your granite, schist and sand.
Your bound territory,
Your fields of glory.
Your needful prediction,
Your bright-eyed addiction . . .
Your playground.
I was a vast, uncharted plain;
No breeze traced my resolute moraines;
An eternal desert, empiric and latent.
Then you cast your will across a landscape vacant,
Turned your heliotrope face to mine:
Irradiant, your ordo solaris did shine,
Surveying my contours, zaftig and fine . . .
The bows of my bailiwick.
One whose potent blaze,
Twixt those rapacious rays,
Set aflame the heart’s terrain,
Laid down a subliminal legerdemain.
Something nascent, earnest and free;
Something inspiring, a fundamental esprit;
Something impending, still yet to be . . .
Something rare.
For you are:
My elemental element,
My sustenance that’s heaven sent.
You make me lush, my pastures green
Together we eclipse each other, mavourneen,
We, the enablers of animated spirit; those unseen
Catalysts that can whole solar systems topple,
(The perfect gänger to my doppel) . . .
Should we so choose.
Resplendent and dazzling with desire,
Tenacious and scorching, you are my fire.
You lazily lambaste, tear fissures in my hide
Then hold me gently, with compassion and pride
In your savagely doting beam of arcana,
Pledging a cursed, exalted nirvana . . .
A deal-breaker on Cloud 9.
I am at your mercy, indebted to the stars,
Yet I owe you nothing in this chronicle of ours.
I cannot evolve without your grand slam;
Still I bide in repose, content as I am.
Bestow unto me, then . . .
Ambrosial forests, an emerald cavalcade,
Glades of frondescent, elegant shade,
Rivers of unrestrained riotous rapture.
Grant violent seas and my heart you will capture,
Pillars of towering perdurable ice,
Deranged blinding storms that batter my gneiss.
Whirlwind my dust bowls;
Burnish my sink holes;
Caress my curved crevasses;
Mould swift unclad landmasses.
Pocket my light
Like a meteorite.
In your open skies,
If I look into your eyes . . .
I am blinded.
So blind me.
Bind me.
Weather and corrode me.
Grind.
Me.
Down.
Manipulate my soils;
Drill my verdant fields for oil;
Tickle my torso with the kiss
Of your drizzling tears of bliss.
Make us resplendent.
You love me
Because you have to.
For we are parcelled together with the glue,
Brown paper, string, and empyrean blue
Of the troposphere, are me and you.
One might say,
Could well foretell,
This curious lovers’ carousel,
Remains untamed, two worlds entwined;
Inspiring a renaissance in . . .
The Country of Your Kind.
Esme's Cloud 
Most excellent, Esme. 🙂 ( or is that Most Excellent Esme?) Whichever. Mighty fine writing.
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Either suits me just fine Robert, but in connection to the writing is best of the lot –
“Mighty fine writing” – I’m honoured, thank you.
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Once again one of Mr Pink’s comments is banned – waves at him – what with you, Professor Taboo, and Hariod (to mention just three) I’m building up a fine bunch of followers whose comments I can’t publish! – smacks her palm to her forehead.
Esme laughing and shaking her head upon the Cloud
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I bet I would have loved it, too! 🙂 (Mr. M’s comment, I mean)
You have marvellous command of language, Esme. In fact, there were two words I had to look up! That brain of yours must just sizzle. As usual, a mesmerizing feast of imagery, symbolism, and assonance. You really are quite brilliant, my dear.
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A mystery forever more – laughs
“In fact, there were two words I had to look up!” – I try to keep out of WTFAYOA (what the fuck are you on about to translate) territory (land connections won’t go away now – hahahaha), so I’m glad there were only two; on the one hand I love new words and strange words and want to bring such words into use and share them, on the other hand it might be better to do so in my ‘weird word’ category or folks will be put off reading the poem. It’s a huge one this as well and I don’t like long poems much at all, yet keep writing the buggers! Personally I very much enjoy the WTFAYOA writers I know of, but I can’t do it anywhere near as perfectly and as it is I wobble on the sidelines. I’ll stick to my own strengths there I think. Ironically I can see that this very paragraph may well now fit into that very catergory hahahaha.
“You have marvellous command of language, Esme.” – Thank you, thank you, thank you. I have a very poor memory but seem to be able to pick words out of nowhere, or at least receive them from somewhere. The latter seems more likely. It’s probably aliens transmitting it all to me. I am but the vessel the pestle, holding the brew that is true!
I love that film, the script is very cleverly written. – nods
Brilliant. Blimey. That would be good. Yes, I like the idea of being brilliant, perhaps I have brilliant moments, that seems more feasible, and everyone has those, but in different areas . . . in as much as . . . I am honoured you think so and chuffed highly too misses! – winks at chuffed
Comments make a big difference (when they aren’t ones that need to be bloody censored that is), because every time we write something we (the grand or Royal we that includes all who pen) don’t know if it really is any good outside of our own heads until someone like your good self says so. Every time this happens. The potential to fail and fall instead of soar upwards on the waggling wings of success is huge. Humongous even. In short (sees Carmen has nodded off and pokes her with a stick) I very much appreciate your very kind words Carmen.
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Uhm…Esme? If I understand the word Zaftig properly…Uhm, well this is really exsotic. SOrt of beyond racy. In fact I know several southern Baptist preachers that could do a month of sermons on this. I would be grounded and made to sit in the corner of the living room so they could watch I was not touching myself if I was found with it. But I sure did enjoy the reading of it. ( big smiles and blushing face ) Hugs
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Oh no, no, no, it really isn’t Scottie, it’s all about an empty planet being brought to life somewhat by a new sun and then all the blooming goes on and the ‘earth’ in question has to be a female for it is always so, and the sun and the elements are male because the Sun God is a male, and though they clearly get on very well, there’s no serious sauce going on.
Well, there may be a small amount of petting and a good hard eclipse, but nothing else no. This is tame stuff, and more about the weather than anything else.
I’m so pleased you enjoyed reading it!
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This is indeed your own composition, yes? Your words, your feelings? (with mesmorized face)
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It is indeed.
steps back wondering what will come next and hoping it doesn’t involve old cabbages and rotten tomatoes
Ps – Oh hang on, it isn’t necessarily Esme’s feelings, it’s fiction sir, fiction, I am as pale as white matt emulsion and burn terribly, so very careful about spending time cavorting with him, the sun God, and I most certainly am no planet, I may have hips but I am no planet thank you! – nods
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Hahahaha! Professor, that stands to be interpreted by some as quite the most brilliant insulting comment ever! Esme owes you a massive . . . a quite massive . . . something massive, anyway. And you didn’t even get censored! Like Mr Pink! Were I to not know of you as a beautiful soul, I should think the less of your intent therein. But of course, you meant she confused you, discombobulated you, with her equivalence to the greats, the dead poets of yore, in the offering up of her magnificent piece. Blessings on the day, Professor!
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What the hell are you on about Hariod? What am I missing?!!
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Some might say, the good Professor’s words could be interpreted as doubting you wrote this — “your own composition, yes?” I know that wasn’t his intent; I’m just saying, it could be interpreted that way. Relax!
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Oh. No, he didnt mean that, he values his skin more than that. – nods – I thought you might have been intimating he thought I was a big poo though, so it’s much better than I imagined.
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I cannot lie nor deny your assessment of my bumbling ignorance Sir! Hahaha! I troubled and trembled deciding whether to ask that question after looking EVERYWHERE for credit given, and found none.
Ahh, but as usual the spectacular Lady White Matty Deliciously Emulsive Esme saw through my two-left-footed attempt and managed the Professor ever so gracefully! (huge gracious smile!)
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He’s basically saying you were right Hariod.
pushes a custard pie into the Prof’s face
Hahahahaha. No, it’s perfectly reasonable to expect it was written by someone else, I just assumed you thought badly of it and were getting ready the rotten veg if it was Esme’s piece you see.
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It’s okay Professor, as thankfully her Ladyship’s not at all touchy on the matter. Anyway, we’re all agreed, Lady Esme does indeed have a magnificent piece on display today, and we are both full of admiration for it, fully full (of admiration for it). Such as to say, replete, brimful and abounding with it (videlicet: admiration, for it, that is, her piece, to wit.)
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Esme gets out a hook on a long pole and drags Hariod off the stage
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Hahahaha! Now, now you two… though I was being perfectly honest with the esteemed Lady, I was still compelled to ask due to MY OWN moments of cranial flatulence. My dear Sir Hariod is making (in my best Shakespearean vernacular) Much Ado About Nothing! (gnarls in Hariod’s general direction)
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He’s your basic Buddhist troublemaker is Hariod. You’ll wake up tomorrow with lentils in your bed if you cross him, mark my words.
Esme falling about upon the Cloud
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This is magnificent, Esme, quite magnificent, rendered so cleverly both visually and rhythmically, the two working together to propel the reader along. The whole has a tremendous momentum, tidal in nature, yet its currents carry the mind most assuredly, each stanza bringing us to rest on shores anew. Really, a remarkable achievement. Many congratulations indeed. H ❤
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Your words here make up for suggesting Esme might be a large poo Hariod, so off the naughty step you come – pulls him up (not like that – sheesh) onto a cloudy chair –
Thank you deeply H, it was a mammoth adventure getting this one right, or as right as I wished it to be, and your acknowledgement of my efforts makes for a happy Esme and one who knows it was surely worth all the effort put in. ❤
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Hahaha! Alrighty then, I am — as noted earlier — astounded, mesmorized, and beDAZZLED by your eloquent, warming prose my Lady Esme! It is…
“Spectacular, spectacular
No words in the vernacular
Can describe this great Esme event!
We’ll be dumb with wonderment
Returns are fixed at ten percent
You must agree, that’s excellent!”
You are a sublime Gem Madame. Truly. (tips his hat & bows)
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Only one of my favourite songs from one of my favourite films!
“You are a sublime Gem Madame. Truly.” – Thank you Professor, it is a little known fact that Nicole Kidman was actually Esme’s understudy for the role of Satine in this film, but sadly I had to dash off the day filming began to a charity event for wingless monkeys where I was needed to dress as a sticky bun and play the spoons. A decision I do not regret to this very day I can assure you.
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HAH! I KNEW IT!!! I had seen a Nicole Kidman interview in 2001 about the film release and she mentioned that she was actually Luhrmann’s 2nd choice for Satine! Once again Esme, you beDAZZLE me! (fond wink)
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Esme does not speak with fork in tongue, it is all true.
Probably.
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For no reason whatever, my parents often pronounced the letter O as a soft A — fork they rendered as fark, cork as cark. What’s up with that?
My favorite lexicographer is, of course, Ambrose Bierce. A close second is Baldrick.
Blackadder: [rewriting the dictionary] Baldrick, what have you done?
Baldrick: I’ve done “C” and “D.”
Blackadder: Right. Let’s have it, then.
Baldrick: Right. “Big blue wobbly thing that mermaids live in.”
Blackadder: What’s that?
Baldrick: “C.”
Blackadder: Yes. Tiny misunderstanding. Still, my hopes weren’t high. Oh, and “D?”
Baldrick: I’m quite pleased with “dog.”
Blackadder: Yes, and your definition of “dog” is?
Baldrick: “Not a cat.”
Bierce now:
Fork, n. An instrument used chiefly for the purpose of putting dead animals into the mouth.
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Ambrose cracks me up – “Cabbage: a familiar kitchen-garden vegetable about as large and wise as a man’s head.”
He reminds me of another fine wit – François de La Rochefoucauld-“A clever man reaps some benefit from the worst catastrophe, and a fool can turn even good luck to his disadvantage.”
Baldrick was a fine poet too mind you;
‘The German Guns’
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom.
Interestingly enough, it is said that his poem was based upon one that was actually sung in the trenches, and goes with the tune to Auld Lang Syne;
We’re here because we’re here because
We’re here because we’re here.
We’re here because we’re here because
We’re here because we’re here.
Quite poignant isn’t it?
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My apologies for showing up late to-table to-day, particularly to find that the menu fare brought to bear two (2) topic favorites o’ mine: allusion to The Country of the Blind by one H.G. W. and “your Kind” as never blind to kindness — where faux niceness never topples kindness.
So hello to all on this occasion of presentation: a centered poem well justified and well stated and wrote, with insight bright and vocabulary beauteous.
Here is why I am late to the salon of esmeal cloud most charming:
Lisa and I are binge-reading Elizabeth Jordan. We’ve a copy of her 1940 First Port of Call, now returned to library shelf (the one to my right, on the top shelf, next to The Rock of Three Planets. Here elucidated:
https://billziegler1947.com/2015/11/21/the-rock-of-three-planets/
We are now reading Elizabeth’s Red Riding Hood, her novel written in 1925. This one we retrieved from the local library stacks. Wonderful use of contractions: should n’t and would n’t for example.
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There’s no such thing as late on the Cloud Bill. It takes Esme months at a time to visit everyone she would like to and along the way posts are missed completely, time and energy being an issue, more for some than others, but I never doubt the enthusiasm of my followers if they manage to get here at all – smiles.
I’m awarding you an A+ and a tiara for noting the connection to H.G.Wells! places said tiara on his head – it has silver tinsel wrapped around it and some wine gums are stuck on for jewels – I read a great deal of his work a few years back and enjoyed ‘The Country of the Blind’ a great deal. I must also throw in a bone for The Food of the Gods and How it Came to Earth – mentioned because I read it just afterwards and have read it again since then because it was so grand.
I’ve been a wandering to your gaff and noted the books mentioned, I do enjoy some of the older tomes one can still find or stumble across. Thank you for both the tip-off, and your kind words regarding my own poem above. – shakes his hand
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Kind blushes for the tiara, esme, ’tis a fine fit too. Wine gums (hadn’t known that word pair) adhere well (more on well shortly) to tinsel 🙂
To-morrow finds us at the local library discard sale, where Wells will well well well well.
Well now. Sorry for all that welling — ahem. A full report on gleanings from the rooms housing orphan volumes to follow.
Food of the Gods is available on Librivox and elsewhere for less than a farthing, in formats suitable for eye or ear or country-of-the-blind braille.
As I’ve earlier reported, old tomes are the favored lot here.
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Ah, nice Esme, very nice!
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Thank you good sir! Very chuffed I am to have you round these parts too.
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Brilliant, Esme. I had that tickle of joy that comes of reading writing on any subject whatsoever, when the words evoke a unique sense of genius, and a clear sense of the inspired. When you encounter this each piece of it is a whole, and is wholly satisfying. I suppose an encounter with an exquisite and attentive lover would be the same wouldn’t it–the journey being inseparable from the view at the top, so to speak.
And as I read I wondered about your ability to access such words. You mentioned in one of the comments how they arrive from the cloude, essentially, and for me at times it is an almost palpable experience when I write. A word bobs to the surface of the unconscious sea, to a twinge of inner sparkle, as if the nebula of baby stars at the center of my chest just winked. And that is what I felt about this piece. Do you feel those little tickles of something who knows what when just the right word appears, and then you must go look it up!?
It has been a total joy to witness your writing evolve here, Esme. A grateful witness, I am…
Michael
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Oh Michael, I’m lost for words here, what with there being an apparent actual evolve to watch and everything – bobs about curtsying happily – I get what you mean about the intimacy yes, and its something not everyone is aware of, but then will differ from person to person. It’s quite possible to fall in love with someones writing, be it poetry or short stories/novels; it can be exciting and very fulfilling too, which is why if you suddenly can’t get anymore there’s a kind of void left behind. Thank you. ❤
“Do you feel those little tickles of something who knows what when just the right word appears, and then you must go look it up!?” – Yes, very much so, though usually I just shove it onto the page and spell it wrong hahahaha. The words really do feel transmitted to me, and can suddenly appear when doing the most mundane of tasks if I drift off briefly, thinking of a piece I have in mind. It’s like looking away to make something happen; if you stare at it full on you won’t get anything quite right. If that makes sense? I’m very happy to transmit, and all the happier when someone like your good self, a fine wordsmith themselves, comes to the Cloud and informs me they have enjoyed a piece this much. – beams a huge smile his way
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Beautiful and timely.
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Timely, I like that, thank you Elena, bows smiling – I like ‘beautiful’ too mind you – laughs
How lovely of you to visit, your artwork is truly stunning by the way. Thank you.
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Wow! This is beautiful Esme😊
I’ve nominated you for the Unique Blogger Award. Do check this out
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Hello Natasha and thank you mightily for finding the poem so beautiful and nominating me for the award. As it is I rarely ‘do’ awards because I know too many people who don’t want to get into the ‘send this on to fifteen people business’, and it would be fair to say I’m one of them – laughs, but I do have an award that was given solely to me at the bottom of the blog which I’m rather chuffed to have. I appreciate the thought though – beams a smile out
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Dear Esme… there really is no other like you… which I suppose might explain the cloud. Or perhaps it’s the result of the cloud? It really doesn’t matter at all.
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But it’s a good thing, yes? There was no-one like Dr Crippen too, though he didn’t have a Cloud.
Laughs – Thank you Chris, I appreciate you travelling this way and reading Esme’s efforts.
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It’s a very good thing – yes!
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Excellent. Thank you!
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The words of your poem fall upon me like warm rain and fill me like a river channel ready to overflow it’s banks. If I were to speak too much, I would simply make a mess. And yet even to say this I am sure it seems like gushing needlessly, but I have read this poem several times and taken a week to even know what to say, because I had to wait for the waters to subside. I am not one to exaggerate to win favor, and would not dishonor your craft and work by heaping praise I felt was undeserved. All I can really say is that if these words were whispered in the wind I would spend my days wandering. If this poem were sung to me as a siren’s call I would be lost forever.
Swarn, as always, in awe upon the cloud
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I’d have to say that this is one, if not indeed the most moving and beautifully written comment I’ve ever been awarded Swarn, and my head spins knowing I have in some way reached someone in the way you describe with written words alone. And it’s much easier to enjoy a piece and bod off smiling to oneself than it is to write and compliment someone for it, so I really do appreciate you baring your soul somewhat to me here. – bows low and curtsies with it.
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You are most welcome. It was no easy task trying to return words as beautiful as you have given us, so I am most pleased you felt that my comment was up to the task. 🙂
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❤ – Esme of happy Cloud fame x
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Interesting. It does suggest a sun/planet or sun/landscape scene, although it sounded more like a conquest metaphor early on (“Then you cast your will across a landscape vacant”, etc). But I’m not sure where the “country of your kind” fits into that.
I suppose works of this kind will always have nuances meaningful to the writer but not apparent to those who are unfamiliar with the relevant references.
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Clear as mud eh? laughs. It’s a love story told from one perspective, they need each other and compliment each other like the earth needs the sun. Devotion on a massive scale. I studied geology many years ago and still have a deep attachment to it. They are country, or home perhaps to the other one, the country of their kind. So different, yet absolutely bonded.
-Esme Cloud thanking him for taking the time to wonder wth she’s on about
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