My Love - A Poem By Michael Ray King

Wing to me the stars in a teacup,
Or the moon in a wicker basket.
Dapple me with golden droplets of the sun.
Sprinkled, pristine and silken, in a scarf of love.

Reveal breathtaking depths of the universe
As a backdrop for the tapestry of life.
I will know you understand then
How much I love you.

Seed me treasures lost long in the deep
Loan me your smile for a single day
Regale me with songs of tears and joy
Whisper words that soar my spirit.

There, will I say,
Resides the first blush of spring -
My soul blossoms
At mere contemplation of your name

Christen the winds with flames of desire
Shout for the tempest to engulf me
For when you abide in my life and my heart
There is no will that is mine.

This poem came to me as a thought from a short story I was writing one day. I noted how the language I was using in the story was almost more poetic than prose. I realize the separation of these two writing forms can often be nebulous. I never did anything with the shore story. The poor thing still sits, biding its time on my hard drive while this poem is not seeing the light of day (or monitor).

The first stanza hearkens to some beautiful images from the story that actually borrowed from some imagery I picked up from Ray Bradbury. Bradbury is one of my favorite authors. The man has a knack for capturing life, in all its myriad forms, and delivering it in text in such a way as to make the words spring off the page with exuberant life.

Bradbury published an anthology in 1953 (five years before I was born...) titled "The Golden Apples of the Sun". This title came from a poem by Yeats titled "The Song of Wandering Aengus". I read the book when I was twelve years old and was mesmerized by Bradbury's incredible word tapestries.

From the images in the first stanza, I wanted grand, overwhelming brushstrokes of vision. I wanted the immensity of saying 'words cannot convey' without relying on that cliche. I did not want small language or ideas or concepts, yet I place words like 'teacup' and 'blossoms' and 'scarf' and others that are small items, yet contrasted as being able to contain stars and souls and love itself.

I seldom likewhat I write much past the moment of writing. This poem is one of about a dozen or so I've written over the years that I truly enjoy. Possibly because of the feeling I get when I read it. Possibly I like it because I just feel it works.

One of the wonderful repercussions of writing poetry is the strong sense of accomplishment which pervades your heart afterward. Whether you write of love lost or love found, sadness or joy, pain or exhilaration, the feeling satisfies and definitely encourages.