The slow rush of the comet

Poem written early this morning. Later, in Blue and blue and blue the Oracle picked up the same images and gave them a slightly different interpretation. And again, a painting by Odilon Redon illustrates it.

773px-Reflection,_1900-1905

These long, languid days of relentless blue,

slow moving as the sluggish stream,

that flow one into another seamlessly

stitched with the hot breath of invisible night,

 

hurtle into oblivion,

a morass of dead moments,

molten and merging into gold,

slipping like quicksilver from the tightest grasp.

 

Time pours silently over the edge

with the places we never visited,

the unknown cloaked in the mists of intrigue,

the pebble dropped into the bottomless pool,

 

comet-rushing, the slow days that seem to drag,

dead march, strike sparks from our flying heels.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

23 thoughts on “The slow rush of the comet”

  1. Beautiful imagery. I particularly like the last two stanzas. We both had color today–and I was seeing a lot of blue at the riverside this morning. I’ll have to check out your other one now.

  2. Comets are fast (stars, too), yet they look so still in the sky. That’s a great paradox to depict. Everything merges and then runs into oblivion as you say. Makes existence seem wise, slow, and inevitable.

    1. There are dozens of places I have said at one time, I would like to visit. Now it doesn’t seem necessary. Like the tourists who touch the fish on the market. Seeing is believing; touching is true experience. I don’t think so.

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