Spirit Walk in Coral Gables

Saturday morning at the Biltmore,
early breakfast in the courtyard;
the burbling fountain -
soothing and incessant.
Attractive waiters
solicitously refill my coffee
and orange juice after every sip.
Saltilla-tiled patios,
strategically placed orchids,
and elevated palms
(bird netting stretched across the opening
a few stray feathers mutely screeching);
the young men fussing
with the immaculate table settings.

A stroll along the edge
of the perfectly coifed grounds
where the privileged swing clubs;
bordered by twelve-foot tall ficus hedges,
roots cascading over terrace walls.
Swarthy purple bromeliads spiking
in the shade beneath the live oaks,
smells from the kitchen drifting
along a nonchalant fondle
of a breezy lull beseeching
the azure spread,
while lacy fronds sweep
the clouds aside.

And I am wondering
what it is I am hoping to find here.
A door opened and shut too quickly -
a world turned away from.
A path
.................a walk
................................a reason
...................................................a dance
or none at all.
Something bought and paid for
and now it’s time to allow myself
to embrace my strangeness.

In this South Floridian dreamworld
sold to the world in travel brochures
that don’t show the greyhounds
north of the city yelping in their pens,
the rape of the Everglades,
fill dirt in the canals and marshes.
Images of multi-unit housing arising
like mushrooms from horse dung
under a yellow and blue day.

So I am (here)
signed in and greeting the others
soaking in the whole earth organic ambiance;
settling on my mat
feeling the slight pull
in the muscles of my legs and
wondering if I can take two days of this.

It begins -
the darkening
the drumming
the dreaming
the seeking for the intended.
A lucid phrasing -
a waking dream.

Stuck inside a rabbit warren,
crawling from den to den,
searching for an exit;
only to materialize into an ochre-tinted landscape,
barren and studded with tree skeletons -
dimming and listening
for the call back.

Ascent on the wings of a great raptor,
hanging onto a jetstream and
hopping across the clouds
into a greengrass world
of billowing trees -
a sorcerer pointing the way to

...........................................................steps
................................................steps
.....................................steps
...........................steps
................steps
.....steps

up and up and up
toward an emanation -
a dazzling face,
features blurred by luminosity
(staggering in awe and humiliation).

Poolside -
people caper,
steep in the sun,
and sip umbrella-ed drinks;
Refined murmurs waltz
across the lushness of the marbled lobby;
cobalt-painted arced ceilings
twinkle with stars -
as exotically feathered captives
trill in their cages.

© 2000 Melissa Songer

The time of renascence

The stem is bowed -
the petals shriveled.
All seems wasted
and soon to dissolve.
Yet deep inside;
a spark composing -
a fallow ground staying
for the precedent
of embryonic flowing
into primitive resurrection.

A froth of wings
flutter against sweeping
azure reaching across
the eye’s canvas.
Its clement weeping
enfolds the earth
in transparency;
stippling the landscape
with moonstone
effervescence.

Hands part the sky -
brushing away the stars
to expose the endless void
from which the knowing
seed has sprung.
A soft invocation
calls forth another myth -
a dream body germinating
inside the world’s spirit.
Expelled upon solid ground.

Again.


2003 Melissa Songer