Treasure Island

Kristian Lorenzen

(Denmark)

Waters


Tell me, tall Theudas
Where can I find untainted waters?
To make my body whole
Where do I find
The cool waters
Of blood-blessing Bethesda?
Which shall redeem the brain from brutal buzz

You see

Coolness has betrayed me
Taps and showers
The still, lukewarm waters
Of the altar-fond
Shoveled upon my sore infant-skull

Should I follow the sea-gulls?
And their omnivorous appetite?

Where are the wrecks of the tall light-house?
The wood-held lantern-light
Of the Galilean siren-cries?
Reliced by feathers and clotted blood
Of south-bound birds
And
Sea-saints’ ragged sail-cloths?


Shall I meet Suzanne of the shores?
Can my blue eyes appear in her mirror?
And
Will my heart shrink sweetly-sea-silent
By the sedating song of his gently-swung Jewish tongue?
The mild monarch of Montreal

Will I ever hold the glacial design
The beautiful glistening icicles of my postponed, cool Arctic exile?

Messiah
The sailor
Will he speak to me, through my submersion?
Will his blood bouquet above the coral-reefs
Blossom from underwater- hot-springs?

Where my body lies bloated, inwrought with sea-weeds
My back, bruised upon the sharp sea-shells?
Will he speak to me sweetly?
In my swollen sea-sunk cell?

Or should I seek my submersion in Greek?
Though, Poseidon, Nereus?
You seem very distant to me

Should I swim above the archways of Atlantis
Picking dead snail-shells from chalked castles?

Tell me, tall Theudas!
Will I ever hold a sea-shell to my ear?
When far from sea
And listen to the swirling wind-roared waves
Crashing against costal rocks?
And not my own
My far-too-well-known busy blood
My ponderous heart
Blowing and beating with blistering fear?

Where are those boatmen
Who can sail my soil-sick body out of here?
And
Rub weeds and salt in my terrestrial tears?

Who is the Phoenician sailor?
Will he appear?
And
Will he speak?
Will the self-lulled mermaids of Prufrock’s sea
Will they sing
Will they sing sea-psalms to me?

Shall I meet Aristocratic Ariel?
Sylvia
The sea-born
Sylvia’s sea-wedding
Sylvia’s sea-sorority
Sylvia
Now speaking with such soft syllables-ends
Wriggling her virgin-fin-tail
Reassembled with her asylum-sisters
Caressing and combing their mermaid-hair
Black, chestnut, blonde and dark
Amid
Silvery-shiny salmon-shoals
Sylvia
The silver-crowned sea-heir
Sylvia
The Maritime Matriarch

Head, out of carbon-monoxide-airs
Sea-absolved
And
Se ahorses, circling her silver-inwrought scales
Glittering in ripples, untainted and bare

Theudas!
If I ever turn sea-ward
Who shall meet me there?

Theudas, soaked and tall
Will you help me out of these dusty, dry robes?
And
Release me to drink and rejoice in water’s rippled flesh
Till I choke?

Please!

Stir these solemn, still
Waters of Narcissus

Submitted: Thursday, March 13, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, March 25, 2014

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Topic(s): water

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

K.N 5/3 2014

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