Crowning Noun-ing
The question which prompted the poem below is ‘what if ‘nouning’ is the way that Love creates the illusion of time?
CROWNING NOUN-ING
For decades I have raised the status of the verb
and lowered the noun to curb
my sense of being fixed
oh how the mind is devilish in its separating
shoving me betwixt
the gold of what is gold
and what is just that little bit golder:
both noun and verb are equal, division
one small mote or beam in two eyes of one beholder!
When I diminish what appears as ‘this’
consigning it to nothing that can be defined
or – oh so subtly – making smaller that which is confined
to form I miss the point, the metaphor and infinite material
of Love’s treasure, let some thought of being bigger steal
the play of ‘this’ distinguishing, embodying, a dream that’s real
‘This’ arrives on musing – daily ‘thoughts for the day’ –
time appears in the eternal play
and suddenly I’m drawn to history
to understanding myriad beliefs and stories making up
this mystery
inhabiting ‘the world’ of nouns with all the treasures it presents –
like having a choice –
although it’s all a play
this character is weeping for her love of Love
and regains her voice…
This may seem like the ultimate fudge
but nothing can be denied
and all it took was one small unexpected nudge
from questioning the thought that there’s no power or choice in Love
that makes nouns ‘less’ and suddenly I’m giving nouns
a sweet caress
and at my fingers in roll all the gifts of magical intending,
futures bright, incessant, fabulous pretending.
p.s. Yes, this crowning honors what is seen as ‘this’ and ‘that’,
and requires a clock to make each tiny thing distinct