The Air Up Here

For a long time, I've called my less rational impulses "the little voices", the ones that whisper at me underneath everything else. Reading this, I felt as if you'd put one face and once voice to that, and explained why that voice is so compelling even when it isn't the healthiest. This is a fascinating read, Atticus.

Corinna, Thanks so much for your thoughtful and perceptive comment. I like the term "the little voices".

This is what makes me read poetry, try to write the craft. Inside out.

Thanks for your generous comment Poddar

Wonderfully done Atticus. You caught the rich though vacuous space many of us tend to dwell in.

The Surreal Circus

Thanks Adrian, it is a meditative space, is it not?

It's richly meditative, and capable of delivering one to the plasmic core. But perhaps this space also becomes that unquenchable thirst for disengagement; that which becomes more and more comfortable "out there beyond" and less a piece of our infitesimal moment on Earth.

Pressing the envelope further in (or, on beyond) clarifies, but also makes the reach back across the veil finicky at best.

Wolf and Raven know the fine tunings. Chuck Yaeger as well, I suspect.

a vortex through the eye~the wolves wear so many wonderfully craven~brazen disguises~from the depiction of the watercolor makes me think this is a riddle and a particlar wolf~

Thank you goddess Purrrrrrrrrrr. No riddle, just an experience, grounding earth to sky.

This is splendid. It is both accessible and enigmatic. Wolf. A ravenous one especially suited to the hunger that causes words to spill until we wring just what we need out of them (the words, wolves bite).

Umar, Indeed, wolves have much to teach us with their hunger for life. This particular wolf was a catalyst for me. I hope that comes across in the poem. Yes, I realize it is enigmatic but I was going for the watercolor feel of a zen/animal totem visitation in this poem. It's all about direction. Thank you very much poet friend Umar. Your work and comments profoundly affect me for the good. 

An enigma is also enjoyable as it encourages the reader to broaden perspectives. That's part of our job I think. This poem took me to a familiar place but a route I hadn't imagined.

Cowboy boots?  Across Alaska.  A mirror bro?  Do I know this long thin watercolor of a guy who has his head in the clouds?

Hey Chris, thanks so much for you comment. Perhaps you have met this wolf. I don't know. I actually don't even have a name for him. Having your head in the clouds is not a bad thing at all, if you can still see your feet.

I was deluded by illusions of allusions to suspect a former holder of high office.   And then there's the pony tail and Chuck Yeager and the cup in hand--are you sure?

I am sure..No, no high office, just an extraordinary wolf for other reasons. 

A crisis of ineffable beauty

resolved into a painted sky

Cloud Wolf grins

libramoon, your comment perfectly accentuates the spirit of this poem. Thank you so much. 

I like the way you've moved in and out of the wolf image here.  It's the turn back to the wolf that does it; moving from wolf to man, one might assume that you were speaking figuratively, but the second turn makes him more an avatar, a symbol.  The watercolors are also striking in their subtlety; not all efforts to push the envelope between freedom and madness are as explosive as Yeager's flight.

James, Thank you for your very generous comment. Your interpretation is spot on to my intent. Your last sentence reaches right into the core of the poem. Thank you for drawing the distinction. 

The unexpected last two lines put the whole into perspective.  Brilliant work, Atticus.

John Beck, your praise is most appreciated. Coming as it does from a poet I admire, I am honored. 

i have a cup with a picture of my brother on it

he is a part of the clouds

and wore cowboy boots

but he was a bear

may we all be redeemed by beauty, love, truth, and poetry

a watercolor of clouds and sky would show well with this poem

Hi Jan! - I love your comment. I am sorry your brother is no longer with you. He has a great sister. May we all indeed be redeemed by beauty, love, truth, and poetry. You are right about the watercolor. I'm forgetting my visuals. 

Recognizing the wolves isn't always easy, Atticus. Sheep's clothing, and all that...

Ha! It's the sheep in wolves clothing that are more worrisome. Thanks for stopping by Ron!

You know I love wolves  . . . they are my beloved bretheren.  My favorite wolf loves cornflower blue and more than likely resides in the sky at this writing.  Love it Atticus!

Thanks Liz. Lovely comment. - A shout out to your cornflower cloud wolf! 

Featured in theTriple Name Club

Thanks for the feature Kathryn.

Atticus,

I keep coming back to this again and again. You've done something profound here. Like an opening, or glimpse through an obscure defence. I hope I don't become a nusance.

Your piece has become a touchstone for me as I return this weekend to my wilderness lifestyle.

Thank you, Sir.

Adrian, obscure defense, yes that is a good way to put it. I'm so glad this poem means something to you. I am describing a watershed moment here that began with a trickle of recognition. Have a great time in the wild! And please visit as many times as you like. 

Excellent, dear Atticus! Just excellent!

Blessings and best wishes - S.

Thank you so much Svetlana. You are most kind. 

Wow!  I'm sorry to get here so late. 

This is stunning and reminds me of one of Stephen King's personifications of the devil.  The last six lines are particularly intriguing, as you've made it clear that the subject does quite a bit of flying, which I suspect is unaided by mechanical devices.

I know Kathryn doesn't mind sharing, so you are now featured at The Surreal Circus.

Hey Ann, Thanks so much for the feature. You are very kind. My comments to C.F. directly above your comment may be of interest to you regarding this poem. 

Wow.  Buddhism was about the last thing on my mind when I read this!  I'll have to read again later.

Atticus, I'm sorry to be the last one to the dance, but this poem was riveting, and moved me deeply. I love the tongue-in-cheekiness of it, the healer seeking to be healed himself, looking for some reflection in the sky (and pictures of the sky) for re-affirmation. You capture the experience so far beyond what I could imagine (but what I have experienced!), it's like you have another group of private senses out there, feeling and writing for us all. Thank you, dear friend. ; - ) Masterful as always! I especially loved, "Lest you think I'm crazy..."

Again the magic of Atticus in the "center of madness" giving us insight into the beat of the drum and the beat of the universe within the heart of wolf, the sky painter. Thanks for the ride my friend. 

Felt like a wolf hid in a painting. Neat.