[Thespiritexpress] Forging Iron

[Roz]

Wow, Ed!  This poem is so impactful, so well crafted and moving, what a wordsmith you are!  Thank you for sharing this!

Roz
Sent from my iPad

> On Dec 21, 2021, at 2:10 PM, Ed Balldinger via Thespiritexpress <thespiritexpress at lists.mcn.org> wrote:
> 
> 
> Dear Fellow Beings born of love, living in love and dying to love - 
> 
> Thank you for engaging in the experience of sharing my poem with you today.  As I said in my preliminary remarks, it's a poem written over time, which is what Robert Bly says he often did with his poems - write a poem, put it in a drawer, pull it out after some time, carve a little more, then back in the drawer it goes for a while, etc...!  This poem told me it was the right time to finish it and lay it to rest, or wake it up for new beginnings to come.  
> 
> It's a poem woven between the possibilities of our strength and fragility; between ourselves and others.  It's a small glimpse into the intimate as we "wrassle" with the inanimate.    
> 
> Blessings to all in this time of year, the shortest day, turning into a new season, a new phase, a new year.  
> 
> ~ Ed Balldinger (Scoctavius of Nublin; Scott)
> 
> 
> Forging Iron
>  
>  
> We are the hot steaming iron forging various
> moratoriums in our own worlds of strength. 
>  
> Whatever we straighten will certainly return
> as it curls in a rising mist of mystery tonight.   
> Will you tell me all your ancient truths?
>  
> I’ll tell you mine and we’ll see how the vapors mingle.
> Is it too late to see where this line of conversation
> crosses as another string of words are strung up
> higher than the sun in our eyes?
>  
> An amalgamation of American cold war offspring,
> we are fused in our infatuation with love life;
> cross-stitched together forever in some poetic tongue;
> vow-bound and boundlessly wowed by crowds
> overflowing edges as we dwindle back to the dust
> from which we came.   
>  
> I am the wilting madness here in my inflexibility
> kindled by a strange fire I work to keep lit,
> as if burnt sacrifice were a mere offering of truce
> searing our souls in one syncopating blaze. 
> “Keeper of the Flame,” or so I’ve been called. 
>  
> The bent steel clanks coldly against
> a creative version of my own lost control. 
> I crave social interface like a warm scarf,
> a long-flowing tail of a crackling whip behind me.   
>  
> (With a tip of the cap to Robert Bly)
>  
> Edgar Z. Balldinger
>    June 9, 2017 – December 21, 2021
>      © Nublin’s Pub, 2017-2021
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
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