On Sept. 9, L.L., Eric and I participated in our first Twitter poetry jam. We’d hoped for a fourth — Bradley Moore, aka @shrinkingcamel — but he had other commitments. So the three of us tweeted away (49 tweets in all). Then I was given the privilege of crafting our separate poems into one big poem, and we decided to name it in honor of our absent friend.
At the Oasis, The Camel on Caravan
By @llbarkat, @TchrEric and @gyoung9751
Who were you in my dream?
The mermaid asked,
Herself the tears that feared to live.
I was the snow white hart, leaping from the touch.
I was the fish the mermaid shadowed.
I was the story in the burning book.
I was the fork, golden and shining.
I was a clearing
Ringed and shadowed
With evergreens.
I was the altar flickering blue,
The moonlight ringed by heaven,
The ever in the green.
I was the candle burning lonely.
I was the panel of glass,
The wind that knocked at the glass.
I was the lateness in the night.
I was a drop of wax aside the candle.
I was the sound of shattering of gold.
I was the chattering night, wishing sweet dreams.
I was the kitchen fire, the fire hearth,
The flame that laughed at goodbye.
I was the camel that knelt
At the eye of the needle.
I was the memory
That lay behind
The departed.
I was the threatening slumber.
I was the memory
Cluttered with stars.
I was the awakening of the stars
To a new day.
I was the twittering
That arose from dark corners.
I was the black hole,
Filled by grace.
I was the crimson-laced grace.
I was the curtain that brushed your face.
I was the morning
Mourning the night.
I was the oddness
That twisted the light.
I was the wholeness that became the holy.
I was the mourning
That wept.
I was the tears,
Coursing down cheeks.
I was the clock
That ticked near the wall.
I was the wish
For a teacher and a camel,
Who instead became
A pastel artist
Of prayers and seedlings
And green inventions.
Who were you in my dream?
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Maureen Doallas says
Wonderful! Visually rich, evocative. I love the lines: “tears that feared to live”, “memory/Cluttered with stars”, “The morning/Mourning the night”.
And Glynn, what a deft weaver of word threads you are!
L.L. Barkat says
I love how this poem belongs to none of us and yet belongs to each of us. And how it somehow achieves poignancy even though we originally tweeted in various directions. Maybe it’s partly the way we kept picking up each other’s words? Maybe too, Glynn, it is your weaving… as Maureen observes.
nAncY says
i love the whole kit and caboodle.
and i feel honored to be added as a tweet-poet friend! thanks 🙂
the page is beautiful. it has the boldness of the grey and black with the contrast of the green golden words and the boxes of colourful images.