of simple pleasures, and perfect design

One of the things designers are often challenged with is looking at something a bit differently, in different terms, defining the experience rather than the product itself. So this evening, I was compelled to try my hand at this, and the medium; not web, not print, not acrylic or sculpture, but that of poetry. A muscle never really flexed, I decided to dive in and try my hand, and quite enjoyed the experience. I share it here with you and hope you enjoy it and are inspired to find something this week that you too can look at through different eyes. Enjoy.

of simple pleasures, and perfect design

This very evening as the cool winds blow through the plains,
the unspoiled flakes of snow blustering about the skies,
I find myself seeking seclusion.
The first winds of winter chill me as the earth
and befall the remaining leaves,
clinging to their only connection to the ground,
their roots, their lifeline no more.

Called from above, by that perhaps contested
mother of Aphrodite, giver of life.
Borne of the earth, the seas, this becomes my retreat.
The steam rises as if a cloud as I settle myself
within thy warm embrace.

To this oasis, I bear a beloved fruit.
Shared throughout the ages, the fruit which
Botticelli himself bestows upon the Christ child.
The artist knows, as do I of the simplistic beauty
held amongst its crimson cortex.

The piercing of its flesh, and Shakespeare's merchant
are much the same. A pound taken, yet more.
The sanguine fluid pours from the fruit,
the sacrifice of one, to reach the multitudes.
Its symbolic nature reaffirmed within me once more.

I hold within my grasp, that which He too had held.
A beauty to behold, ruby facets I admire.
The season of my nourishment once more,
I reflect on the seed of seeds spread throughout the years.
To that which I hold within my hand.

Bittersweet, I sample, I rejoice.
It has been far too long, yet I know within my depths
for each thing, each person, there is a season.
The designer of this crimson flesh, this world, are one the same.
Humbled I reflect.

What I have made is unworthy of compare.
Yet I too am seed, borne of seed.
Perfection within His eyes as is this fruit within mine.
I rejoice.

Comments

[Joyce]

Enjoyed you inter thoughts...do more