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| Charlie's Poetry & Prose - Intro |
| EMBRACED BY BEAUTY My eyes gaze on a thing of Beauty, feeling its pulse within my heart. I want to be washed in Beauty's song to taste her delicate thrill upon my lips and drown in her subtle threads of ecstasy. I want to wear Beauty's diaphonous cloak gently upon my shoulders, while she peers out from the windows of my soul. Beauty lives within the concerned heart of caring moved by a child's cry, she dances upon the winged brush of a painters delight, and sighs within the graceful grace spun from masters of movement, music and form. Beauty spreads its words across the page, words inked from a quill's tip and relayed from a writer's mind; she sings joyous notes of earthly communion freely sung like an open book written in nature's own hand. Beauty lives in so many ways many are its forms, to each it has a different face to each a different song. ©charlie elkind 4/1999 |
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| Charlie |
| TO REACH CHARLIE |
| Charlie Elkind |
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| Charlie's Poems and Prose to read poems click on a page |
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| PAGE 5 Sunday in the Park, by George Staying Up to Late Endless Repetition A Red and Green Frost Morning Meditation Mirrors |
| PAGE 4 Facing The Furnace Statuary Sequoia's A Child of Death Monday Morn Circling Around Waiting For the Light To Turn A Cell-ebration of Life BUbblebee |
| PAGE 7 Love of Gracious Giving The Blue Rim A Black Rose From Death Seedlings Subterranean Trunks Compassion The Point of a Poem New Hail to the Place Between a Snowflake and a Rainfall New Snared In New |
| PAGE 8 Housecleaning The Shards of the Alchemist A Blue Picnic Icy Anticipation Wrap Music A Page at a Time Washing Up New Embracing it all NEW |
| HANG-UPS #2 We've all heard the call it's a ring from our internal cell-phone calling to wake us up. you know those days -- when your phone is ringing off the hook and all anyone gets from us is a busy signal. it rings again and again -- and once in a while we pick up the receiver and try to listen -- but just when the voice gets clear we get interrupted again -- by "life's" call waiting so we hang-up -- hoping that the one operator will try to reach us again -- soon. charlie elkind 9/23/2006 |
| HANG-UPS #1 What is a hang-up? and why does my throat tighten so utterly slow when I say this sentence and why do I find it -- so equally hard to voice within myself. We need to drink ever so softly from our past -- sip outworn memories that hang haphazardly through our closets and clothes. those outfits that once smelled sweet -- now are harsh and hard filled with faint odors of counterfeit costumes and vague remembrances. it's an ancient mothball scent that hovers in the air barely alive but still reflected in mirrors of outmoded weariness and waste. finding and following those uninhabited material concerns that sleep unbeknownst among our future's, they silently taint our dreams of what will be. we have to try our suit on one last time before sewing the next step towards a threshold of tomorrow -- being aptly attired and prepared to dance joyously with the impermanance of all of life. charlie elkind 9/22/06 |
| FLOATING i want to swim with words to paddle in a pool of metaphors and feel poems breathe in and out of my nostrils -- as I fight to live in the turgid waters of my everyday knowingness, unknowingness. so much needs to be said but our language is incomplete it lacks depth depleted of remorse and deficient of compassion. but the joy of our joyousness lurks intimately close by a hidden melody alive in the aftermath of our affections. But, why do we hesitate? why do we waffle and weave? away from the present away from the whole away from the holy. perhaps it's all to find a way back. charlie elkind 3/08/2008 |
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| Spring Blood, Unsubmerged
Walking on light layers of snow but tasting whiffs of spring hiding just around the corner. Spring slithers -- cloaked and concealed while mysteriously prancing, dancing sneaking behind dark shadows and unassumingly awakening trees - - it stands slouched, shawled, and impregnated in a joyous children’s game of hide and seek. Catching concealed glimpses of daffodil shoots peaking underground seeking a draft of air-born freedom, thirsting for a sip of sunlight. Spring blood has reemerged, trickling subterranean style tickling us, tricking us with its nearness. It’s an undeniable scent forebodingly found in flakes of late winter. charlie elkind 1999 |
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| POETIC ENCOUNTERS
Words trickling from the mind, flowing forth - idea by idea in staccato style. Some washed over, others captured and contained within the hand. Waiting, to be spread across the page and consumed - with a cup of tea. charlie elkind |