Poetic Luminosity - Sapphire Mccullough

'One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words'. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 - 1832)

Below is a poem written by the wonderful Sapphire Mccullough.

We shall soon be collaborating on a marvellous piece, whereby I will illustrate one of her poems, but not in the ordinary sense, that we have seen already done. Looking forward to this immensely.

I think how she writes is sheer brilliance, and this is just one of my favourite pieces. XXX

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Feel your thoughts. Thoughts that penetrate my mind, and make me feel we are closer.

Closeness never seems more apparent, than when you smile softly.

Softly I approach you, so that I do not disturb the quiet concentration, Concentration of thoughts provoke you, to whisper them compellingly.

Compelling me, I find myself wanting to turn your chin, to search deeper. Deep in my memory, I escape reconciling only gentle needs, that linger.

Lingering pathways, that hold such moments in their cooling narrow pass. Passing by again, and if ever, I would never let you go so far away.

Away in some place, that I felt compelled to seek you out, suffering softly. Soft smile, and then fiercely is this the way, that you always look in pain.

Pain that fills the entire room, when you are absent from such special times. Timing each move again, I surrender the source of my thought process.

Processing each idea, and then let it go to a place where you are very still. Still I hope and wonder if you can be persuaded to say something now.

Now you are still quiet, and peacefully tranquil in your own private dreams. Dreams from which only I in wakefullness find your every move fascinating.

Fascinating touches of colour and hues that blend across your body of work. Work that never has an end even when it appears tedious to pretenders.

Pretences have no place in what you would call your creative space. Space that widens with the misunderstandings that others have of you.

You always place me in a special way a little too high to reach or fall. Falling, I wonder if you would move fast enough to catch me or never to.

To carry a small tray of delicacies, star-fruit, fancifull sweetmeats to share. Sharing, only this morsel of figs, and sip this mead cup sweet with honey.

Honey shaded eyelashes that flicker when caught by the winds cold breath. Breath that is only icy when the window is open and our body heat is all.

All that I am holds you now in such a conceptual place as only art can. Can art lead you back to where we commanded truthfulness in silence.

Silent gestures leave us both to ponder our knowing smiles, sans fatality.