I guess I’ve had Icarus on the brain lately. Last night I attended a wonderful event, an Icarus Session, which was the brainchild of Seth Godin and hosted locally here in Atlanta by Judi Knight at her Urban Oasis. It was a fabulous night – I think just about everyone was a fan of Seth Godin’s work, but more important than that, most of the people there got up in front of the room and talked about the passion behind what they do. This was a night of discussing and sharing the art you do, whether you happen to be an artist or not. There were singers, coaches, yoga instructors, non-profit leaders, web designers, painters, landscapers, soldiers, etc. and all revealed a glimpse of their journey and vulnerability. It was enriching and refreshing.
But that’s not the only Icarus thing I’ve been preoccupied with – I’ve been working on this poem for a while now, and I thought I might share it here today as well:
Icarus in Green
by David Cohen 2013-01-02
every verse weaves
another feather into the armature of wax and green branches.
I grow bolder as the plumage thickens turning my arms into wings
Light and strong enough to dare the sky
Am I not Icarus reborn?
I stretch, I soar, arms burning, giddy
hungry for her unquenchable fire
my radiant unreachable marble
composing line after rhyme I grasp for the living, life-giving inferno
a verbal photosynthesis
my wings of grass beat beat beat
greening for altitude
I sweat, not with the effort
but the broil
a feather falls as wax softens
but I compose green new feathers to keep me aloft
Thrust abundant in the wax
beat after feet
line after rhyme
Climb! Son of Daedalus, climb!
Climb! Above the gray clouds!
Bask now in the heat of eternity’s fire!
Pound your emerald wings!
Pound your pink thumbs on this tiny keyboard.
Pound until the last feather falls
A green blizzard is coming
a sudden final molting as the warm wax liquifies and runs
Oh treacherous wax!
Oh melty melty wax!
I, Icarus 2.0, fall again.
And even falling I belch green feathers of rhyme
Slapping them to the barren contraption,
They find no purchase
The sticky residue no longer sticky enough
And still I fall
And hit save
But my lines linger
Wafting slowly down
their fate no less certain,
all shall fall as I, to the oblivion of the sea
But no feather falls as fast as I
And perhaps yet a fine feathered line will tickle the fancy of a passing breeze
and ride upon her whim,
floating onward by some smiling zephyr’s grace,
Float on, my green wafting child