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My Soul Is at Home in the Depths of the Ocean
My soul is at home in the depths of the ocean;
My soul is at home in the cosmos above,
Always adventuring, seeking to grow and
Wreathing my body in infinite love.
My soul permeates every stone on our Earth,
Every plant, every pod, every intricate cave.
My soul permeates every star of our universe,
Each atom of galaxies beautifully made.
My soul befriends others, my constant companions
In bubbling joy of creational flair,
At home in dimensions of endless proportions
Traveling timelessly, yet ever here.
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In the Gloaming Shrewd Death Steals Aloft
In the gloaming shrewd Death steals aloft—
She whispers in the blue light of the day.
I sense her slip by grass-lined marshes soft,
Absorbed through shuttering windows on her way.
Death stalks “l’heure bleue,” her transitory friend,
With slant of light at summer solstice brief.
At times the gloaming day seems n’er to end—
Its disingenuous shadows bode no grief.
Then as summer wanes, I feel a chill—
In shortening days blue light is growing dim.
Grim Death slips by me slyly slant until
She usurps light, infests my heart to brim.
Now ghost of illness grows as blue nights fade—
A strengthened specter morphed to Death’s handmaid.
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Corey Elizabeth Jackson is a retired elementary schoolteacher who lives with her husband in Aurora, Ontario, Canada. Acting and singing in community theatre, and writing poetry have been two of her passions during the past few years. Her poetry has recently won several awards from The Ontario Poetry Society, and has also been published in Blue Unicorn, The Society of Classical Poets, WestWard Quarterly and the October 2023 issue of Spaceports & Spidersilk.
These are two gems – first being a light-coloured one and the second, a dark coloured one.
Powerful, Profound and Poignant!
Best wishes.
Thank you for this thematic distinction, Satyananda. When I see my two poems together this way, I now sense more strongly layers of meaning that were ever only subconsciously there before!
Creative flair in both poems with excellent word choice that is vivid and refined. You explore an interesting philosophical phenomenon of soul sensitivity by casting it to inanimate objects, “yet ever here,” which to me is a multiplication of love and caring. I have read and written a lot of poems on death, but as Satyananda said, this one is a gem.
Thank you so much, Roy! I love how you noted the “yet ever here” phrase in my soul poem. Even though one hears often nowadays that the soul is “nonlocal” and does not exist specifically in space nor time, I grapple with understanding what this really means. Yet the allure of this concept mesmerizes me. I find poetry is a means of expressing it in a rather playful way, neither oppressive nor grandiose.
In the second poem, the speaker refers to Death as a female figure. In most contexts, the image of “the Grim Reaper” is thought of as masculine. But since in Latin “mors, mortis” is feminine, and the Romance languages follow suit, it may be that the poet (being Canadian) is influenced by the French term “la mort.” It doesn’t really matter, since the poem works quite well as it stands.
I like the word “gloaming,” which one very rarely hears today. I generally take it to mean “twilight,” or “the approach of evening.” In a poem about death, this atmospheric touch functions as what one might call “an unspoken metaphor.”
Thank you, Joseph . . . I really like your mention of the Grim Reaper as a masculine personification of Death, which contrasts with my female personification of Death in this poem. In my book, there are several poems about personified Death which are illustrated by the Grim Reaper, dark and foreboding. In my “Gloaming” poem, Death is insidiously crafty, using the gloaming light of day to lurk and shift and linger. I feel that the knowledge that Death here eventually gains a complicit handmaid gives un uncomfortable sense of female collusion.
“My Soul Is At Home” is a “beautifully made” poem. Under the gorgeous imagery lies the perception that human intellect (a power of the soul) is able to appreciate creation in a responsive manner not possible for material creation itself. What a glorious outline of particularly human potential! I’m not sure whether the “constant companions” in the last stanza are other souls, or varied parts of creation that accompany the speaker as a friendly pet might follow a person. Either way, the social aspect of the soul’s feelings is noticed.
“In the Gloaming” takes the color blue as an important part of the meditation on death. I especially like the choice to refer to “l’heure bleue” for its “gloaming” sound value. Admirable use of light effects with the different mentions of the color. This makes it a poem to contemplate carefully.