"In Octaves, the octopus has entered by inviting a structure of 8-line poems that touch upon different facets of fluid movement. By repeating lines of poetry I am exploring the Continuum concept of layering, in which a movement dive is repeated from the beginning, and allows a whole new realm of experience to reveal itself."
~ Noelle Adamo, poet & Continuum mover
I. Space
In this love-movement I want to give you things –
space to discover where you stand,
the cast towards rising or settling,
adventure through your heart’s pathways,
protection from the elements of undoing,
pleasure in the midst of confusion,
peace in your choices,
faith you are carried.
II. Unfurled
Like a dream of a new gesture or sound
my tongue begins in my stomach and slowly
unravels the red carpet for the feet of my
ancestors as they
wanted to feel more but couldn’t, as they wanted freedom
but were trapped, as this life is different this body can sing,
this body has hips that loosen and receive the moon,
it can tendril and trace the moment,
pause, open armed, belly up.
III. Flow
On a good day the mother pours
warm sunrise on a body asleep.
She lifts our arms, kisses our feet,
lightens the weight we imagine.
We are awakened to place
as we move in new ways,
gentle as we notice, soft to the quiet,
snow with a bloom of marigolds.
IV. Breath
Ocean Mama, purify me.
Escape the cave
of your defiant mouth.
Surface your turbulence,
my depths are too quietly
waiting. I must return
to the pulse
of your open arms.
V. Sound
I’m at the hem of a storm,
I’m at the rise of a wave,
My shape suspends; I listen,
thunder low all around.
I rumble then enter the hive
buzz through the funnel of my bones
travel into the thick slow
golden tone of honey, and silence.
VI. Time
Some mechanism makes its way
under the skin of my hands and face,
stringing pearls out of the seconds of my life.
I extend my limbs into days and let my body
set the pace. Infinite in the web
that encompasses me I take up time,
I meander, I linger in this rebellion
of slow. I bend towards delight.
VII. Form/Formlessness
We enter our bodies
but we are dying to escape
slippery in our choices until we curl
into ourselves and discover
we are many armed things,
our hearts have many branches,
our muscles spiral around one another,
our exhale extends to the wind.
VIII. Resonance
I am not human all of the time
when my hips rock to the hips of others
unseen, when my most delicious growl
inspires a delicate turn of the head,
when I rest in the opportunity to move.
I release repetition, I regard impulse
and eyes closed,
I taste sugar in the stars.
To enjoy more of Noelle Adamo's poetry click here "Octaves" ~ copyright 2017 Noelle Adamo
Performance photos ~ Phyllis McCabe
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