Deep Sea Diving
by Steven McCabe
Blake’s ocean
A gas station
Black medicine
In a vial
You said I thought I was Jesus
You said I thought I was Jesus
In exile
We handled snakes
I was yours truly
I was yours truly
I swallowed a shot of ink
We faded
We faded
Vibrantly
In retrospect we were children
In retrospect we were children
At the carnival
Deep sea diving
poemimage 
a powerful resurgence from the deep sea
Thank you for your image and motion Pierre, It just sort of unearthed itself from somewhere down there although that’s not quite the word.
Love the rhythm of your words and the visual wisps of memory. Gorgeous.
Thank you Karen for your thoughts about the words and images. ‘Visual wisps of memory…’ a beautiful dual image & meaning…
I like what you find in your deep sea diving. x
Thank you for this Narelle, This is perhaps a rediscovery of what I found long ago but maybe that makes it new. Which might be what you are saying about the process.
the repetition is haunting…and so many layers of metaphor and possible meaning…I found mine deeply in
‘We faded
Vibrantly
In retrospect we were children…’
Thank you for contributing to the discussion John, This experience is perhaps yours also and didn’t things move as slowly as the speed of light, the diving and the carnival and the fading all swirling together timelessly ‘in retrospect…‘
I appreciate this idea of haunting repetition…adding an emotional nuance to the idea of reworking the same image…
Beautiful, both.
Thank you Richard. I appreciate your thought on this ‘marriage’ of forms.
Beautiful… you worked magic here, Steven…
Thank you Stephia…it came out of thin air…
You caught the air…!
Thank you for this image Stephia. I’ve been thinking about this all day. Catching the air. Slow air in the echo of the seashell. Catching air like catching a cold, or catching a fish. Catch your breath. Cache your breath.
Sometimes it feels like we are in the same soil Steven, with the light, colors and shapes you bring here. It looks like the ground I dig through, though we resurface with different things in our hands. Rocks of the same hue, and fountains from recoiling memory. Thank you as always.
Hi Jack, Kind of you to say so about the soil. Of course you are in both the metaphorical and the actual soil. Yes I think we’re both on a quest of sorts. Thank you for your thoughts. I like that phrase recoiling memory. Like a whirlpool or a rattlesnake. Sucks you back in or finishes you off. Or maybe an emotional reality deserving of a wide berth.. Recoiling is a vivid description of memory action.