December 18, 2015

conopholis americana...

a parasite of oaks,
conopholis americana
sourced from here:
http://botany.thismia.com




 


conopholis americana ( a heterotrophic poem )

a dry hopped willie-waught, 
drunk with squawroot reverence, 
went a fashioning, its spring-
thee-upon-you-isms by way 
of subtle parasitic methodologies...

sometimes the bear's corn 
is seamed, an outwardly 
opposite Icarus wrenched 
a pierce ground eager 
a music hungry reach
for deciduous cyclical death...

life can always 
be exhaled as
ash and bones 
loam(s) and poems 
in a leap, somewhere 
between faith and a dare...

ditty witty bits of spit 
and loquacious ales 
their driven speeches 
wassailing, wassailing 
the ailing bridled reins 
of undone by rain saying 
nothing knows your erode 
is always an immeasurable 
an array of pattern-less destiny 
the chances you've taken 
or held until the end of this time 
when, you decided, it was okay, to breathe...

"wear me, she says, surrender to me...I can be, 
a scent driven madness as direction...
my porticoes will give shelter to your 
eyes...disseminate memory descends, 
mends souls from lies...
you though, must sew my dress..."



EJR ©

2 comments:

  1. That is a beautiful parasite.

    What a hysterical opening line; I laughed SO HARD over this when I read it the first time: "a dry hopped willie-waught"

    Excellent/clever line break/layered meaning: "fashioning, its spring-
    thee-upon-you-isms"

    "subtle parasitic methodologies" ... Ha. I'm so inside of this.

    Damn, this is a brilliant concept:
    "is seamed, an outwardly
    opposite Icarus wrenched
    a pierce ground eager" ... And the word "seam" makes me think of how we wish we could "fly," but it feels like we're stitched to the ground, as if a needle and thread are "keeping us down." And who first sews us, but our own mothers and God? Backwards indeed. They want to teach us to fly, and yet, somehow both become an albatross.

    I love this: "somewhere
    between faith and a dare" ... Life is one long decision-making process. All we want to do is make the right choices, especially when it comes to what we put our faith in. What we so just want to jump into the "dare" pool and forget the whole religion mess. It would be far easier to choose "dare" rather than "Truth," whatever that is. And in the end, aren't we all stuck as our middle school selves in grown-up bodies, pretending we know what we're doing by now?

    Love this:
    "ditty witty bits of spit
    and loquacious ales" ... I think I'm a loquacious ale. Not a high end beverage; just the cheap "whatever's on tap" crap, but it gets the job done. Maybe not so tasty going in, but my yappity yap has all the magic necessary to get anyone drunk ... but just on liquid words. I do come with a morning-after headache, though.

    "the ailing bridled reins
    of undone by rain saying
    nothing knows your erode
    is always an immeasurable" ... This is about being married. We're work-horses, brides, tough-shouldered animals forced to bear the weight of people and things and the carts we drag behind us. And yes, we are undone by rain; when it begins to speak, it reminds us of all that promise, all that poetry we thought we'd end up drinking or pulling or living. But no, it all comes down to people and their property. That's what we inevitably manage, rather than the words we so desperately long to work with. "nothing knows you're erode" ... "nothing knows you're a road" ... I'm being made to travel the road, to carry the people and things, but don't you all know I AM what should be traveled. I am that which will take you somewhere. But no, I've turned into a stone, eroded by water, tears, and time.

    "immeasurable" "I'm measurable" "I'm me-assurable" ... In the end, only I can give myself permission to breathe, to be ... I have to assure myself that it's okay to be me. I AM measurable. I AM worth something, regardless of who I am as a bride, as a mother, as a horse. It's what I choose and who I choose to be that matters. Thus the purple ash ... I'm a phoenix. And yes, also a parasite. I feel off of intellect, and I rarely come across an oak worth sucking dry.

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  2. Your insight doth incise...so by all means, share it...there are parts of our humanity, I believe, can only be felt through expression...and whether this is in decoration of observation or the observation itself...thank you for expressing yours...

    Edward

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