December 19, 2015

staining sight a cornflower hue nearing Holly King's Day...




staining sight a cornflower hue nearing Holly King's Day 

<the ancillary tourniquet games 
will begin when the loading zones 
have been re-purposed 
for the bread and circuses, 
systems check are root-cellar-ing 
and decking the halls 
for we must engorge 
all the senses come festival time...>

a world at large 
with wind and tide, is
both a ride and its currency(s)...

here, now says 
we learn to see 
nose says write 
this down 
by closing your eyes 
and trusting a scent 
to take you there
memory will always 
follow, this lead in...

poem says yes, I agree
this same black cat, 
I have been seeing 
the last few weeks, 
is stopped across the street 
as I look upon it 
we are grazing 
on rattle panes 
from old windows 
in the study 
this cat seems to know 
I am watching it amble 
then stop, to arch a bit 
beneath the still warm 
engine of a car, 
most recently parked...

poem says look, 
it treads lightly 
over the asphalt 
ears tucked against 
the roars of hunger seeking
as a mid December does too
it each of its turns toward home...

EJR ©

6 comments:

  1. I like your cute black kitty. She sounds like a keeper.

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    Replies
    1. Sort of like destiny's child back in high school when I skipped class for the afternoon, soon there were reasons streaming to keep dreaming of days, mama said, would be like this...

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    2. I never skipped class, and I stopped dreaming a long time ago. But I will always quake over Destiny's Child. Now I'm humming "Soldier" inside my brain.

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  2. Merry Christmas, by the by. I suppose it's already ended for you. But I have 1 minute left.

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    Replies
    1. thank you...'twas merry indeed, going seed to bleed...there were sleeves of things, tied bows and ribbon-ed strings...but the greatest gift was how I could hear the birds sing a weep, and this, through a warm muddy raw earth, seemed the perfect harmony needed too...

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    2. I won't tell you what I think "seed to bleed" means.

      And I'm afraid I'm now picturing melancholy birds, buried alive, singing from under the earth for their salvation and revival. I hope this is only a metaphor.

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