I don't write, I paint myself blind with words...diogenes herded...ignorance...gilded cages...filling up on beauty unleashed...free will's maddening fractures...eyes that need to smell to see...
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 ©
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I like your cute black kitty. She sounds like a keeper.
ReplyDeleteSort 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...
DeleteI 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.
DeleteMerry Christmas, by the by. I suppose it's already ended for you. But I have 1 minute left.
ReplyDeletethank 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...
DeleteI won't tell you what I think "seed to bleed" means.
DeleteAnd 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.