December 29, 2016

and how the writing secretes from me ...



Joel-Peter Witkin, "Vienna Eye Phantom, 1990" ©


decide-ly anti climactic at times unfurling willow branching 
I hear Her soft cries laced paper dolls twined to trees set deep in the woods 
where only the elementals will find them sprites and other bright fae play 
with regards for humanity and its ability to or not to understand its place 
given the precepts perceptual implicit(s) 
are we insisting we commence with dissolving 
bullshit like ownership of things 
like the air and the rain and the oceans and the land 
and the molten metals and other precious ores waiting to be 
no we can't just lance the pussy 
carbuncle Rumpelstiltskin 
we must parlay the miller and his daughters for water 
and the very thought of gold that holds our souls 
captive to animalia 
wild is free and we often see this when imprisoned 
by a society of laws or our own obstinence 
and ordinal numeration 
of what is sacred to thee 

hear my cries 
I am off to find 
those children 
of Antigone 
and Prometheus 
made with the slip silver lightning
of when midnight 
steals in 
and becomes the conduit 
light needs to bleed 
dark fertile menses 
to the mention-able 
seed magic 
we pocket 
in myth 
and fairy-tales 
childhoods 
to neighborhoods 
in the wilderness 
we choose as adults 
to roam as free souls in ...

 EJR ©

8 comments:

  1. in a paper doll world
    we are all fragile
    torn from constant
    wear...

    paper dolls living in a cut out world
    Beware, when the gusty wind blows
    Down they go from their cardboard pose
    too weak to stand on their own

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. bone theater trees
      birdhouses favorite shirtsleeves
      we stood at the lake's edge at night
      skipping stones pretending to count
      the skips as we looked leaps and bounds
      to gather moments as blessings ...

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    2. skipping stones, one by one
      pebbles dancing on the surface
      sending ripples of new energy
      across the lake of shamanic dreams
      clutching my breast to feel the beat
      of the little bird, who longs to sing
      embraced in the light of moonbeams


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    3. pursed clutch handbill, we sought lemonade
      and shade when Summer high Sun made
      us thirsty and light headed
      the same tree we carved letters in as kids
      remembered us, even forgave us for what we did
      and even said whosoever pulls pushes
      button and lever never not used once
      as we grew into adults
      despite not wanting to
      memory crafts a tear from sweat and hands
      itself to the rain again in the unseen steam
      rising from the afternoon on high
      asphalt wavers curtain savors
      the broad leaves of the maples and oaks
      say rest a bitten by falling
      into everything we carry
      inside our rabbit holes

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  2. Under loving arms we took rest
    learning, the ins and outs of love
    creating our poetry, counting syllables
    between breath of words, inhaling the
    summer scents two wildflowers entangled
    in the humidity of the afternoon, praying
    for rain, to cleanse our earthly bed...
    we drift into slumber to the ticking
    hands of time...forever changed under
    a tangerine sky where dragons fly..

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. wares kite tangled dragged through pollen
      the flights home were all booked so we drove
      and boy was it a hot day asphalt in rise buckle
      and paced near panting breath I thought you said
      you had AC I said you gave me a look said
      we're pulling over there's queen anne's lace hand bouquet
      embroidery wheel you say let's get in
      a deep core red lined within a sea of fading white ...
      those deli dogs seemed a good idea awhile ago
      but now I am fighting my tummy
      lost my pennies playing you in license plate rummy
      so I couldn't dummy up for sympathy
      though you did have some ginger ale to share
      I swear we've been here before
      stored words were wary they preferred
      to see the lights in trees be babies
      and small animals we saved from traffic
      when passing them stuck into our minds
      the eternals, tongues and poems
      homes, hones and hand lanterns blind
      we find reason treasonous and laugh into a compass
      of our cupped palms
      with the road still waiting to be driven with
      our wonder and awe
      stories like billboards up ahead
      before books become dangerous again
      when most forget how to read
      in the rain without losing
      that feeling of being born ...

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    2. hot air balloons floating before us
      driving up into that Adirondack high
      billboards fading in tree lined hills
      I said can you smell the mountain air
      its fresh and clears my head of residue
      I know a little wine shop serving Merlot
      and light Chablis it tastes so sweet upon
      my lips, and that maple sugar melts worries
      away, as words drip from my tongue, peeling
      layers of the great white birch to write
      our words in ancient form, ancestors watch
      from the shadows catching glimpses of faraway
      dreams...holding a million stars in our hands
      tell me do you see what I see beyond the
      traffic of life...


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    3. they're tombstones
      the stars are I say
      we catch the afterglow
      what happened long ago
      which is why we like ghosts who cry
      and laugh, warm chocolate mixed in
      with the mulling spices cider and wine
      what a fine time to dine upon sine waves you say
      waves I repeat, yes you see it is all in the journey
      dead lights and all as You watch me fall a bit peeing
      down to the culvert at the side of the road
      do the pines speak to you I ask, you say nothing
      but as I turn around to button and zip you pip me
      with cones and laughter and wise words like watch the sap
      it's a bit sticky though in a good way, and that is
      just some of what the pines say to me ...

      Delete