Wednesday, September 17, 2014

The Crystalline Song Of The Rapist


The Crystalline Song of The Rapist



When the party is over
and it's over now
when the fire stops flickering
when there's only a slice
of dry cheesecake moon
to put on the plate
of the last man leaving
I wait for the silence
but it never comes.

There's always a growling
a wheeze-buzzing rattle:
the crystalline song
of shatter on the exhale.
 Everything's off. The train sound--
it's not a tornado,
not even a train.

It's  a treachery 
more intimate
more sudden
 too close

a noise in the war
scuttering from light,
the ardor of the roach whose tactic
of vitality brings ruin to the walls.

 It's a bait and switch art,
 today trumping tomorrow;
this pump-action suck
for the very last drop,
each recoil injecting
ten million
gallons of waste

and it isn't a dream
coming careless and hard
as the beautiful
poisoned  body beneath me
shudders and flops
arches and groans, trying to shake off 
what gives her
nothing
but secrets and rape.

~September 2014





posted for      real toads

Challenge: Get Listed
My views on fracking, 
assisted by grapeling's word list, 
drawn from Sun Tzu's The Art of War


Oklahoma, United States has had: (M1.5 or greater)

  • 7 earthquakes today
  • 33 earthquakes in the past 7 days
  • 102 earthquakes in the past month
  • 1,044 earthquakes in the past year

The largest earthquake in Oklahoma, United States:

  • today: 3.5 in Stillwater, Oklahoma, United States
  • this week: 4.0 in Guthrie, Oklahoma, United States
  • this month: 4.2 in Guthrie, Oklahoma, United States
  • this year: 4.5 in Edmond, Oklahoma, United States

    9/17/2004


Image: Existing injection wells in Oklahoma as of 2014
pump-jack near Kingfisher, OK, both via npr.org
fair use, no author given source page

Monday, September 15, 2014

Fallow


Fallow




So many times
you’ve been the field where
storms hailed the crops flat,
your task to regrow them--
the cold eroded shingle
where fire died,
you with numb fingers
in a night of frost and ghosts,
the rekindler. 
So 

let me warm you now 
for that brief time
that I’m permitted
as darkness presses.
Turn the cup upside down,
let your hard hours spill out
to pool in a bottomless green.
Sleep for a season with all life unborn
you the fallow field this once
over which the placid plough horse

passes unhindered, breaking clods of years'
compaction, earth's old demands arable
and dropping open under a citrine sun.
Lightly, surely the harrow passes
in the long afternoons, a music
on those plains where ever they sing
of planting, of the green to come,
not freezes, not blight, not backs bent,
where my rain falls like ocean. Let
every tall crop there be your own.

Let me in you at last give back
seed for root
right for wrong
life for death
and make life enough
so

when time is done with us
in the dusk of a long coming gleaning,
there'll be love in the last look back
before we blow away.





~November 2011





A repost to welcome the slanting light of Fall,  and the fallow time to come

for    real toads

Open Link Monday








Images: The Plough and The Harrow, after Millet, 1890, by Vincent Van Gigh
The Old Tower in The Fields, 1884, by Vincent Van Gogh
Public domain via wikiart.org


Thursday, September 11, 2014

War Staff





War Staff




You are the stick carved
to support the madman's
stuttering canter,
like the Tablet-Smasher's staff,
often breaking to a snake
for maximum effect.

You are the magus-wand
of moving plague
 pulling each first-born
from the unmarked house;
dipping only your tip turns rivers
bloody at your
unexpected pleasure.

When will it burn,
this crutch of tortured alder?
How understand the pushing thing
that has no shape it can own?

So we lie awake,
we slaves, listening for 
the shifting of the snake.



~September 2014






 posted for Meeting The Bar
at dVerse Poets


Karin Gustafson (ManicdDaily) asks us to follow the metaphor through--for me, that has been rather a winding, even snaky sort of path. I am drawing(and transposing) here from the biblical tale of Moses and The Plagues of Egypt.








Images: Staff, by Nakahara Nantenbo
Public domain via wikiart,org
Snake wallpaper via wallpaper.com
copyright information unknown.


Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Burned In The Bathtub


Burned In The Bathtub





After his midlife crisis
the incubus has settled down.
He takes a pill now.
He's sold the Lambo 
and grown a beard
grey as gourd rind
mute as dusk. It teases
when he comes up behind
but better of course,
than mere
insincerity of stubble
or truth of the lash;
or so I tell him.

His rage, his acquisitive
lust, his long
hierarchic frustration
with Beelzebub, his angst--
all abated. He's stopped 
going naked except when he's here
though now the light
must be out; the mood
must be clear; the Jacuzzi
has to work, while I burn sage
to make darkness soft lather
on skin cracked and dry
from hellfire and age.

Instead 
of the sweet drip of lies,
instead 
of my fruitful screams,
instead of the  hoof lifted high
to leave a burnt print 
on my spine,
there's only androgynous giggle,
a few sips of  white wine,
a cooling brain,
a voiceless music
the color of ash
falling like misted rain.






~September 2014



posted for   real toads





Challenge: Out of Standard
Isadora Gruye (The Nice Cage) asks us to write a poem about a lie that could have been told better. I have wiggled around with the POV some, but there are plenty of poorly told lies to choose from here.








I've written too many poems to count about the incubus; you can find them  HERE








Top Image: Cialis Logo, courtesy google image search.No copyright infringement is intended.
Footer: The Flautist, by Remedios Varo
May be protected by copyright. Posted under fair use guidelines via wikiart.org


Saturday, September 6, 2014

The Snow Moth




The Snow Moth


Carousel of  stars,
revolve 
the mulberry sky
 in midway caterwauls.

Drive spider-silken cars
from sky to eye;
ride high
before the darkling fall,

for the inchworm moon
will chew her hole in night,
spin her fat cocoon,
a knot

from which the snow-moth's drawn
ice-winged and blinding bright;
and what's consumed's forgot,
what's forgotten's gone.
  

~September 2014







 55  crystal snow moths for the ghost of the G-Man and



Challenge:Flash Fiction 55

 Optional Musical Accompaniment





Photos: Snow Crystal, by Matthais Kabel, shared under a Creative Commons License, via wikimedia commons 

(manipulated)



Unless otherwise indicated, all content © Joy Ann Jones 2010, 2011, 2012. All rights reserved.