Saturday, November 28, 2020

In The Tank

 
(SCROLL DOWN FOR THE 55)


 
 

 
 
 
In The Tank
 
 
 
In the tank, watching
the last foam ascend,
no rockets from
this wet womb, nothing
left but the sinking
still

the spirit seed
warm-curled in rainsilk, is
a spark self-shielded,
a voice unheeded
untrained but turning, a
desire piercing

paper-dead husk
with green.
The birth cord was tangled,
the roots softly angled,
a woven squared circle
of sticky heartweb.

There in that secret
float of penumbra
I felt you move.
I felt myself
blowing, unwrapped and golden,
in the tears of the sun.

 
 November 2020
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 posted for
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Artist and title unknown, manipulated,  via internet, Fair Use
Seedling  ©2017, joyannjones
 
 

Friday, November 27, 2020

Flash Friday 55 Thanksgiving Edition 2020

 

 


 

 Welcome all, to the Thanksgiving edition of the Friday 55. This year has seen so much turmoil, death, despair and anxiety that pulling anything up from a well of gratitude can be difficult, but there are indeed things to be thankful for, like those we love, the hope for change and renewal we have under a new administration, or like this gathering of writers remembering our history, our craft and an absent friend, the G-Man, who originated this meme and never lost his sense of humor or support for others in his quest for a kickass weekend for all. 
Thank you, Galen.
 

 
 
As always, this isn't a prompt about anything in particular, even gratitude. It's the 55. That is, 55 words of your choice on any subject, in any form, so long as the total comes to 55, no more no less.

Link your result in the comments below and I will be by to see what you have written.
 
Because of the holiday, the prompt will be extended from Thursday at midnight all weekend through Monday at noon.


~*~
Here is my 55:



 
 
 Over The Wind



I threw my leg over
the back of the wind,
or was it the mare
 
who gallops my sleep
your face
bounced in her bag,
 
leaves on her eyes
storms in her tail,
a jagged nightbird
 
with razorglass song,
dragon-winged
by a child's sleeping breath?
 
And I the rider
faded as fable,
lightning passing by.
 
 
 
 November2020
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Vintage postcard, manipulated  Fair Use
Photograph of Galen Hayes, source unknown  Fair Use
Donnerstag,  artist unknown, via internet  Fair Use
Dragon Awakens,   © Theodore Severin Kittelsen  Fair Use
 

Saturday, November 14, 2020

End Times Redux

 

 


 
 
End Times Redux
 
 
There's always been
only one end
to a skull run against
a wall of stone,
always a single truth against
 an outnumbering of fools,
 
always ears stopped to
the pulse-drum beating fear,
the microphone vomiting
all the glory lies. Reason's light
is not blown out no matter
how many choose to sit in darkness.

It's always been coming again,
this over-heat in the system;
where the sovereign goes mad
bashing skulls
in Punch and Judy shows,
stuffed with his own sawdust failures.
 
Our love is the ink with which
over and over
we scrawl these wartime sagas,
the spilled blood 
from which the Resistance
 always rises.
 
 
 


November 2020
 
 
 
 
 
 
Allegedly the last picture of Adolf Hitler before he committed suicide on . Hitler (right) and his adjutant Julius Schaub looking at the ruins of the Reich chancellery, April 28, 1945.
                              

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
posted for the inimitable Fireblossom
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: top, author unknown, via internet, Fair Use
Bottom: image 1:Ditto;Allegedly the last picture of Adolf Hitler before he committed suicide. Hitler (right) and his adjutant Julius Schaub looking at the ruins of the Reich chancellery, April 28, 1945.
Image 2: Trump returning to White House after election projected for Biden. ©AP Fair Use


Sunday, November 8, 2020

Mooncandle

 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Mooncandle
 
 

I put my candle in a jar
when all the songs were sung
to send across the raving sea
to the lost land of the young.
 
I watched its flame-eye shake and spill
across the mad night sky
til frozen waves and silver snakes
knew more of it than I.
 
Light and dark were dancing.
Beach and tide were dancing.
Man and beast were dancing.
Together---
away---
one covered the other
like a morality play.
 
But a spark from the mind
the heart's testing tide
keep a candle alive,
cover wrong with right,
 
burn a flame as bright
as the white moon's sail
untangling herself
from night's matted tail. 
 
 
 
 

November 8, 2020




biden reactions america detroit michigan donald trump sign









posted for 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Process notes: Land of The Young: "In Irish mythology Tír na nÓg ; Land of the Young) or Tír na hÓige (Land of Youth) is one of the names for the Celtic Otherworld... [it]is depicted as an island paradise and supernatural realm of everlasting youth, beauty, health, abundance and joy"~ wikipedia
Morality play: "an allegorical drama popular in Europe especially during the 15th and 16th centuries, in which the characters personify moral qualities (such as charity or vice) or abstractions (as death or youth) and in which moral lessons are taught."~Brittanica



 
Images: via internet. Artist unknown      Fair Use 
Celebration in Detroit Michigan after 2020 election, via Getty Images  Fair Use
 
 
 
 

Friday, October 30, 2020

Flash Friday 55 Halloween Edition 2020

 

 


 Welcome all, to the All Hallows' edition of the Friday 55. In a year where almost every day has felt like Halloween, it may be hard to get into the spirit of this ancient celebration of the thinning of the veil between the quick and the dead. It may be too tragic to think of all those who were here and now are gone in this year of plague rampant and its utter chaos, with a dubious future ahead.
 
Nonetheless, this exercise continues, and let the 55 chips fall where they may, as we remember happier if not scarier times, and the originator of this meme, Galen Hayes, by attempting to have a writer's kickass weekend to a radioactive Jack-O-Lantern's glow.
 
The rules remain the same. Write a poem, piece of prose poetry or flash fiction in exactly 55 words, no more, no less, and post your link in the comments below. I will be by to read whatever has haunted you this week.

The meme will be live from Thursday at the Witching Hour til Sunday at 4 pm.
 
 
~ * ~
 
Here is my 55. We have had a historic and crippling ice storm here, and the ghosts of my trees are with me in this piece.
 
 
 

 

 Icestorm
 
 
 
 
 I woke in the dryads' dying hours
to the champagne-crack of their maple towers
falling; ice-winds honed a banshee tune,
a butcher's knife to carve the pumpkin moon. 

1000 suns of supple leaf expire
when winter kicks down summer's flimsy door;
a protean shift from sheeted ice to fire
to dryads' ash on Halloween's dancing-floor.
 
 
 


October 2020







 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 Images: The Woodland Dryad, © Jesse T. Banfield, 1913 via wikimedia commons Fair Use
Redbud ruins, October 2020 ice storm, © joyannjones