Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Affinity


Affinity





Do the stars
call to each other
as you call to me
a restless wave
across infinite dark
spark to cellular spark?
Is it distance you see
measuring me
or disastrous proximity
the way light bends congruent lines
a star-egg prism'd warm
from eye to eye
before the breaking door,
the solar storm of crypted time?
Can those hunting specks
that dust the desert blue
in their shaken glass globe so
identically bright, so sweet/saltpeter sour,
in their cyclopean run
in the isolate absence of heat
dance the desolate dying of suns
knowing they'll never meet?



~July 2014







Optional Musical Accompaniment





posted for    real toads

Kerry's Wednesday Challenge: Alienation in Outer Space
 Kerry O'Connor(Skylover, Skywriting) has brought David Bowie, post-modern alienation, what it means to listen, and outer space together for one of her always compelling challenges.



For some unknown reason, perhaps because this is Kerry's prompt and I know her love of forms, I had an impulse to rewrite this poem as a sonnet. As always in these free verse-to-form exercises, it's the same, only different. (Please don't feel, anyone, that you have to read both--just my over-achieving self-indulgence.)


Affinity
(sonnet)





Do stars so far call out one to another
the way your call to me crosses infinite dark,
small voice to voice pitched low, never uncovered,
restless wavering spark to cellular spark?
Is it distance that you see, measuring me
or the damage of diffracting proximity,

the way the light at dawn bends congruent lines
in colors breaking down the prism's door?
The ragged beat tapped out by contracting time
compels the specks that dust the ballroom floor
so identically bright, so sweet/saltpeter sour,
sparkling as their shaken glass globe's devoured,

to make that falling run in isolate absence of heat
and dance the dying of suns, knowing they'll never meet.

(July 2014)








Images: The Voice of The Blood, 1948, Rene Magritte
Time, by Wojciech Siudmak
Fair use via wikiart.org

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Cotton


Cotton






You rolled me up to store
in a tender corner, cleaned linen-white
to wipe a glass delirium full
of Friday's crumpled cotton night.

Outside the walls grew red
with curious oleander,
sun's slow summer urge 
to break the blizzard's back,

still I spread soft,
your burden and your bundle,
your thinking pile of rags
that sometimes brayed

the shrill laugh of Coyote in moonlight's shade
striping blue my fabric face
so briskly shaken into folds
yet at your sudden touch, so smooth and plain.

When the snapping slice of scissors came
to cut the muslin muzzle and cotton chains,
I knew I'd never be that soft, that clean again.




~July 2014 





posted for    real toads





Challenge: Play it Again
Margaret Bednar(Art Happens 365) has again chosen three Toads memes for us to revisit. I usually try to pick one I haven't done, but this time I went back to grapeling's first word list to borrow some inspiration. You can find my earlier poem for it here.








Image: Solarization, 1931, by Man Ray
Fair Use via wikiart.org



Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Fossil


Fossil




Worm to shell
shaft to womb
soul to soul
we lay so many times
that inside grew the outside
whorl by whorl.
Your script of touch
became a scroll
a star carved arabesque
upon the skin we layered
kiss by kiss,
stone flowers for
 the cover of our rest;
small, so small,
my love, the
fossil of that whole.





~July 2014









posted for     real toads

 
Challenge: Words Count With Mama Zen
The ever-tersely-eloquent Mama Zen (another damn poetry blog) asks us to write something in sixty words or less inspired by images of minute fossilized animals under magnification. See more at the toads link above.






 Optional Musical Accompaniment





Image provided by Mama Zen






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