Sunday, June 28, 2020

The Rose In The Maze





The Rose In The Maze




From night's peak the color-thieving haze
came blowing down just before the dawn
pulled hissing thru a deep brown camel's eye,
desert's shifting face deskinned and drawn
three thousand miles across the sea to daze
anew the eyes already fey, to grey each face,
salting every indrawn breath with lye,
hiding the rose in the center of the maze.


No different than the incidental drape
of caustic fog upon the casement of the times,
another baffling slap to the heart's blind bird
whose only instinct ever was to fly
uncaged, to make her thousand mile escape,
to give her feathers to the wind to break
or hold, to find somewhere a living branch unburned
and sing to the hidden rose no one can take.



June 2020
















posted for



















Process note: There is a massive cloud of Saharan dust covering a large portion of the southeastern US and other areas at the moment, causing hazy skies and respiratory problems for some. Here is a link to some info, and pics of how it appears in the Caribbean, from BBC.


















Images: White Rose in Pink Smoke, artist unknown, courtesy of Sunday Muse   Fair Use
A stylized textile book covering from the Netherlands, circa 1615-1650, depicting a rose  Fair Use




Friday, June 26, 2020

The Foresters


[SCROLL DOWN THE PAGE FOR THE FRIDAY 55]









The Foresters





We gathered wood for
a winter we'd never see;
not to keep others warm
but so each stiff tree's arm
yielding to the saw with a whistling sigh
would sketch a rune of twigs, a ghosted fire
to magic into being our desire.


We gathered fuel against a
north-blown frost, thin-sliver shavings
to take the match of want
to a bed of coals where we'd transmuted lie,
fuel for the flame as the flames rose high
from our wedding pyre,
ash on the smoke-rise snapping in the sky.


We tore that chainsaw through a scrub-oak sea, 
worked wedge and maul ignorant of what bleeds
at the quick mistake, at what would fall, 
gathering sticks
for a hearth we'd never be,
any more than the promise
of saw-dusted seed,


the marriage in the trees
dropped unburied in the broken green.



June 2017

















A reboot of an oldie never blogged, 
 a twist on Monday's theme of culture and nature
posted for earthweal's Open Link





















Images: The Wood Sawyers, 1850-52, by Jean-Francois Millet  manipulated    Public Domain
Landscape with Stump, 1892, by Ivan Shiskin      manipulated                       Public Domain



Flash Friday Fiction 55 for June 2020







Welcome all. 
I know this is a difficult, even overwhelming time for many of us, 
especially when it comes to writing. I offer the 55 as an aid to composition, as a celebration of times gone by, and for my own spur to write, and I have no expectations of anyone but myself, so if you wish to participate, that is great, but if words do not come, not even 55, I understand that as well.

The rules are as always: 
write a poem, prose poem or piece of flash fiction on any subject in exactly 55 words, no more, no less. Post the link to your entry in the comments, and I will be by to read and comment on what you have written.

Having a kickass weekend is not obligatory, but always advised.


The prompt will be live from midnight Thursday til Sunday at 4:00 PM.



~*~

My 55:










War Of A Thousand Battles



Here's the war
of a thousand battles,
a hundred years,
war of roses
and dust.

Fight to standstill
ten dozen champions;
sometimes a win
if winning is
fighting again, 

sometimes a loss;
but always on guard in
the bloody brawl
til old soldiers
throw down the gun
and wait for
the last wave to come.







June 2020
































Images: Head of an Old Peasant, 1874, by Ivan Kramskoy      Fair Use
The Night Guard, by Odd Nerdrum             Fair Use





Friday, June 19, 2020

January House








January House





Fierce-As-Red-Hair and Fly-As-A-Fox
from the liminal's edge came to pick the locks

dressed in their frills
for thrills and kills
they opened the door
and live here still.


Fly-As-A-Fox and Fierce-As-Red-Hair
can spin windershins and dance on green air

with nightshade brows
and bones of mouse
they climbed the steps of
the January house.


Fly and Fierce have a skull that sings
have pleated blue smocks and onyx rings
on the balcony standing with little sharp things

that gleam by moon's eye
where you cannot pass by
unless you dance
 with Fierce and Fly.


Don't splash through the mud where the lily nods.
Don't go to a church where you don't know the gods.

There's no time to pray
and the blood has its way
when Fierce and Fly
come out to play.





June 2020













 posted for














 Note: The flowering plant below the girls in this picture is agapanthus, or Lily of the Nile, native to South Africa. It is not a lily, and not from the Nile tho it does like a warm climate and a moist soil.








Image: color (not colorized) photograph from 1908, author unknown, manipulated