Sunday, February 26, 2012

Mirage

Mirage



Can I trace it, that spider footed midnight kiss
that once walked its lips across my crying skin?

Is it hung head down in the cobweb spun across my
crumpled cheek; waiting still? starved rigid?

But no, it ran; I see its mark, staggering spider steps
through dry sand floating on the dust of desert years

at home in emptiness, a secret life uncurled after the
scirocco passes, charming away dead flesh from bone

not even a smell to hang in the drying frame of air.
Any little busy thing consuming convenient corpses

to white skull’s stare knows each precious drop preserves
savor and sweat for a  hankering life spent waiting

for the next foolish thing to drop, hamstrung by thirst
lost beyond finding, hallucinating deliverance

blinded by a lunatic sun that tilts the web's sweet spin
to catch an oasis kiss and in mirage to live again.



February 2012


Posted for  real toads

Sunday Challenge
featuring Ellen Wilson



Top Image: Web, by Ellen Wilson
Footer image: Blossom, by Ellen Wilson
of Ella's Edge, Used with permission. 

25 comments:

  1. this was a harder read for me, kinda different flow..

    what i like is def the imagery...the teasing of dead meat from bone the drying frame...the time of desert...i know that...

    the spider almost a companion within that time...

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    1. Yes, the spider beats the competition. Thanks for reading, brian, and for getting it.

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  2. The images and the word craft required a slower reading from me, and it was worth it. Nicely done.

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  3. Love can be a mirage. You painted the feeling , so well. I loved all the guided imagery.. It was a journey. You shared so many intimate moments, I was caught up in web. Well done

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  4. This is filled --filled!--with gorgeous images and phrasing, one upon the other. For some reason, I like that the spider "walks" its lips across skin..."starved rigid", what a startling and perfect expression of dried-up want...."charming away" the flesh from bone; you might have expressed that a dozen ways, but you chose this, and it says more than another word would have. "Any little busy thing"...conveys a certain fussy, make-work smallness. But the rest of the poem just breaks my heart, as it does every time you write about "blue nowhere." This is really good, and really sad.

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  5. Oh the opening couplet just seized me, and I thought: Here comes something BIG! Once we have had, the not having is life-sapping... That's what these lines say to me, as they spin out to the final lines in resolution.

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    1. Thanks Kerry. Yes, that's it, and of course, as we get old we have to come to terms with never having them again, quite that way. But a little mirage every now and then can't hurt.

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  6. God, I wish you'd stop writing these little fluff pieces and get serious!

    Now, I'll get serious. The phrasing of this is flawless. I love the way it gathers speed and intensity, perfectly conveying that downhill slide. Gorgeous writing, Hedge.

    Do I smell hair burning?

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    1. After the last couple of posts from you and FB, I know I have none left to burn. Thank god for all my old hippie head rags.

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  7. Oh my goodness, this is absolutely brilliant, culminating in two lines that are sheer wonderment. Wowzers, kiddo.

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  8. "blinded by a lunatic sun"

    Wow, just wow. This is so well-written! The images in this are quite compelling!

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  9. unusual imagery ... really liked how it made me rethink conventional meanings and create something new just for this poem

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  10. I had to read this one a couple of times...the imagery is fascinating...spider footed midnight kiss, crying skin...I love the ending. Love it!

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  11. "crying skin" "desert years" "charming away dead flesh from bone" "Any busy little thing"

    i may as well stop quoting and just say every word from start to finish is the perfect word. this gave me shivers ~ your writing is brilliant!

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    1. Thank you, Dani. I need to make it by your place and see what you've been up to lately (besides no good, I mean.)

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  12. much beauty in this descriptive piece

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  13. Your imagery here is so unique and yet so appropriate for the seeming fragility of the spider's web. Love that "oasis kiss" and "lunatic sun"!

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  14. Oasis kiss, such a beautiful thought. The entire close so strong for meAny little busy thing consuming convenient corpses

    to white skull’s stare knows each precious drop preserves
    savor and sweat for a hankering life spent waiting

    for the next foolish thing to drop, hamstrung by thirst
    lost beyond finding, hallucinating deliverance

    blinded by a lunatic sun that tilts the web's sweet spin
    to catch an oasis kiss and in mirage to live again.

    (though I think I'm also a sucker for anything with scirocco.)

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    1. It's a great word--and it means both ways--drying dusty wind/ wind bringing rain. I love words like that. Thanks, K.

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  15. This one just breaks my heart. The waiting, the hoping, the fragility. Your imagery is wonderful. And I wish I had your vocabulary!!!

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  16. A fine poem and a fine image.

    not even a smell to hang in the drying frame of air.

    This, a stupendous line, I thought.

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  17. The image of the thin black spider running along certainly stuck in my head. And the skull. This affair seems to hint deadliness. Thoroughly entranced by the words and imagery you used.

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  18. This is the kind of poem that should be read out loud by a skilled emotional reader! The imagery and the emotions it brings forth are... beyond words!

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  19. Between inner and outer life, art and heart, word and world, self and beloved this fleeting mirage that is both web and crystal bower somehow, both gossamer and most real in fading. Did Orpheus love Eurydice any more than when he turned in exultation to reach for her hand, successfully singing her back from death, only to watch her visage tremble and disappear with a sigh? What room of the grail castle did we pass through, all those years ago, where heart approached infinity with a kiss? Like tales of Eden, that memory, that golden moment, durable no matter how much the reality of such hopes crumble away. Even the spider's gone, yes: but where does that "lunatic sun" come from, or rather return from, to catch an light the web with every possibility as if no time had ever passed. Finely worked metaphor, Hedge, uncapping a deeply articulate well of reflection. - Brendan

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg