Sunday, April 8, 2012

Seven of Cups


Seven of Cups


I thought I’d become
a seer of truths said
sister to larks
keeper of secrets;
instead,
  sneaker of regrets 
tarot cardsharper‘s mark

bested in bargains
somersaulting a fool's grin
because I look back 
and see I was wrong,
 not about the song
the number
the lost hour or place,

 name with the face 
where I left the keys
not about what
to call the mockingbird
or the tune on the breeze
suspended chords half heard
nor arpeggios light plays

of the color blue tipping
waterfall yesterdays
rippling 
eyes suddenly green
but 
about
everything.



April 2012





My seventh poem for the eighth day of April, National Poetry Month. Maybe by the end of the month I'll have caught up.




Process Notes: For more detail on the tarot, you can read the wiki on the Seven of Cups here
and the Fool here.


Header Image: Seven of Cups, 1909 Rider-Waite Tarot, public domain in the US via wikimedia commons
Footer Image: The Fool, 1909Rider Waite Tarot, public domain in the US via wikimedia commons

8 comments:

  1. I love the language and imagery in this Joy. Knowing absolutely nothing about Tarot cards I don't understand it at an intellectual level, but I certainly respond to its cadences.

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  2. Cups are my favorite suit - belong as they do to the heart, the sea, and grails. Yet seven's not an especially fortuitous number in the deck (one or three, them's the ticket), so only in reverse does the card grace the Subject. And the heart, of course, is subject to all manner of foolishness, taking the world at its word. Sorry Charlie, we don't like tuna with good taste, nor do we care to leave the football where you can actually kick it. How's the old adage go, we're fooled worse by what we think we know best? At least there's always another spread, another triptych of runes, another foolish gambol in the dream's bouillabaisse, another poem. I'm sure someone's written a cycle of poems on the Rider Deck Tarot but this single one suffices. That ole dunce of a heart is always smiling at the sun walking off the cliff, singing all the way down hair nose and eyeballs to humble dirt once again. But better to have fallen than have never loved at all, eh? I'll take my sevens straight up. Loved it. - Brendan

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    1. Delusions get us through, so many times, just having them makes the difference, but they run their course and the time comes for the card to reverse with a wake-up call--I generally just find new ones that fit better then, and continue to whistle my way off the cliff. Flying, falling--there's a difference? (Not till you land, anyway.)This poem owes it's general drift to another truth-finding as well, that the way we think it is is not the way it is at all. Thanks for that one, and for reading, B.

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  3. i will honestly say i know little as well about the cards..but i know about being wrong about many a thing...smiles...i probably fall suit tot the heart and its foolishness far more than i should...i think the greater fool believes they have figured anything out...

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  4. isn't it the truth, that there's always something to learn, always an opportunity to be undone by belief. well said. i looked up the seven of cups and it is said to mean choices. interesting...

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  5. Ha! I have to say I know nothing about the Tarot, except some occasional online silly readings, but the flow here is lovely, a bit of a waterfall tipping blue. k.

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  6. This tripped so joyfully along, even though the would-be seeker of truth becomes the sneaker of regrets and no sister to the larks, but a stumbling fool. What fun, all the same.

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  7. Ah, the Seven Deadly Delusions! The ending of this is just perfect!

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