Monday, October 6, 2014

The Walker


The Walker





I still walk 
where we met 
by the ivy tree,
he in his mask, 
his darkness, his eyes
mercury. My love
pulled down the moon
to lay with me;

while the thunder drummed,
rain sang in the leaves.
He breathed blind my eyes, he
spoke my name, 
the name no other
knew but he--
I can't tell you the things
he wanted from me.

He widened his mouth
to roar out the storm
He marked on the moon
with his knife of flint
He opened his fist
for the flight of night
closed it
and the drumming was spent.

Where the ropes of ivy
hung down from the tree
where I wrapped them tight
as he whispered to me
where I kicked my feet free
to swing in the leaves
just to see him smile
under the oak:

I still walk there,
where everything broke.



~October 2014


A little All Hallows music, please...




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Image: Untitled by Zdislav Beksinski
May be protected by copyright. Fair use via wikiart.org






22 comments:

  1. Those last two lines.. they make my heart break. Such darkness in those words...of passion lost. The images of mercury eyes and masks paints a dark enigmatic passion..

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  2. Arcane, sensuous and dangerous.. what more could one want from a ghostly love story?
    He widened his mouth
    to roar out the storm
    He marked on the moon
    with his knife of flint... Spine-chilling and brilliant.

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    1. Thanks, Kerry--had fun with this one(but we all know I have a strange idea of fun. ;_) )

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  3. Oh yes, 'tis the season! Nothing like dirtying the knuckles with fen with Mister Bad Times Again ... The vibe for me was a walking song while the witches are headed up the mountain for Walpurgis Night -- sung in unison, or perhaps with harmonies supplied by the imps. Maybe that's the view of better times hanging upside down from the desolation of Odin's tree; maybe indeed "everything broke" -- but I found it all endearing in a spooky enduring way. Let's do have some fun this month.

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    1. Oh I fully intend to, B--I have been storing up a few incantations and have no doubt there are more lurking in the deep mould of Poe's October grave, and in the woods whispering the echoes of that line of the coven marching to meet darkness on the darkest night of all. You know what they say--- witches gonna witch. ;_) And of course, the more the merrier, so feel free to chill my blood any time. Thanks for bringing your long spoon to sup here.

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  4. Yeowch. This feels like a poem of abuse to me, and so very chilling and sad--spooky in a most painful way, something about the kicking feet free and swinging to see the person smile is very childlike to me. Maybe I'm going in a wrong direction, but the last lines seem to confirm the loss/consequences of a tale that began rather like a ghost story--with lots of excitement--but that changes about the time the narrator is being made to do things. The scene very vividly set--it's interesting re the ivy tree as I can't think of a tree that is an ivy tree--I just don't know horticulture though--but then you talk of oak, and it gives the sense that the ivy is really all rather a cover-up, and he, the perpetrator, if you will, seems so very much stronger. Anyway--so my take is really a rather sad one--and the walking a revisiting to try to figure out. k. ps -- I am sorry if I'm garbled--I'm a bit afraid to roll back a comment to read it for all the problems I have with things being "eaten." K.

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    1. It is a ghost story about possession, really-- I meant it to be what is known as a cautionary tale in the Gothic vein. However, Evil is Evil--and pure Evil ---manipulative, vicious, exploitative, thriving on innocence, trust and weakness--has to be given a supernatural coating at times, because we very much would like for it not to be human--however, you see through that, k, and I can't say I disagree with your reading at all. AFA the ivy tree--as often with me, the first words of this poem were given to me without any thought--but ivy grows on many trees to the point where their own leaves are invisible and they become merely its trellis---that's the image I was going for.

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    2. Yes, that's what I thought and it is very effective on that level--like a swing/rope/coverup--k.

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  5. Oh, shivers. I'm glad to read this in bright morning light!

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  6. 'tis the season of the witch, and you are so in your element now--LOL

    (P.S. I've picked up my poetry pen again at long last)

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    1. Good to hear, Timo. Not that I don't like a good epigram.

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  7. Powerful, ominous....I was most struck by the same lines as Kerry. Brilliant writing, Joy.

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  8. ah..such enjoyable lines...so dark and vast..love this dance of power beyond our reach..lovely

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  9. Yowza! This is some ghost story--chilling, and compelling in the way of myth (ivy and death; oak and strength, but whose?). I'm with Sherry: this is brilliant. Thank you.

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  10. Your words here are music to my eyes!

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  11. Wow! Haunting, this, as I watch her wander the familiar path strewn with the detritus of what once was and the scars to prove the battle.

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  12. dang...gritty...and haunting...and perhaps in trying so hard to escape this coil...they bound themselves to the spot...a bit of hell now isnt it...smiles.

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  13. That last few lines just about did me in. Everything put together falls apart, almost like it was set up to fail. Could it all really be that hopeless? Something in us says "no" despite all.

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  14. This would look so wonderful on stage... with music, lots of music...

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  15. kicking on the swing just to see him smile under the oak... yowza.

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  16. I read a great description of an elderly woman recently: "Bones like clay pipes. She fell and everything broke." Your lines, of course, don't have this finality. Instead they offer riches to the imagination, to weary souls who walk laden with sacks of heartache.

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  17. so I read this aloud at the first reading, and silently after, and the cadence and rhyming really shone through. it is most definitely and October poem, a link between this world and some other. ~

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