Saturday, June 6, 2015

Violet Crush



Violet Crush



"Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it."
~Mark Twain







Your hope's a hoop
swallowing its tail, your
forgiveness a rosewood
casket, shut   
on the smell 
of something gone.

You can't peddle your
punk beacons here
as the peace of light,
buzzing the moon's ears
with one-eyed drones.

Here I build silence
with the end of strength
so there will be time
for the truth.


~June 2015







posted for    real toads



Weekend Challenge: Flash Fiction 55
Kerry's Plus to the 55 factor this time is to use a quote from Brainy Quote's Quote of the Day archive. I have pulled mine from their vast reservoir of the master of quotable quotes, Mark Twain











Image: White Violet, copyright joyannjones 2015

19 comments:

  1. The opening hoop of hope made me think of ouroboros, constantly recreating itself. Sounds like a politician to me. The one eyed drones, not much peace. And not sure there is much place for truth their words. Batten down the hatches, it is only just beginning.

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  2. I wonder if forgiveness ever can be fully accepted. Maybe a rosewood casket is the best place to store those words that might be shed without meaning.

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  3. That is a most amazing quote!
    I love the Ouroborus-like opening image. However, this takes it away for me:

    Here I build silence
    with the end of strength

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  4. The truth can never be hidden for long.. as its light shines from within..!
    A most exquisite piece :D

    Lots of love,
    Sanaa

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  5. The Twain quote made me go "whoa!"..........and your poem is brilliant.

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  6. Hey Joy--what a vivid poem--hard to believe that it is 55 words. First, I love the Twain--what a great metaphor that is. And you seem to turn it on its swallowed tail--at first, I wasn't sure that the "you" was negative, in that hope does in fact feed on itself, and the rosewood casket could be an expression of forgetting as well as forgiving--although the fact that it's a casket doesn't make it seem so nice. But of course, when you get to the punk beacons--I think of punk as in that kind of rotten wood--in my case, I keep thinking of beacons made out of mallow--is that what it is? You know cattails? And the drones seemed very much to me like the moon's mosquitoes. (Though I understand of course that there are the double meanings of punk and drones, which is why those are such great word choices.) Wonderful alliteration through out all this by the way-- I am contemplating a time for truth, instead of a"space" for truth, which is what would come more quickly to my ear--but i am sure that you chose the word purposefully--and it does fit with the end of strength, which again has kind of a double meaning--the end of your strength as builder, but also the end of a time of strength of, perhaps, the punk beaconer--Anyway, cool--interesting--very compressed--and white-hot too (but not like a punk beacon--ha!) I really love that image by the way--I have one very strongly in my head, but I am lucky enough to live in a place where we have cattails--(and not the kind I'm allergic too.) k.

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    1. Thanks, k--yes that was the kind of punk I meant--old rotten wood that really doesn't burn well, and also, when we were children, we were allowed on the Fourth of July to carry 'punks,' some sort of smoldering stick-thing that did nothing but send up a constant smoke--I always preferred sparklers, but those were for when we were older.Anyway, not sure about mallow or cattails. The word 'space' was there originally--I don;t know how you pick up on these things, but in the editing process, I decided time was the word I wanted, as that is what is much less flexible. Glad you enjoyed it and look forward to yours.

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  7. Love the "punk beacons" in the midst of an almost classically written lovely piece -

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  8. That's the kind of silence that's deafening. This is a powerful write, Hedge.

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  9. That first stanza totally blew me away.

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  10. Here I build silence
    with the end of strength
    so there will be time
    for the truth.

    A good strategy to bid for time. And forgiveness is certainly a virtue! Great lines Joy!

    Hank

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  11. For me this was the Twain quote turned on its head, as if forgiveness was the wholly wrong odor of the time. Doormats aren't woven out of silence, and truths aren't approached by laying down too gently with the offense. Sorry if I missed the mark. Title and first stanza crumpled the quote for me and tossed it out the window.

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    1. Yes, it was turning the quote on its head, just for this poem--in general I find the other meaning more profound, and probably what Twain intended--but there are things that shouldn't be forgiven, or that forgiveness makes mock of (more what I meant, as you picked up in doormat, a very common pattern in domestic abuse--thinking Duggars) and hoping can also be a way of remaining blind. (ie, the proverbial definition of insanity) Anyway, not too far off the mark at all--thanks for reading B.

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  12. That last stanza says it all. I realize this is a personal kind of poem, but the world at large needs a lot more silence and a lot more truth. All the punks and caskets that are constantly shoved out there with all attendant fanfare only amount to "sound and fury, signifying nothing" while truth waits...and waits.

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  13. Ha, I read it as 'pink beacons' at first, but that fitted perfectly well for me, as denoting a shallow kind of sweetness-and-light. Silence, strength, truth — they do seem preferable.

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  14. I am amazed it is only 55 words. I love everything about it. "Your hope's a hoop swallowing its tail" That is a powerful line. I have always loved the quote you chose.

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  15. Really wonderful rallying cry against hypocrisy and refusing to play along with it

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  16. I also love the Ourobos quote, and the punk, and the hope : hoop. ~

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  17. The first stanza brings so many images into my mind... create so many wonderful questions... makes me want to stand really close to this speaker and her subject, and see their expressions as the emotions flow out of them.

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