Sunday, April 2, 2017

Longship





Longship



A dream that runs
like a deer in a wolfpack:

men cluster round me,
coyotes by streetlight,
streams of bright coins
pour from their mouths.

They dig  up the world-tree;
I steal it back, water its
 hole big as the moon.
It bobs like a bottle:

dead wood floating
goes to make a live longship.



~April 2017























Images: Yggdrasil, Longboat with lightning, authors unknown, via google image search


14 comments:

  1. An Okie witch is a lonely cork on a Redstate tide, fer sure ... There's more than lemons-into-lemonade going on here. To be proper myths, they must dream onward. In my reading, the harrows of the eviscerated Tree reveal an ocean to cross, albeit in the hallows of a hearse. "dead wood floating / goes to make a live longship" is stellar and revolutionary. It's probably why I find such comfort in abandoned churches. Scary dream though.

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    1. Yes, it was. I told you I dream of Trump almost every night, always in some harmless guise, but I nonetheless wake up in gooseflesh. The mythic voyage our species is on is full of disguises and much more twisted than this poem makes it, but sometimes we just raise the closest sail. Thanks, B.

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  2. Each stanza captures an image as arcane as myth. You delve into the recesses of collective memory, and set the course for the journey.

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  3. Smooth move, woman. I always have respect for a competent thief, especially one who does such ideal things with the stolen item! Love the coins.

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  4. This is almost like you merged the Yggdrasil with Noah... the world becoming a longship. Maybe I'm overreaching... I would go with this longship rather than staying on the scorched ground.

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  5. nightmaring of the cheetoh nightly. oy.

    the longship makes me think of the long view. and what will come after we chop down all the trees

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    1. Sometimes he's an amusing cartoon fish, though, so it's not all bad. ;)

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  6. I've always found driftwood art, boats and furniture attractive and necessary. Still, I can never get myself to completely forget that in order to them something had to die... Your poem makes me think of that, and of our current social situation... Then again, it seems everything makes me think of our social situation. *sigh*

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    1. I know--it's like a disease or a smell that has penetrated everything. Thanks, Magaly--and yes, everything comes about through the sacrifice of something else, I suppose....not a great comfort, but something to think even the worst is not all waste.

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  7. You depict so powerfully the recesses of collective memory, and set the course for the journey. Sigh..

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  8. Allow me to add one more element to this wonder. Were the wolves attractive?

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  9. The power of transformation! Hope you are writing all your dreams, Messenger.

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  10. The image of a deer running with the wolfpack carries great symbolism here for me...gentle soul...vulnerable in the face of other...powerful...the dream is full of myth and magic and perhaps foreboding.

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  11. I don't dream.. At least I don't think I do. I hope we can steal it back. Every day I dread the news. When can we stop Trannon the Destroyer?

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