Friday, February 9, 2018

Friday 55 February 8 2018

In all the usual goings on I somehow lost track of the days of the week, and so this presentation of the 55 is a bit mangled. But the rhyme and reason remain the same--55 words of prose or poetry, no more, no less, and no rules except to follow the gone but never forgotten G-man's precept to have a kickass weekend whenever possible. If you have risen to the challenge this week, leave a link in the comments below between Friday and Sunday morning, and I will be by to see the result.

I myself have had no time, muse, or space to write, so I cobbled something up from old notebooks, old times, and a challenge at  Real Toads   from 55er and poet extraordinaire, Susie Clevinger, on the celebrated stairway to heaven.





Goodnight On The Stairs




White moonflower,
grapefruit and dust

scent the cast-off shirt-tails 
of my sleepless love.

Mauve wallflower
jasper and rust

open up the dusk,
confound the cognoscenti,

quiet the bridling bears.
We've come

to unwrap antique bedsprings
climb poppy-petaled stairs

( tho the Dispossessor
waits to take his cut )

for the kissing sanctuary
of  goodnight, eyes shut.
  

 ~February 2018











Images: Flowers on the Stairs, by Stefan Kuchian    Public Domain
Kiss of the Sea, ©Octavio Ocampo   Fair Use



26 comments:

  1. Here is my bit for this week:

    http://magalyguerrero.com/how-to-keep-wannabe-autocrats-from-walling-your-weird-in-5-not-so-easy-steps/

    I shall return when I'm fully conscious. :-)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Good--I prefer my readers fully--or at least mostly--conscious. ;) Loved your 55 and its celebration of what makes life worth living--the Weird.

      Delete
  2. A fine 55 and stair-mount, with a poppy in her hair and a Bronx cheer for the Dispossessor on the stair and his serpentine turpentine of sibilants. This could soothe any fevered brow. At the top, that wonderful "kissing sanctuary / of goodnight" -- "eyes shut" the deific button, the way a spanking is audibile to the gods when bare-bottomed. Thanks for this durable revenant. I consider my kick-ass weekend imbued.

    My 55: https://blueoran.wordpress.com/2018/02/09/dotin-odin/

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Not so sure about the spanking, tho it seems more merciful than say, a sacrificial knife--but whatever turns you on, B. I'm glad you liked it. I wish I could still write like this at will, but to everything there is the proverbial season, and it is apparently a time to mourn and be dry.

      Delete
  3. So few people write actual poetry. That's just one of the reasons why I love coming here, because YOU DO. My favorite is the bridling bears. Sleep is such a welcome respite from the avalanche of what-have-you that gets launched our way each day. I often think what a stroke of genius it was on the part of the Big Lego Assembler In The Sky to have divided time into 24 hour segments, half light, half dark. I think I would have lost my mind many times over by now if not for the respite of sleep and the fresh start in the morning.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, dear Shay. The real poetry of this I wrote many months ago--it seems elusive and beyond me now, but maybe someday it will return. And yes, sleep is a saving grace without which life would be just too cruel.

      Delete
  4. I stood on those stairs for you. If this is 'a bit mangled' I fear your thought-through's *grin* Happy weekend to you, here's mine
    https://gsp-shadow.blogspot.co.za/2018/02/its-rainy-day.html

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. WiTH you, not fOr you tut tut smiles

      Delete
    2. Thanks, and happy weekend in return--lovely to see you participate.

      Delete
  5. hola Hedge. my effort is not particularly fort but what the hey. ass-kicking is coming my way anyways, so may as well scratch one out.

    as for yours - killer ending. and what B said about the Bronx cheer to that damned dispossessor. that slumbering sanctuary is, I'm afraid, out of my reach (you are also familiar with the 3 am haunt) - but one can wish. ~

    sliver

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yeah, the ass-kicking is always with us, not to mention the 3 am vigil. Thanks for the kind words--and for playing fort or piano, either one.

      Delete
  6. This is a spell clad in layers. I'm enchanted by how many different things this poem can be, depending on how we look at it. My favorite aspect is the plea for freedom from those who think they know what the world is (or should be) for everyone one else. I also enjoy that, in a way, this gem of a poem is the prayer most us say (or wish we could say) when we are about to close the door on the chatter that feeds the day, as in setting boundaries between all the arguments we've been having online and face to face, quieting the voices before going to bed, kissing the rest of the world goodnight (on our doorstep) before we go on to dream on our own terms. I really love this, J.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you dear Magaly. Yes, that closing off to give oneself up to peace is what keeps us sane, I think.

      Delete
  7. untitled as yet...hit and run posting tonight...back for reading tomorrow xxx Have a Kick Ass Weekend y'all xxx

    ReplyDelete
  8. https://paulscribbles.wordpress.com/2018/02/02/16531/

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Enjoyed this much, Paul--so glad you could join us.

      Delete
  9. I wrote a lengthy praise for this poem and the internet ate it. So, I'll try again. This poem speaks of a stair climb to sanctuary, to sleep. It is a chance to slip into dreams where the mad world doesn't invade. It feels also like sensual rebellion. Two people climb through minds who think they know it all or should inject their opinion to steal the moment, but there is a kiss, a nose thumb, at their attempted intervention. It is a perfect poem form my prompt at Real Toads.

    My poem is rather dark, callous. Lives up to my blog name. :)

    https://blackinkhowl.blogspot.com/2018/02/through-my-claws.html

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. "...Star tattooed night was the heaven/where hell sipped champagne..." that's going to stay with me awhile, and it's also one of those rare occasions when I can say, I wish I'd written it--what a killer 55. Thanks for playing Susie, (and adding one of the elements for a kickass weekend for *me.*)

      Delete
  10. I hope you're in the mood for utter foolishness!

    http://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-ballad-of-miroslav-barinsky.html

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Still chortling softly to myself. Galen is too, wherever he may be, and thinking up a wisecrack to reply. Thanks for starting my day with a paroxysm of giggles, amid regrets for poor Miroslav, who just had too many kickass weekends.

      Delete
  11. I so love the climbing of the poppy-petaled stairs. Your imagery is always magical. This is beautiful to read and envision.

    ReplyDelete
  12. Your poem is so beautiful, Joy. It made my eyes sting.

    ReplyDelete
  13. The 55 is closed till next Friday. Thanks to all who came by to play or to read, and see you next week.

    ReplyDelete