Friday, May 25, 2018

Friday 55 May 25 2018

Welcome to another careen of words, carousel of craft, caravan of form and fuss--the G-man's meme, originated by a host remembered for bringing laughter and support, the flash fiction 55. As usual, there are no rules except the word count, 55 of them, no more, no less, poetry or prose, satire, lyric, or narrative, whatever brings a gloss to your ink. Link your effort in the comments below between Friday and Saturday at midnight, and I will be by to see what you have come up with. Please bear with me as I will be off in chaos country much of the time.


My 55 this week....





Absence and Dismay






By nightlight
your face withdrawn
paler than pillows
than appleblossom
warmed open
blurring for the bee
stilled in the comb.

Here, darkening
red spit of annihilation,
black ash of the curse,
 joker's smile
on mimewhite skin,
thin snow of an off-year
over the stubborn skull

and a nightbird to
sing to us
whatever is left.





~May 2018

















Images: Detail, Apple Tree In Blossom, Gustave Caillebotte, 1885, Public Domain
Night, c. 1953 ©Marc Chagall, Fair Use

30 comments:

  1. Few absences affect us as deeply as the absence of a person whose body is lying right next to us day after day after day... Ghosts--terrible ghosts--do exist. They wear the faces of those we love (or loved) and can no longer reach. At first, I felt terribly sorry for the speaker, then I realized that the subject might be suffering just as much--everyone loses when love goes away, when it dies, leaving the pale corpse of its memory behind. But... at least, there is birdsong, even if the music is most likely heartbreaking.

    Speaking of songs, the musicality of the first stanza sings itself into the bone.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks for reading with the heart, dear Magaly, and for your ability to get down to the truth of human things.

      Delete
  2. And here is my wee bit:

    http://magalyguerrero.com/she-wants/

    ReplyDelete
  3. Chagall and Turner both speak to me of late - I saw one of the latter's paintings I hadn't seen before somewhere. Maybe Stephen Ellcock on Instagram (an excellent art account to follow, esp. as he keeps getting banned by FB for posting anti-Nazi images. so yeah.) Anyways, I wonder if the only birds that will remain are the blackbirds and brown that don't so much as sing, as squawk - and what a song that will be.

    And the image you draw also speaks to me of a personal nature - someone seen up close. Maybe it's all of us.

    I mostly only write 55's anymore, but will link one anyways - digital paper, as it were, merely good to crumple

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I have followed Ellcock on FB for years, and notice he is often not there--thanks for the explanation. I don't do instagram much yet--maybe someday. AFA mostly writing only 55's--it's no loss with your touch for them. Thanks for the kind words, for reading, responding, and playing, M--if such a bloodwriting as we do can be called play.

      Delete
    2. well, a cold is kicking my ass this week, but in the vein of our dearly departed Galen, back at ya. Here's to not getting nuked by NK this weekend, which would really put a dent into property values here - well, maybe bring them back 20% and save on electricity - who needs streetlights when the streets glow? (/sarcasm)

      Delete
  4. Such a backforth rhythmus to this Hedge, alternating sweet and devastating. That's how it plays out, doesn't it, chorused by the lonely nightbird. Amen. Kicks with weekend's ass with a velveteen slipper.

    A doomy 55, and a more roomy one:

    https://blueoran.wordpress.com/2018/05/25/thanatos/

    https://blueoran.wordpress.com/2018/05/25/reading-philip-roth/

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Your double shot goes down smooth, B. I saw the notice of Roth's passing--the news machine played some clips of some of his rather revolutionary remarks as well--I need to do some reading one of these days when life gives me time.

      Delete
  5. I know I shouldn't just quote your own words back here, but damn, I love the
    "thin snow of an off-year
    over the stubborn skull"
    Here's my 55:
    https://othermary.wordpress.com/2018/05/25/mom/
    Thank you so much for this.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you right back, Mary--no point in doing it if it doesn't draw people into writing, so always glad when you pop up with your words for us.

      Delete
  6. I think maybe the saddest poetic words I have ever read, so very well written. Filled me up.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Oh, Joy. This brought tears. It seems beside the point to say how masterfully it is written when it contains such sharp, true, awful sorrow.

    here is my much less worthy poem:

    http://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2018/05/remember.html

    ReplyDelete
  8. The tone of this sent shivers down my spine. The ghostly apparition is more of a haunting. you darken it further with black ash... and then mercifully it lifts with the promise of birdsong. I like where you took me with this.

    ReplyDelete
  9. And here's my 55! Here's to a great weekend! In the UK, it's a public holiday on Monday (can't remember what for)...so we're going to rest and/or eat silly.

    http://smellthecoffeeweb.com/2018/05/25/pause-of-a-woman/

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Vivian, for playing, and for your kind words.

      Delete
  10. Here is mine: https://kanzensakura.wordpress.com/2018/05/25/gardenias/ This poem of yours Joy, it is devastating. The second stanza is devastating in its pain. In spite of the promise of birdsong, ghosts arise with the thin snow. It seems to be a week for this sort of poem. Ghosts of old lovers and ghosts of live lovers. This was absolutely splendid.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Toni. Your poem was also full of ghosts for me. They seem real enoug to touch sometimes, don't they?

      Delete
  11. Http://Somthingsithinkabout-annell-annell.blogspot.com

    The last words of your poem, stood out for me. When all is lost, what is left? A question hard to answer. Perhaps the "nightbird," does know the answer?

    Happy Holiday!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. For some reason your link is not working annell--here is the correct one:

      http://somethingsithinkabout-annell-annell.blogspot.com/

      Thanks so much for joining us today.

      Delete
    2. Thank you Hedgewitch. What becomes of a 55, is what it is. Thanks for fixing my link, I see I forgot an "e." I like the 55.

      Delete
  12. This is heartbreaking, Joy. Such fragility, the apple blossom, the pale, beloved face.

    ReplyDelete
  13. Here is my little bit of gristle.

    http://kerryoconnorsother.blogspot.co.za/2018/05/flyblown.html

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Gristle indeed, but still, definitely something to chew on. Glad you made it Kerry, and thanks for your reading as well.

      Delete
  14. fine job with yr imagery (and yr choice of visual imagery, too)
    This is the 1st time I've joined in with the 55 fun/ thanx for the go. gr melvin
    https://wordpress.com/post/namelessneed.wordpress.com/7922

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. This must be the weekend for linkage hijacking; the one above just takes me to a generic blurb for wordpress but never fear, I found your blog anyway--Here's the correct link to your fine 55 Gary:

      https://namelessneed.wordpress.com/2018/05/26/searching-the-straight-sea/

      Very glad you joined the party.

      Delete
  15. This poem is so filled with poem... a parting can never be more painful when the chasm widen in the middle of the room.. when sea fills the bed... two shipwrecked souls set adrift. You capture a pain I always fear... Maybe that's my poem seems to be written from a similar perspective.

    https://brudberg.me/2018/05/26/the-last-fly-of-summer/

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. All melancholy hears the same tunes, I think, Bjorn. Thanks for bringing your addition to the mix.

      Delete
  16. This is crushing - agony for the breath - still - stilled in the night, awakening to dawn, yet again. It is powerful - full of both blessing and curse - pleas for bargaining, and of the torturous soul-filled with a wealth of emotions held silent - in the darkest of chambers, beyond the soul. It is tumultuous yet achingly gentle - like a screaming match conducted within the spirit and head of one witness - yet also speaks softly, so tenderly of love -

    I am sitting and itching for the counterpoint of the words, and yet the mixed and very intense sentiments, depth of feelings Joy. These words are truly precise, scalpel wielded, forgiving yet unforgiven, and certainly mined and minced not. Your ability to cross over and speak from 2 points of view here, (my reading and feelings and what I hear) speak of the hardest aspect of life and death - these incredible cycles, and managing (as witness) and considering the immortality of one's self as well. Very poignant - and truly astonishing word choices that really do capture how it unfolds for some. And what the mind that notices considers in the moment - attempts to describe and translate.
    I am struck by the strength here, and within you - and am so engrossed with all of it - each stanza - but particularly this one:

    on mimewhite skin,
    thin snow of an off-year
    over the stubborn skull


    I wish you strength and rest, and piece of mind, and peace - this long weekend (I presume) - kick ass as best you can.

    Here are my thoughts for this week:


    http://papertiger88.blogspot.ca/2018/05/waiting-on-rainbow-prison.html

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you willow. You totally get it, and whenever that happens, it brings me great satisfaction. I appreciate both your insights and your thoughtful and caring remarks. Many thanks for that, and for joining us with an awesome 55 yourself.

      Delete
  17. It's been a great Flash Fiction 55, but all good things must end--for this week, anyway. Thanks to everyone who put pen to electrical paper, or who just came by to read. See you next Friday.

    ReplyDelete