Friday, June 22, 2018

Friday 55 June 22 2018

The burden of events this week is heavy. The visions before us are almost apocalyptic in their power. Yet what else can we do but write. My previous poem (on Wednesday) was my pitiful attempt not to address, but at least to respond, to the hatred, cynical evil and destruction of our world's moral and political fiber. Today, it's time for the 55. Thanks to Galen Hayes for starting this meme that is all that keeps my pen moving. There are no rules except the word count--55 words of prose or poetry, no more no less. Link your work in the comments below between Friday and Saturday at midnight, and I will be by to read.



My 55:

Dark-Lantern



The heart's a dark-lantern
thorn-cradled in
a cliff-cracking tree,
a nested-bird glimmer

in grey-green leaves 
by  perpetual sea
where language is
sibilant as spray,

arcane as whales' song,
grey-green as their play.
Light itself speaks from
the branch wind-whispered

and never stutters
tho the window shutters; through
the grey-green bars night
echoes with stars.



~June 2018






Olive trees on Thassos









Note: "A dark lantern is a candle lantern with a sliding shutter so that it may conveniently be made dark without extinguishing the candle" ~wikipedia



Top Image: Olive tree~Candle, ©Christos Bokoros 1994.    All Rights Reserved





The 55 is now closed. Thanks to all who stopped by to participate. See you next week.


18 comments:

  1. I read and reread lines 11 through 14. And I suspect I will carry them around with me for a while, repeating them in my head (perhaps, even aloud) every time I need to remind myself (or someone else) that just because a mouth is not screaming its outrage into the world, it doesn't mean that the outrage isn't burning inside. Every now and again, people (light and burning outrage) need a break from life's constant dark and gale... It's either that, or being blown out by the madness.

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  2. Here is my bit:

    http://magalyguerrero.com/midnight-sun/

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  3. This is beautiful. There are times I must shutter against my own outrage. As Magaly spoke I have read and reread this. It speaks to me on so many levels.

    It is odd what my muse will bring. Yesterday at Laundry Goddess I wrote from the depth of my agony about my daughter's health. Today I suppose my muse needed to take the darkness in a different direction. Either way I am grateful for the release of poetry.
    Here is my offering: https://blackinkhowl.blogspot.com/2018/06/moon-straw.html

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  4. Another intriguing 55 from you J! I love how you wrap the heart's voice and presence in these metaphors. I read it as courage (of heart) that never stutters.Good imagery too. I can't wait to read the other comments and interpretations.

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  5. Here's mine:

    http://smellthecoffeeweb.com/2018/06/22/seeking-sanctuary/

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  6. despite the crumbling facade of this once proud experiment into democracy - or perhaps because of it - you manage to hold up a candle, wipe away the grime, let us remember to glimpse up at the stars

    mine, up through the weekend - flutter

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  7. Here is mine, dear.

    http://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2018/06/mulberry-rain.html

    I will come back later to read and comment on yours. Right now my noisy new neighbor's slam-banging around has my nerves too much on edge. :-(

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    Replies
    1. Listen to some Japanese holographic music! :-)

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    2. Your 55 rings so true to me today. Truth.

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  8. Here is mine. A bit acerbic this week. https://kanzensakura.wordpress.com/2018/06/22/live-or-memorex/

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  9. I love it all, but those opening two lines are just stellar, especially "thorn-cradled." Have a kick-ass weekend, dear BFF.

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  10. http://annellannell.wordpress.com

    Yes, the weight of the world is now upon us, in the form of terror to children...

    The idea that the "heart is a dark lantern, " is such a beautiful idea.

    Like the "whale song," the cries of children reach far and wide, "echoes in the stars."

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  11. This is one helluva vivid description, love it

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  12. This pairs most oddly with your Wednesday poem, the one of the burn, the other the bourne of the world, asking us, which herb from the apothecary shall it be? Both, I think. There's such gentle comfit here, breathing as we do deep in sleep. Sanctuary indeed. Down off the burning balcony of the world into the glade; an endangered space, one we poets must somehow protect. Amen.

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    Replies
    1. Thanks, B. May the glade always shelter your own dark-lantern's light.

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  13. This is beautiful, Joy. An antidote to the harsh reality we are forced to deal with on a daily basis, and a timely reminder of all that is quiet and good in the world. I so enjoy your use of compound words, especially the repetition of grey-green - such a peaceful colour.

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    1. Here is mine!

      http://kerryoconnorsother.blogspot.com/2018/06/no-matter.html

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