Showing posts with label eve et the apple and adam fell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label eve et the apple and adam fell. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 15, 2022

Apple Wine, Bitter Greens

 
 

 
 
 
Apple Wine, Bitter Greens


 
 
 
 
You gave me apple wine and bitter greens
a highwire hawk who'd learned to trick the sky,
a line of lakes where the white moon hid her gleams
in cups of apple wine and bitter greens,
in fantasies, daydreams and guillotines
til we were just a wildfire burning dry
drunk on apple wine and parched of green,
two highwire hawks who thought we'd tricked the sky.





 
 
 
 February 2022






 
 
 
 
 
posted for
 
 
and 
 
 
 
dVerse Poets Poetics:
 
 
 
 




 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Evening at Volga, 1888, ©Isaac Levitan    Public Domain
Courting Redtails, 2008 ©Gouldingken     via wikimedia commons     Fair Use
 

Saturday, July 5, 2014

Cloudy, With Serpents



Cloudy. With Serpents





You moved thin hands across me,
clouds writing over the sky,
thread-fingers ice-cold, shy,
drifting from March to June.

When night's shoulder
darkened earth-rim blue,
you left your markless mark, wrote  
 your vapor signature, a nacreous tattoo

of dragon coils, drake's cirriform breath
masking a naked rune:
your  sailor's heart, caught
in a different  moon. 



~June 2014 








55 snake-shaped  clouds of polar ice crystals for the ghosts
and










Shared under a Creative Commons license
Snakes, 1969, by M.C. Escher, via wikiart.org
May be protected by copyright, shared under fair use guidelines









Wednesday, March 26, 2014

The Rocks, The Snake and The Wheel






The Rocks, The Snake And The Wheel
a Jungian Triptych

I.

These rocks are a tension
between earth and sky,
thrown abrupt against
unconscious blue,
an impulse of fire
cooled in the plunge of time.

They spoke a wheel hooped thru
a linked-inkling labyrinth
where bodies are boundaries
of what survives,
a collective of cells primitive as flint,
frail as the ash of last night's fire.

The rocks are mounded as flesh
on a woman's rib, precise as
arrows piercing the deflected sky,
a bow that grows from its string.


First we make a name,
then a story,
then a soul.






II.

Under the spinning
the flight featherless
the long glide down
from the first tree
the dreamt garden
oscillating the golden
penumbra of perception
where Snake found his tongue,
where the fruit grew sweeter
the longer it hung,

something made him wake
to hate the two that were one,
whole and disguised in the body of light,
singing ragged aubades to the forgetting sun.
Something made the snake

bring the black limit, 
the evasion of night
the cryptic jump, 
Desire the fetish,
obsession for Knowing
as if it weren't right.

So the rock split to center, 
one became two  forever.
Go dancer, celebrant,  vessel,
come mender,
scrubwoman, shuffler 
of cards,

losing the shape
and even the name
 in sweat, blood and pain.


III.

Snake's  in the tree,
you can hear him whistle
his whole lithe length in control,
swinging out darkness,
his bite bringing dreams.

There's a dry stiff scale
shed at the crossroads,
a  fang cast like a horseshoe,
its half-circle hollow
for the poison to follow.
There's a trail in the dustworks
of a rabbit-poor summer, a lion
in shadow, a witch in the woods.

There's a snake in the matrix.
You can hear him sighing
where the fruit hangs low
its faint scent a pulse
in the wind at the threshold
of all that will come:

a woman screaming, a baby crying
a man dangling forever
slaved to the wheel.





~March 2014





posted for      real toads
Challenge: Get Listed: Mind and Symbol
I have the fun of hosting this word list challenge today, based on words drawn from the first chapter of Man and His Symbols, by C.G. Jung. For full details and all the words, check out the link above to real toads. I have made use of a form introduced to us by Kerry O'Connor called the triptych, which emulates the concept of a triptych in the visual arts, a three-panel painting where each panel forms one third of the picture, exploring different views or details of the same subject.








Top Image: Red Hills, Lake George, by Georgia O'Keefe
May be protected by copyright. Posted under fair use guidelines.
Center Image: The Snake Charmer, 1907, by Henri Rousseau, Public Domain
Footer Image: Adam and Eve, 1533, by Lucas Crannoch The Elder,Public Domain 
All via wikipaintings.org








Friday, January 24, 2014

Jehanne


Jehanne




There's an angel in the fire
feathers burning, acrid, ashy black.
Where is the bird-winged host,
her  cloudy birth brothers
the holy triune fatherspiritson
to pull her out?

She keeps her shield
and sword  bright
gold light, her hose fastened tight
in the cell where they say 
the war is over, the king she crowned gone
far away as god. 

The angel in the fire weeps, she reasons,
she argues like a cardinal, while
her dark luminous eyes follow me
as I open windows to let out the stink.

The cross on her standard
won't keep away the crows
but there's no feather anywhere
of  her brother Michael, his deaf-making voice
of cathedral bells, his wings for a tabard
over her soldier's casing.

The horns of the devil
hold up the sky,
pierce the dropping night.
Her sword ignites
like a willow leaf.

Her breastplate with
the hundred dents above the heart
is all that cumbers her.
The salt stained straps cut into
flesh that was the white lily of Lorraine,
yet it will be the last
she lets go for her dress of flame. 

No sign appears, not even rain;
instead she  burns and burns
lost, half-smiling, staring at me
as if there were something I could do.



 ~December 2013, January 2014




 posted for     real toads
 Fireblossom Friday: Clothes Make The Woman
The inimitable Fireblossom has asked us to write about an article of clothing. To wit:"What I want you to do is to write a poem in which clothes play a significant part...The poem must have some item of clothing as an important component, not just something mentioned in passing." I have also written to her last challenge here, Calling All Angels, which I missed at the time, which asked for a poem about angels.






Process notes: Joan of Arc, (or Jehanne, as she referred to herself) lead a succesful campaign against the English during the Hundred Years War, till she was captured and put on trail by them for heresy. Jehanne cut her hair short and wore the armor and clothing of a male knight of her time,both as symbol and protection against rape. The most prominent "legal" pretext used by the Inquisition to execute her was based on an Old Testament text condemning women who dress in any article of male clothing to death. She was burned at the stake on May 30th, 1431. Jehanne was later exonerated, and canonized as St Joan in 1920





Images: Joan of Arc, by Odillon Redon
St Joan, by John William Waterhouse
Both paintings public domain, via wikipaintings.org