Showing posts with label falling is like flying till you stop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label falling is like flying till you stop. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 29, 2025

Canned Tulips

 
 
 
 

 
 
Canned Tulips
 
 
 
There was deep night asleep behind your eyes
black as the moon's turned face that lives
cold and dead behind her shine
but still like her, you smiled the sky.
 
Our vices were soft clinging things
pink and innocent as a child's clean hands
petulantly pulling at the dolls of our virtues,
lead angels falling on their sparrow wings.
 
We drove to Texas for the secret stones
but we only found the hardrock end.
The Gulf rains erased our cartoon faces,
the sharks circled in and ate our bones.
 
When the ambulance came you stood alone
with no can-opener for all the tulips you'd canned,
peeled like an orange to your soft sweet core,
while I cried a pool in the sand's sucking bowl
 
for the sky to come down
in your smile and make us whole.




 April 2025
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
posted for Word Garden Word List
 
 
and
 
 
D'Verse Poet's Pub
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Tulips in a Milk Carton, 1989 ©Paul Wonner   Fair Use
Sharks, ©Utagawa Kuniyoshi    Public Domain
 

Tuesday, April 5, 2022

Season's Whisper

 
 

 
Season's Whisper
(A Quadrille)
 
 
Birds falter
from the sky. Kapitans cry.
Bodies lie,
blind eyes on streets
rubbed down to bone.
 
Still
the season whispers.
 
Living wings fly,
buds swell like grief unbound.
The wilding wind 
knows nothing
of our long drown.
 
The season whispers.
Life is found.
 
 
April 2022 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 









posted for dVerse Poets:



and 
for earthweals' weekly challenge:














Note: "..Kapitan is a commissioned officer rank ..in..the NATO officers rank system..[adopted by Ukraine,]used to specify commanding officers of company-sized units..."~wikipedia







Images:Detail of Scene in Bucha, Ukraine, April 2, 2022 after Russian retreat, ©Reuters/Zohra Bemsemra, cropped to sepia,  Fair Use
Magnolia buds against March tree canopy, 2016, © joyannjones
 

Friday, February 25, 2022

Advice From The Fortune Teller

 
 
 



Advice From The Fortune Teller
 
 

"Look up to jump," the gypsy calls.
"It's how you fly instead of fall.
It's a long way down, that last bump,
so fly your eyes like starlings brawl.
That's how you miss the awkward thump,"
the gypsy calls."Look up to jump."

She's jumped before. I try to trust
my heavy wings of wax and rust,
the sky my boat, the wind my oar,
my feathers eyes above earth's crust
cast floating up and sent to soar.
I try to trust. She's jumped before.

But then I see she smiles and smiles
at birds stitched high on cloudy miles
at knifing rocks that slice the sea,
carving waves like bladed turnstiles.
"Just look up and finally be free."
She smiles and smiles, but then I see.



February 2022












posted for dVerse Poets


(for a complete description of this quirky little form, see above, where Grace is hosting)












Images ; The Fortune Tellar, 1933, © Brassai   Fair Use
Floating Woman, photomanipulation © Phillip Igumnov  Fair Use

Sunday, May 31, 2020

Storm Rocket





Storm Rocket



The big storm comes, rattles
the latch of night, batters twilight
with its troll voice and god hands,
throws soil from a thousand raped fields
at my face, dry earth's stripped debris,
melted smell of dirt-charged void
electric as the ghost of your lips in the dark.
I'd wear it like a rocket, follow it, fly with it
to that other land where wheat sings to
the living earth, lightning is a dreamer's
 dance and storms sigh down
a cobweb of emerald rain;
but seventy years of hot wind
have made me small as dust,
a pygmy trapped in
this unbreakable
walnut-shell
of pain.




May 2020














posted for The Sunday Muse












Images: Sky in Saskatchewan, author unknown, via internet  Fair Use
Rocket, by Brad Phillips   Fair Use


Friday, February 21, 2020

Una Fantasía de Barcelona





Una Fantasía de Barcelona
"---Soledad of my sorrows, the horse that runs away
finds the sea at last and is swallowed by the waves.
---Don't remind me of the sea, for the black pain springs
from the land of the olives/under the rustling leaves."
 ~Ballad of the Black Pain, Federico Garcia Lorca
~*~

Barcelona opens herself at dawn
to the wind off the ocean 
so she may bathe in seabirds
as they rise to her through

apricot clouds, as they sway
past umbels of oleander 
from Morocco,
black-red in pale tubs.

In the crimson sun of noon, she rides
a burning bull to the market
peonies flaring his nostrils,
with eyes of yellow wheat; his horns

of sand gore the stone streets
to a delirium of olive trees. Silver bells 
shimmer cries, murdering dusty nothing 
in the corners of the dark church.

Barcelona in the tourmaline night
remembers her gulls, her gannets and
shearwaters, singing sailor's ballads
to the white stucco walls that

crack with the loss of the sun,
songs of the runaway horse
racing blind to the sea cliff, 
where in freedom he drowns,

lyrics of power and terror, of
flying moons and sinking ships,
and the sweet rustle of the one
who settles in the nest.

Barcelona at dawn
opens herself to me on
her bed of shells, solid as sea foam,
womb-warm and fragrant with

her thousand desires; but
my heart is a white petrel flying
far, far over the razor waves, who
never means to land.



February 2020
with thanks to Shay Simmons for the borrowing of her birds







 posted for
earthweal Open Link











Note: This is about a fantasy of Barcelona, as the title suggests (except that oleander does come from Morocco.) I have never been to Barcelona except in this poem. 


For all the earthwealers, in the real world Barcelona, like the rest of the planet's coastal cities, is exposed to the dangers of climate change, and recently underwent severe flooding from Storm Gloria
".. along the east coast of mainland Spain. The worst coastal flooding was reported around the Ebro river delta south of Barcelona, where the storm surge swept up to 3 kilometres (1.9 mi) inland through low-lying rice paddies. In Lloret de Mar and Tossa de Mar, sea foam whipped up by high winds moved inland from the beach, blocking streets. At the Port of Barcelona, waves crashed as high as 7 metres (23 ft) over defenses, flooding coastal properties..."~wikipedia  
Video clips of the foam blocking streets are quite striking.




Images: Green Sky, © Jose Manuel Capuletti, circa 1950-55? Fair Use 
A gull overflies the Mediterranean sea during strong winds in Barcelona, Spain, Monday, Jan. 20, 2020...(AP Photo/Emilio Morenatti)