Thursday, December 8, 2011

Midnight Riff

Moonrise by George Inness 1887

Midnight Riff



Low low in the midnight
come to dance by the firelight
tune up with that arbitrary grace
substitute sway for that look on your face
in a dark that makes shadow look bright.

Row row over tears
the  reedy boat of sprung years
when the shore disappears into mist
that insists you persist don’t resist 
a distance flung further than fears.

Sole sole is the pathway
burnt bulbs outline the runway
where something much heavier than air
fades away with what made you care;
that departure clocks in the next day.







December 2011





Get back to Gay Cannon's FormForAll  at dVerse on Ballads Carols and Lullabyes here

Image: Moonrise, by George Inness oil on canvas, 1887
By George Inness (Yale University Art Gallery [1]) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
apologies to his shade for my liberties with it in the footer...

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Page from the Emerald Tablet



Page from the Emerald Tablet


I dream of dust
old, dry, glittering
in a glass animal eye
brimmed with rheumy
flecks of other worlds
fields of forgotten flowers
now dessicated mica
life’s shed substance
abraded on the lathe
cut on the ripsaw
sanded smooth.

I sweep up
my dream dust
with the softest
brush of morning,
mindful of each atomically
weighted speck, carry it
across a tightrope 
of my own
cleverly braided skin
teetering, knowing
nothing can fall.

Into the mold it goes,
the crucible over the
flame of loss begins to heat;
the glass tubes
chatter against the
heart’s empty alembic
a hot green boiling
filtering this spagyric mist.
Past present future
uncombine and melt,
float to ash

sulphur salt and mercury
fire earth and water;
take this simple marigold
make it honeysuckle and amber,
labdanum and pearl.
Turn its sallow safron to softened gold
its sharp viridian to the colorless serum
that weeps from a closing wound. Oh,
flush these bitter salts to fragrant musk
and back again to an animate silver,
the radiant water of life.


 
December 2011





Posted for    Open Link Night    at dVerse Poets Pub



Process Notes: (Almost as long as the poem!) from wikipedia: “The Emerald Tablet, also known as Smaragdine Table, Tabula Smaragdina, or The Secret of Hermes, is a text purporting to reveal the secret of the primordial substance and its transmutations. It claims to be the work of Hermes Trismegistus ("Hermes the Thrice-Greatest"), a legendary Hellenistic combination of the Greek god Hermes and the Egyptian god Thoth…” It contains the famously ambiguous phrase, in Isaac Newton’s translation:“That which is below is like that which is above that which is above is like that which is below to do the miracles of one only thing.”
 ~The word spagyric is derived from the Greek  Spao, to tear open, + ageiro, to collect and can be synonymous with alchemy, but in more modern usage refers to an herbal medicine distilled from calcined ashes.
~In the language of flowers, the marigold symbolizes grief and loss, honeysuckle, devoted affection and love.
~Labdanum is a product of the rockrose used in the perfume industry to simulate the odor of musk found in ambergris, which in turn is used to simulate the fragrance of burned amber. 
~‘Aqua vitea,’ the water of life, was a strong concoction of alcoholic spirits often prepared by alchemists in their experiments in distillation, but also had a spiritual significance as the redemptive waters of baptism and faith.






Monday, December 5, 2011

Our Rose

Figured it was about time for some comic relief at Castle Hedgewitch.

NOTE: Images of Mary Millar removed due to constant search engine activity. Sorry if they were used inappropriately.

Our Rose


Our Rose
painted snowflake
waits in vain
for a telephone call
from Mr. Pratt or Mr. Blackstone
or someone named Nigel

whom she met last night at the pub,
to whom she gave her trainwreck self
in wild abandon in the back of a Vauxhall
after lights out.

Our Rose
aging elfgirl
has two married sisters;
one lives in a social tilt awhirl
off its tracks in her own brain,
the other in a series of chocolate boxes
and bodice rippers next to 
a sardonic bone idle man
amused by a broken TV.

Our Rose
fading pubsprite
in a rational moment
gives up men
swine that they are
and weighs her choices:
Back to virginity
or get her to a nunnery.
She has another fag 
and considers
the Vicar.

Oh, Rose, our Rose
you’re already a woman of the cloth
black lace and miniskirt though it be;
already a  bride of the lord,
just not of this
particular pale
and mingy one.

December 2011


 Mary Millar (1936-1998) 
played Rose, in the BBC sitcom Keeping Up Appearances






To see Rose in full form, view her in these video clips*:

Rose holds forth on the topic of men as swine, 
starting at 1:58 in, till about 3:07





Rose decides to be a nun, and takes a pill for it; 4:56-finish:







"..there's only the dog paying any attention..." 

Note: The dog in this video is NOT my Schnuskie, Chinook, though the resemblance is striking.



*This poem will probably make a lot more sense, and also be a lot funnier, to those who take a minute or two to watch the designated parts of the videos .Apologies for not being able to get just the clips of Rose--Hyacinth is rather a turnoff. 



posted at  real toads

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Cameo


Cameo




Not much
was asked and not much
was given. All that was taken
forever
gone still returns in dreams slowly
seeping  up, filling empty 
spaces.



December 2011


Posted for     Sunday Mini-Challenge   at Real Toads

Kerry's challenge today is the cameo form: "The Cameo is a purely syllabic form consisting of six lines with the following syllable count: 2, 5, 8, 3, 8, 7, 2.  It is English in origin and is well-suited to a brief portrait in words, or character-based piece."







Image: White Gold & Blue Agate Mother & Child Rhombus Cameo 
via google image search




Saturday, December 3, 2011

Master of the Mystic Arts


Master of the Mystic Arts


Let love fall
wind-broken runner
X-man in Darwinia
if love has made you too human.
The sea will burn, 
a fire on the deep
blackening Aquaman
to a french fry, snakes devour you,
mountains fly
before you see another
mutant like me.

Save your bolts
hydrophobic tail-chaser
Dr. Strange in a stranger's land.
When the green lantern burns out,
reason won’t save you
just madden the hulk given
a brain despising its pelt
begging to be skinned.
I wore that shell in my cell
for ten years and a day
waiting for a hero

till I learned just how
to play with
the isotopes, and
kicked down
the door myself.
Now my hands 
shoot the lightning
I have my own costume
and wings 
you’ll only see
disappearing.





December 2011 

Posted for   Poetics   at dVerse Poets Pub
 Claudia hosts today, and she's asked us to relive our comic-reading days for inspiration. Dr Strange was always my favorite, though in this tale I'm not very kind to him. Come join us. Link is live till Sunday midnight.



Friday, December 2, 2011

Mea Culpa



Mea Culpa



Miserere nobis mea culpa
my own most grievous fault
The bell tolls on disregarding
what new blows what shattered
earholes what new thing it kills
with every nod and chime.

The dog is pariah, skinny ribs
too plain beneath piebald fur,
the pony foundered
headed for
glue.

The show is over; No,
no! Not even
time for one more trick…

but don’t tell the young
ones.
Let them believe
when they go down to
kneel with Trismegistus
and swear the broken oath.




December 2011


Image: Hermes mercurius trismegistus siena cathedral,
Public domain via wikimedia commons




Optional New Age-y Accompaniment


 

Weather Maker


Weather Maker



There’s an upper level disturbance
headed in I can feel it 
moving blue in dark distance
stripping things naked
the easier to freeze.

Significant moisture may occur with this front
localized showers even frost is likely 
tangled in lashes 
with flash flooding possible
where swollen waterways spill.

A low pressure system
is the weather maker
laying on my chest
working to bring in the flurries
as I breathe out white clouds of you.

Should this system become
more organized
heavy accumulation
of sleet and ice is expected
in some parts of the heart.




December 2011



Posted for dVerse

Gay Cannon has written an excellent article on the poetic devices of image, metaphor, allegory, simile, etc. I think there's some of that lurking in here somewhere.











Thursday, December 1, 2011

Experiment in Desperation



Experiment in Desperation




Push pull
tentacles flex release
horn impales retracts
eye blinks
red as blood

then black and white
seep
(-ia)

daguerreotype of a dangerous type
brimstone ginger dynamite
explodes  the
Native Quarter tonight.

Can you ever be brave
once you’re caught,
the snarl behind bars
ever become a bite
on the keeper’s hard hand ?



December 2011




For all the word counters out there, yes, this is a puzzle in 55 pieces that will be 

Posted for   Friday Flash 55   at the G-Man's