Kiki

Kiki

"all I need is an onion, a bit of bread, and a bottle of red [wine]; and I will always find somebody to offer me that."

Under the streetlamped

Paris sky

she was the model she was meant to be

lovechild, baker's brat 

runaway

from  leavened loaves to

high rising loafers,

le violin d'Ingres, playing herself

with a hand drawn catgut bow

resilient as a rubber ball

bounced to dance and sing

for a bottle of red wine

and an onion.

~September 2012

55 French bread crumbs for  the g-man

also

Posted for   real toads

Challenge: Out of Standard with Izy

Isadora Gruye extends her bad girl challenge to all comers. This time I have chosen a different rebellious girl.

Process Notes: Kiki de Montparnasse(born Alice Prin) was a singer, actress, memoirist, and an artist's and photographer's model of the DaDa/Surrealist movement of 1920's Paris. You can read her biography here at wikipedia.

The title of the header photo by Man Ray is 'Le violin d'Ingres,' defined by dictionary.com thusly: violon d'Ingres '"an occasional pastime, an activity other than that for which one is well-known, or at which one excels," from Fr., lit. "Ingres' violin," from the story that the great painter preferred to play his violin -- badly -- for visitors instead of showing them his pictures.'

Both images in this post are by the Dada/Surrealist photographer Man Ray, KiKi's companion during her early days as "Queen of Montparnasse." 
via wikipaintings.org
All copyright remains with the copyright holders.

Mirror Dream

Mirror Dream

I think 

you were 

my last though

I really can't know

anymore than I knew you

but when I imagine what would bring 

such a flush of life again

how unlock the cipher,

unclock the ticking heart

from the bramble thicket moment,

I can't put

another face

behind mine in the mirror

only over my shoulder

the blank sea wall

only eyeless ocean gumming and

sucking, kelp caped over

her grey meals of

storm served wrecks.

If I stare

 long enough

overlaid in silver'd prism

there is beach, two

walking in turquoise, smell

of vermillion landbreeze blowing

at the back of your new addiction.

I see her kneel and go

wet, make you rock,

medusa'd to your concrete core.

The piers of your submerged legs

root in sand, shadow ripple 
with pulsestrokes 

of her quick algae fingers,

spasm in the whipwire strands

of her jellyfish hair.

Oh I think she's your last

though I really

can't know.

~September 2012

Posted for   OpenLinkNight   at dVerse Poets Pub

If you'd like to hear the poem read by the author, please click below:

mirror dream by Hedgewitch O'theWilds

Header Image: Mirror Mirror, by howzey, on flick'r
Shared under a Creative Commons License
Footer Image: Sketch for a Mermaid, by John William Waterhouse
Public domain, manipulation by joyannjones

Lost Letters

 Lost Letters

Night walked over the street

without looking down.

The eyes of the houses were

bloodshot unshut, half-lidded and dull,

the rooftops flushed with spikes and scales,

epidermal fever bumps on dinosaurs

hunkered in carnivore calypso, rhythmically

chewing their peers in primordial mud.

High above the reptile-backed town

the moon was the round stone

of a rose quartz ring.

The sky grew a band of moss

to hold her fast

to wrap her round

and so she passed the night

through her needle eye

a scarf pulled windward

from east to west above our heads.
I wrote to you one last time

on the passing skin of darkness;

I saw the words fly up and out,

tattoo a stirred fire's spark

on black, a red moment's breathing

in and out before the dawn,

and I knew, those bright

combustible letters of air 

inked in starry ash on moving sky,

long before you sent them back

unread,

were dead.

~September 2012

Posted for   real toads

Sunday Challenge: Photography of Margaret Bednar

Margaret posts her poetry and photography at Art Happens 365

Photo: © Margaret Bednar

Used with permission.

Sidewinder

Sidewinder

There was no black in you (or I've forgot)

only autumn browns, eyes amber hot,

with an underbelly pale star-silver steel,

coldblooded stroking icy death to feel.

Always sideways, you reasoned me quite mad;

sideways ate my heart then made me glad.

No black showing, only mottled brown

of earth returning matter to the ground.

~September 2012

55 whispery shed snakeskins for the g-man

Also 
posted for    MeetingtheBar:Symbolism   at dVerse Poets Pub

Victoria encourages us to explore the use of symbols in poetry. I had written this poem last night before reading the prompt, but I think it fits.

Process Notes: This poem is written in a very old, traditional style and meter, known as the Heroic Couplet. I got it into my head reading some poetry of Lady Caroline Lamb's last week, and now I can't get it out. Also, I'm having some back issues again, so please be patient as I try to return comments.

Header Photo: Northern Copperhead, by Michael Hodge on flick'r
Footer Photo: Copperhead Snake, by GA-kayaker, on flick'r
Shared under a Creative Commons License