Judgement

Judgement

Hiding in Nile-green dark, your heart

fuses tight as crocodile jaws

on midnight meat.

When you bring it to be weighed

against Maat's feather

beneath the clear jackal eyes of Anubis,

it will show them this red-river night

when your whole being bit through me.

The scales will tip.

You'll see the last thing then.

~February, 2013

55 hieroglyphs for    the g-man

Process notes: wikipedia caption for above illustration:
"This detail scene, from the Papyrus of Hunefer (ca. 1275 B.C.), shows the scribe Hunefer's heart being weighed on the scale of Maat against the feather of truth, by the jackal-headed Anubis. The Ibis-headed Thoth, scribe of the gods, records the result. If his heart is lighter than the feather, Hunefer is allowed to pass into the afterlife. If not, he is eaten by the waiting chimeric devouring creature Ammit composed of the deadly crocodile, lion, and hippopotamus. Vignettes such as these were a common illustration in Egyptian books of the dead."





Image: The Weighing Of The Heart, 
By National Geographic, Ancient Egyptians (Book of the Dead) 
Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Off The Shelf Archive~February 2013

The archivist has been sorely distracted lately, dear readers. Between holidays, health and hectic moments of every day minutia, I've been writing less, and reading less of what I need to read, and more of what is pure indulgence. I've also had to limit my hours on the computer. All this by way of excuse, of course, for not changing out the Off The Shelf selection in months.

For February, I turn to a poet who's little read these days, but a favorite of mine, Archibald MacLeish. I don't suppose many remember him, though he won three Pulitzer Prizes, an Academy Award, and was also the Librarian of Congress and an assistant Secretary of State. Fame, particularly for poets, is a pretty flimsy thing, I think

MacLeish was a Modernist poet, essayist, screenwriter and playwright, heavily influenced by Pound and Eliot, and sometimes seems like an echo, but don't we all (echo our influences, that is)--his own voice is there underneath, and to me he has an easy, comfortable way with words.  I don't know much more about him than that, but I've always liked his poetry.  Poets.org has a short bio of him here and the Poetry Foundation has a much longer one, if interested.

The poem I've chosen is Calypso's Island, and you'll find it on the Off The Shelf   page, which now allows comments.

~*~

The former selection, Anecdote of the Jar, by Wallace Stevens, is below for a final perusal:

Anecdote of the Jar

I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.

The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.

It took dominion everywhere.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee. 

~by Wallace Stevens 

Image: Coffee Pot, by Henri de Toulouse Lautrec

Public domain, via wikipaintings.org

 

Rain In The Night

Rain In The Night

I hear it raining, raining tonight

or is it the singing of water

that everything empty be filled,

effulgent, if only with tears?

High up comes the shadowy spinner

to wind up the wandering flood,

to weave away yesterday's orphans;

I hear it raining, raining tonight.

A storm sent to midwife disaster

turns the howl of the wind in its womb,

brings wildfire and blood to the birthing

or is it the singing of water

dropping in petticoats of ash

dappling the mirror faced border?

The lightning-struck bodies on fire

let everything empty be filled

thinking that which is broken and battered

can be smoothed into glimmering bits

shining rounded and faithfully polished,

if only by infinite tears.

~February 2013

posted for   real toads

Sunday Mini-Challenge
I'm hosting today, for the second  and final part of my chained rhyme extravaganza. This time we're doing cascades. A cascade is a poem where each line of the first stanza serves in sequence as the last line of the following stanzas. For the full lowdown, follow the link above, to real toads.

Photos shared courtesy of Flick'r Creative Commons
Mouse-over for attribution, or click picture to go to the photographer's page.

Pretext

Pretext

Liriope played a wind-doll's calliope

under a blackbrowed sky.

A vinca minor chased Ursa Major

where the melting butters fly.

Passiflora stigmata tapped out her sonata

on clouds dusted with ebony flies.

Red amaranthus and blue agapanthus

ate old Agamemnon's dark eyes.

And all of this is truer, love, than

the lie you made goodbye.

~February 2013

55 mixed metaphors for   the g-man

If you'd like to hear the poem read to get the names straight, please click below:


Pretext by Hedgewitch O'theWilds

Process notes: For those who care about minutia, liriope is a common grassy groundcover in the southern US, also called lilyturf or monkey grass. Vinca minor (or periwinkle) is a vining ground cover with small leaves and blue flowers. Ursa Major, or the Great Bear, is a constellation.  The genus Passiflora, though it includes over 500 species, does not actually have one called stigmata. That was just me making things up. Its common name is however Passionflower, because it's many unusual flowering parts are said to tell the story of the passion of Christ, including its 3 prominent stigmas representing the three nails used in the crucifixion.  

Amaranthus is a large old-fashioned annual with pendulous reddish-purple flower bracts, known also as Love Lies Bleeding, and agapanthus is a mostly tropical bulb with blue globe-shaped blooms on long stalks, also called Lily of the Nile. In Greek myth, Agamemnon was a Mycenaean king who, among other things, commanded the Greeks in the Trojan War.

All images from flick'r and shared under a Creative Commons License
~mouse-over for attribution.

The Dark Wood

The Dark Wood

Beware the wary. Be warier--

be wariest whom you woo

in the dark wood where

the horn of the goat

will cut your throat,

the kiss of the bear

will take your tongue

while ravens wish.

Be wary where you walk

in the dark wood;

the black barked tree

won’t berry for you, just serve up

a pot of brownskin earth,

clamping the foot to the bitter root, you

the bone spoon in a stew

of leaves gone bad.

Be wary when you whisper

in the dark wood.

The ears that hear prick quick,

the teeth bring their hunger

on stomachs that crawl, on mouths

with legs running so much faster

than sidewalk scorpions.

Beware the wary.

Be wariest which is your war

in the dark wood.

~ rev February 2013

posted for   real toads

Challenge: A-listed

Fireblossom provides a voluminous word list, authored once again by her anonymous associate who wishes to remain unnamed, from which to pick and choose inspiration for a poem. While normally I don't do word list poems, I've made an exception here, using the words 'served,' 'clamp,' 'sidewalks,' and 'scorpions.' 

Photo: The Dark Wood, © joyannjones