Tuesday, February 25, 2020

Moon Moth





Moon Moth


I made my home
on a broken world
that I found in the space
between breaths,
golden dark as your eyes
long ago 
fireflies, quenched moons
yellow with light in
the river mist.

Time crawled out
on my veins
like an inchworm and hung,
a floating cocoon
spun from brown autumn's dust.
One dream
in a decade kept a blind sun's vigil
on the soft shape within, and

time's opalescent shell
pledged a constancy malleable
to the formless thing
growing her wings.
All this while

I wandered as a wind
in the tree of bound hours, 
up and down, warm
 in your scent of basil and chai

til the years at last
became harder
than miles

til the earth became still
till the flowers sighed,
waiting for time
to fall or fly.



~February 2020












posted for earthweal's challenge
Brendan asks us to look at time, the natural world, and many other things this week, out of which I chose : "What happened to time? Spin the clockfaces crazily and get a feel for a present both timesick and solastalgic."













Images: Moth Wing ©Amelia Fletcher   Fair Use
The Lonely Cedar, 1907 ©Tivadar Koszta Csontvary   Public Domain










Saturday, February 22, 2020

The Last Afternoon





The Last Afternoon


It was a day where even
the rain holds a grudge.
I'm too dry for rain
to do much good; too old
for paper castles
to wall out
the night coming,
the grey wolf walking.
Only love can do that,
on the last afternoon

when I'll
hold her head
heavy with wolf-dreams
on my knees.


February 2020







a 55 for



(and a reminder that the Friday 55 will be next week)













Image: photo-manipulation © Sarolta Ban    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)



Saturday, February 15, 2020

Snapped




Snapped


Staring blinkless
through the image-hole,
what looks back at you now?

Before you left me
for the yielder's dark,
you braided vapor
into handcuffs, strung
me shackles in beaded
star-strings blue as lake ice

dripping symbols, medals,
seals and skulls, seven secrets
made from sickened pain
and spider's valor.
Your single eye
webbed the mayfly hours
from child's cotton wings to 
landing thud of
my woman's bleeding.

If I
could stick a pin
through the paper moment
numbed with poison,
the abdomen of
exactly when
you began to require
annotations for my
cloud to ground work,

I'd  know exactly
how you froze me
to my snapshot,
ciphered me down
to this subset of myself.
Will there be less of
these prickly pear tears
these gestures of negation
now

that we have no faces,
only hats floating light
while I wonder
if I can ever miss you 
without that forgiveness 
which will not come.

In your shutter's last squeak
I smile flattened: a mist rising up
from the wrong side of the lens.





February 2020



posted for
The Sunday Muse 

and
earthweal Open Link

















Image: Author unknown, Fair Use