Friday Flash 55 for June 2020

Welcome all. 

I know this is a difficult, even overwhelming time for many of us, 

especially when it comes to writing. I offer the 55 as an aid to composition, as a celebration of times gone by, and for my own spur to write, and I have no expectations of anyone but myself, so if you wish to participate, that is great, but if words do not come, not even 55, I understand that as well.

The rules are as always: 

write a poem, prose poem or piece of flash fiction on any subject in exactly 55 words, no more, no less. Post the link to your entry in the comments, and I will be by to read and comment on what you have written.

Having a kickass weekend is not obligatory, but always advised.

The prompt will be live from midnight Thursday til Sunday at 4:00 PM.

~*~

My 55:

War Of A Thousand Battles

Here's the war

of a thousand battles,

a hundred years,

war of roses

and dust.

Fight to standstill

ten dozen champions;

sometimes a win

if winning is

fighting again, 

sometimes a loss;

but always on guard in

the bloody brawl

til old soldiers

throw down the gun

and wait for

the last wave to come.

June 2020

Images: Head of an Old Peasant, 1874, by Ivan Kramskoy      Fair Use

The Night Guard, by Odd Nerdrum             Fair Use

January House

January House

Fierce-As-Red-Hair and Fly-As-A-Fox

from the liminal's edge came to pick the locks

dressed in their frills

for thrills and kills

they opened the door

and live here still.

Fly-As-A-Fox and Fierce-As-Red-Hair

can spin windershins and dance on green air

with nightshade brows

and bones of mouse

they climbed the steps of

the January house.

Fly and Fierce have a skull that sings

have pleated blue smocks and onyx rings

on the balcony standing with little sharp things

that gleam by moon's eye

where you cannot pass by

unless you dance

 with Fierce and Fly.

Don't splash through the mud where the lily nods.

Don't go to a church where you don't know the gods.

There's no time to pray

and the blood has its way

when Fierce and Fly

come out to play.

June 2020

 posted for

 The Sunday Muse

 Note: The flowering plant below the girls in this picture is agapanthus, or Lily of the Nile, native to South Africa. It is not a lily, and not from the Nile tho it does like a warm climate and a moist soil.

Image: color (not colorized) photograph from 1908, author unknown, manipulated

 

Earthsong

Earthsong

A triolet on the death of
Chantel Moore

The Mother has come to cover her bones

and Owl to call when the wind blows stars.

White fire, black blood, grey plague of stones;

flowers grow colors over her own.

Drums make a heart, peace makes a throne;

burn for her now and melt the scars.

Flowers will know to cover her bones.

Owl flies tonight to the wind-blown stars.

June 2020

posted for earthweal's

Love Songs For Mother Earth

Apologies to those with certain newer word press sites. Their handling of spam puts my comments in the spam folder. I have commented on everyone's poem at this prompt, so if you don't see me, check there. I keep waiting for this problem to be resolved but it seems like it never will be. Again, sorry.

owl and moon by A.Perry

Process note: The owl is a potent symbol in many Native American cultures, including:

•  "Ojibwe tribes, as well as their Aboriginal Canadian counterparts, used an owl as a symbol for both evil and death. In addition, they used owls as a symbol of very high..[spirituality in their spiritual]..leaders..
• Pawnee tribes viewed owls as the symbol of protection from any danger within their realms.
• Pueblo people associated owls with Skeleton Man, the god of death and spirit of fertility.
• Yakama tribes use an owl as a powerful totem, often to guide where and how forests and natural resources..[can be used]with management...."  ~wikipedia

Images: Borage, Crocus, © joyannjones

Ouroboros

Ouroboros

The girl who grew old

in her sleep keeps her eyes

on a chain, afraid to let them loose

from the fingerwork of dreams,

stringing the beads of her sanity.

The machinery must turn, not

roam across every face

of cruelty, of beauty, that

comes now in the crowd

whose Fahrenheit flies

towards the boiling heart of the sun.

Voices with stones, medicine hands

 on eyes seared blind in acid clouds;

gunshot, brickbat and burning

sweep our shuddering house.

Tiny assassins make up

the bed where we fear to lie down

with our dusty farewells.

The crone bleeds hidden

gold watering her marigolds,

sees again in the glinting blue stream

 the great ouroboros return; 

Jörmungandr opens his mouth

to lash his tail and break oceans.

Now is the time for devouring 

 as Fenris howls

for the gods to come out and die.

June 2020

posted for The Sunday Muse

and Kerry O'Connor's Skylover Word List

Process note: "In Norse mythology, Jörmungandr.. is a sea serpent, the middle child of the giantess Angrboða and Loki. According to the Prose Edda, Odin took Loki's three children by Angrboða—the wolf Fenrir, Hel, and Jörmungandr—and tossed Jörmungandr into the great ocean that encircles Midgard[our human world.]The serpent grew so large that it was able to surround the earth and grasp its own tail. .. When it releases its tail, Ragnarök [the last destroying battle of the old world, translated as Twilight or Doom of the Gods] will begin.  Jörmungandr is an example of an ouroboros,...an ancient symbol depicting a serpent or dragon eating its own tail..The ouroboros is often interpreted as a symbol for eternal cyclic renewal or a cycle of life, death, and rebirth..." ~wikipedia, condensed.

Images: Title unknown, by Alexandra Dillon  Fair Use

Alchemical drawing of an ouroboros by Theodorus Pelecanos, 1478  Public Domain