Tuesday, February 1, 2022

Two Crows Make A Zodiac

 
 

 
 
Two Crows Make A Zodiac
 
 
 
 
Winters at white dawn, before the first gaudy ransack of a
scold of jays, two crows come to her feeding cup.

They have no elfish hands to hold interwoven as otters 
do, to keep each other close on cold waters, but still

they float down on air as joint motif. Not one crow,
but two, for in any functional lexicon, the complete set
 
of meaningful units is not one. They eat a dozen peanuts
with the focus she applies eating her mistakes, but with
 
their own goblin squawk and savoring, a black-suited pair
laughing like undertakers on holiday, the charm of a child's
 
toys in their round eyes as they celebrate this meal,so much
more efficient than pecking through reticulated rubbish, so
 
much quicker than sieving crushed bladders or hearts tarry from
asphalt, than abrupt blare-interrupted flutters on the flat luck
 
of skunk or raccoon, where they must thrust their razor beaks 
like needles through black blood glitter, scrape hard bone
 
clean to sew lost life from ruined flesh to full feathers. They
are complete either way, but the woman has made it easier.

Two crows make their own zodiac, seven stars make Orion,
the time-twisted woman who sets out peanuts
 
makes a pageant in vapor, a blood-let of generosity,
a late arrival at sufficiency; for in any functional lexicon,
 
the complete set of meaningful units
is not one.
 
 
 

January 2022
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 




 posted for
Shay's Word List #11:
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
This poem makes no attempt to capture  Hughes' style or Hughes' own vision of Crow and his journeys, that epic exploration of folk-tale and myth which rewards the reader's time with much more content and flourish than I could ever hope to muster. 
 
But when I think of Hughes, I think of Crow, and so, this poem.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
Note: For those interested, here is some background on Hughes' collection of poems exploring Crow:
 
After his wife Sylvia Plath's suicide, Hughes wrote nothing for three years. Then he began a work which was finally published as Crow:from the Life and Songs of Crow. As stated by the Ted Hughes Society, it "holds a uniquely important place in Hughes oeuvre.  It heralds the ambitious second phase of his work, lasting roughly from the late sixties to the late seventies, when he turned from direct engagement with the natural world to unified mythical narratives and sequences. It was his most controversial work: a stylistic experiment which abandoned many of the attractive features of his earlier work, and an ideological challenge to both Christianity and humanism..He looked back on the years of work on Crow as a time of imaginative freedom and creative energy, which he felt that he never subsequently recovered...."
 



 
 
 
 
Images: Crows in Winter, © N.C. Wyeth   Fair Use
Detail from Crow's Song © Andrea Kowch  generously accessible at her website Andrea Kowch Studios Blog  where you can and should see the entire painting.    Fair Use

Friday, January 28, 2022

The Edifying Tale Of Braxis The Barbarian

 
 

 
 
The Edifying Tale Of Braxis The Barbarian
(a 55)
 
 
Braxis the bold barbarian,
librarian
of axe and bone,
traveled alone.
 
He slayed them all as he mauled Gaul
leaving a pall
of smoke and blood.
(Brax was no good.)
 
Then Fate had him camp in a cave
containing Dave,
barbarous fare
for Dave the Bear. 




 
 January 2022
 
 
 
 
 
 

A minute poem for
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Note: Word count for the 55 includes the title. Total nonsense, I'm afraid.
 
 
 
 
 
 Image: DnD 5E barbarian sketch, artist unknown, via SkullsplitterDice.com Fair Use

Tuesday, January 25, 2022

The Child As A Postcard

 
 
 
 
The Child As A Postcard
 
 
To the passing postcard written in
the massing uncolored sky, posed
in the medium of ice and flesh surely
my child-self seemed the response,
scribbled head high to the bare lilacs,
a winter blackbird lost in a fragrance
dancing to cold.
 
While the wind was witching, while it was
twitching my skirts, and its white book
came clattering down with the frost on every
page, while the sky snowed down with the pomp
and swagger of a drunken policeman, did the
heft then of my grandfather's arms know me
for myself as I determined,

as everything I determined 
thereafter came to be? Song or catastrophe,
the wide smile of the chimera, or its
diamond mask, the bright white light
of a lilac breaking bare in the snow while
I watched time plow its path
across my life;

not a moon-fair there, not a star to be seen
dropped from the basket of a lover's dream, 
only a stillness of snow haunting the hour
of papier-mache in a maundering dazzle.
 
 
 
 
January 2022
 
 
 
 
 




posted for
Shay's Word List # 10
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Note: I have not tried to emulate Stevens' style. That is far above my pay grade. But I have tried to infuse the poem with some of his moods and fancies as I interpret them.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Image:Snow Effect: Winter In The Suburbs, © George Seurat
Public Domain. I have manipulated this image.

Thursday, January 20, 2022

Zebras


 
 

 
 
 
 
 Zebras
(A 55)
 
Remember
when we were two
trout climbing Sahara sand,
two flamingos wading snow,

two zebras
grazing rock, stalked
by an avalanche of clocks
worse than any lion.

Remember
our nights stitched from
oak's blood and violins
torn from the big cat's teeth.

Come home again
before the door breaks,
before memory's last meal
is gone.

 
 

January 2022
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
posted for dVerse Poets
 
 
using words from
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Sleeping Zebra, 1959 © Carel Willink  Fair Use
Plant Archetecture, 1962 © Remedios Varo

Tuesday, January 18, 2022

The Feral Baby

 
 


 
 
The Feral Baby
 
 
In the dark 
before breakfast I dreamed
that the baby fell on its head. It wasn't
my fault. It just climbed up my shoulder
and jumped. I only borrowed it
because you made me. It wasn't mine.
I am not one for babies.

Nevertheless,
it cried, so I put it in my purse
for the gypsy. She offered to give it a casserole.
  (Or was that use it in a casserole?) I said,
"It doesn't like my purse, but it wouldn't like a
casserole any better." I'm not one for babies,
but I know that much.
 
Finally 
I took it back to you 
at the urban university lab. You put
 a ribbon on it, called it Jean, kissed it.
 It was fine then. I was tempted to
sneak it back to its mother, but
you'd turned her into a starling.
 
And that's how
she came to be my child. 
I'm not one for babies
until they learn how
to fly.
 
 
 
 January 2022







 
 
 
 
 
 posted for 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Note: No babies were harmed in the production of this poem.
 
 
 
 
Images: Creeping baby doll, 1871   Public Domain
Starling Murmuration © Menno Shaefer    Fair Use

Saturday, January 15, 2022

The Night Dancers

 
 

The Night Dancers
 (a 55)
 
The song dreaming night
  is a film over the world
hiding a thousand dancers
painted with
the blood of the moon.
 
They hum
as they spin, but
I never hear them speak.
Dawn's claw-hammer
beats them to dust
 
leaving a flicker
of chamomile and orange,
 ghost breath of a
performance
seen best
 
through
mist-green glass.
 

 
 
 
January 2022
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
posted for
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Blond Nude With Orange,Blue Couch, 1925 © John French Sloan   Fair Use
Glasses, author unknown, via Sunday Muse   Fair Use 

Tuesday, January 11, 2022

Hatchet Job


 
 Hatchet Job
 
 
Tricks and teases made a hatchet for the autopsy. 
 
You couldn't
just say it was over, oh no. Too many cows
wanted gingerbread. Too many women
in the cellar wanted more time...

Tesla's ghost was on the radio for years
while the black nightingale sang but hardly
anyone listened. 
 
Too much static fuzzing. Too much 
imitation current clogging the waves...

I swear you gave my ear a permanent scar
with all that dizzy disarray, tricks and teases,
bluffs that bragged with musky electric tusks...
 
Put the body
on the table and have done, I said. I'm through

discussing second grade and your mother's
lonesome eyebrows.You don't care about
the cause of death anyway...
 
just the wonderful way
you can chop. 
 
Bravo!




 
January 2022
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
posted for Shay's Word List # 8: 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images :Hatchet, via internet. Fair Use
Moon and Cow, 1963 © Alex Colville   Fair Use
 

Monday, January 10, 2022

Quadrille Of The Star

 
 
 

 
 
 
The Star
 
 
I wrote this for you when
you were the star in my heart
to give back light for light
as we traveled time's tempest
bemused. 
 
Who knew then
you were the last;
 last star before the sunrise,
last ghost spun
from the broken wheel
 
 
 
 
 January 2022
 



 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 posted for dVerse Poets:




 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Winter Night In The Mountains, © Harold Sohlberg  Fair Use
Paysage Orangeux, artist unknown, via internet    Fair Use