Damselfly

Damselfly

I chase the
hunger moon

across the daywhite sky,

flat as a stingray, blue-brief

as a damselfly's eye,

as erratic she skitters

flicking shed silver cells

from roof to tree,

stylus of cloud carapace

leaking dark inked storm,  
a broken insect
clutched too close by night.

Could she dream
compressed in the chrysalis

before time twitched?
Torn from planet-flesh, redrawn
stripped of softness, pulled,
twisted, spine fruiting wings,
pocked eyes on a crescent tail
ever shapeshifting shackled in place
turned on a lathe of molecular blades, 
a censer swung in sulphur shadow
slow-flensed towards form
for the round-faced ringtoss flight.

Her dwarf metamorphosis

pretends to be vast, portent

of endtimes, war and blood;

the birth of something

or the death, assumes it's bigger

than a minute's cipher claws

working at the wrack of Newton's Laws.

She comes out to waltz her tiny mass

wet winged, wears wild winking diamonds

tiara'd running lights,

sweet stars or comets, drip-

dangled planets, all

her stick thin soul for sky's delight--

or so I scanned it

before I saw your shell,

floating husk bobbing
in the black well lit by witchlight

fathoms deep, where
indigo gods whisper

too low for your basilisk ear,

as I change and change again

in the song you'll never hear.

~February 2013

Hover mouse over pictures for image credits or click to follow links to photographer's page at fick'r Creative Commons.

Fool in Blue

Fool in Blue

Being Shiloh’s fool

was one of the most

peaceful things.

Oh he never thought

to call her that,

just a blue-cornered woman

with too many empty nights,

a vacuum

it was his nature to fill

in the two AM hot

Oklahoma vapor lock,

scratching on her windowscreen,

come to town for the thrill.
Sitting in the disappearing room
they’d get high and talk, drink cheap Zin--

always the best wine to go with cheap sin,

if you happen to believe in sin--

while his old lady finally got 
a good night's sleep. Being Shiloh's fool

was a peaceful thing.

She knew him for all
he was worth;
runaway country boy,

too smart homegrown freak,

aging acidhead.

(Ate a whole sheet of blotter once

he'd stashed and forgot;

thought it was too old and

he might not get off, 
but he misjudged.

Composed himself to die

on the dining room table

for two days and nights

while the party held a wake.

He was surprised as anybody

when he came down 
like a busted windowshade
and had to

go back to class.)

Being Shiloh’s fool

was a restful thing
up to a point.

She knew her purpose

and he knew his.
That night she broke,

he drove her to his dad’s pond

took off her china doll clothes,

led her into the black water

where salt tears and sweat rolled 

invisible as water moccasins in the dark
dancing their poison tango,

washed her in owlsong and moon

till her body whispered to her

she still had a heart.

Shiloh never owned her,

no one ever owned him,

and she,

she's never owned

anything.

~November 2011

posted for   real toads

 Challenge: Free Verse
This one has been in the files forever, and I think it's as free from any rhyme or contrivance of meter as anything I've every written, so, with apologies for the length, I submit it.

Header Image:Silent Night, by Kr B on flick'r

Shared under a Creative Commons license

Progression Of A Down

Progression of a Down

Someone gives her bottled honey

but she's in the mood for

vinegar. Someone gives her that

and she calls out for wine.

Blood

invades her cheeks.

Bile

from her slowsouring soul

makes her break her scarlet roses

against the spotless door.

At last, someone gives her darkness,

a green window closes;

the flies drop their aimless circling

for the delectable

buds

that won't open

tight

against her cancelled face.

~February 2013

posted for   real toads

Fireblossom Friday

The incomparable Fireblossom has us tackling a stanza form from British late Victorian poet A.E. Housman. She explains it much better than I could at the link above. 

Disclaimer:I did not pay much attention to meter in this and wrote purely to the syllable count, which gives this a different cadence to the Housman example and more of a free verse feel.

Image: Leeds Castle by Karen Roe via Flick'r Creative Commons
Hover mouse for attribution or click picture to follow to photographer's page.

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