Some Day Soon

Some Day Soon

Someday soon I'll take off

this blue Hag's face.

I'll wear tassels and bells, not goatskin

mismatched shoes one joy one sorrow,

stained gypsy skirt belled like brass shot

and ambered with old blood and tears,

a blouse of white love 

too lacy too tight

around the heart.

Someday soon

perhaps I'll get puffed

out-blown, naked self all milkweed

on the wind, sketching strong simple

lines of charcoal breeze

after a life of endless baroque

bodice-bound artifice,

where each day's

a button coming loose, 

a dangle on a frayed thread

teasing to be snapped

and each hour of the night's

wrapped in a rotting winding sheet,

strip by strip unwound

by tarnished imps

of that procrastinating dawn

when at last

light of my heart

I'll see your 
river smoothed face again,

as finger by finger

you pry time open,

the stony fist
surprised
into letting me go.

~March 2013

© Ella, of Ella's Edge

 posted for   real toads

Challenge:Releasing the Inner Wild

from the very Wild Sherry Blue Sky, who asks us to write of our inner wildness, or even the Crone, as I have done here.

Optional Musical Accompaniment

Top image: Artist unknown, via She Who Is, on facebook

Bottom image: Inspire Angella, © Ella, of Ella's Edge

Black Velvet

Dream caused by the flight of a bee round a pomegranate~Dali

Black Velvet

When the claw hammer came down

it was wrapped in black velvet,

soft as the glimmering

mermaid eye of night.

The delicate smash was

tied up in scarlet,

a thin cord that throbbed

an umbilicus of darkness from

shadow to form.

After the shatter, one piece 

of the wreckage

was curt as a heartbeat, thin as

a moth's tongue, small as blood-drops

from poet's dreams, lover's minutes

but inside washed the ocean,

selkies' coral-lace palaces,

the faerie summit dancing

under the hill.

Cast off were the crackings,

the beast with nine heads,

the cackling kraken, the half-broken

tigers, the wolfen brigade;

all howled from the rupture

furred in red mourning

and tears for the one

who can't tell

them apart.

The Dream~Damien Hirst

~March 2013

posted for   real toads

Challenge: Fireblossom Friday

The inimitable Fireblossom asks us "to write a poem about a crack, fissure, rupture, split, or breaking point."

Images via wikipaintings.org, may be under copyright and are posted under fair use guidelines. All copyright belongs to the copyright holders.

Storm Flower

Storm Flower

When day began to

split the night like cordwood,

winter went on a

week long masquerade

wearing green west wind

for robes, sunning

the pear into too-soon white ruffles,

paper petals suddenly browning

in the late frost

of unmasking;

under blurred blizzard

midnight
 March blooms instead
the moon's white eye,

 a living flower

of  storm.

~March 2013

55 sepia petals for    the   g-man

Image: Pear Blossoms, © joyannjones