Husk Of A Moon

Husk of a Moon

The moon came down

in your steel-bead eyes

to knot my hair in a crown despised,

to lily the mirror holding the lies;

laughing, exploring my face endwise,

tubing my throat for the acid surprise.

I'd like her to drown.

Obscure her in filaments

stretched from my ligaments,

pulsing prime elements

into irrelevance

beside the eye-evidence,

or make her a clown

show-tumbling endlessly

in a three ring dependency

cherry mouth pensively

bleeding her bleakness free.

Make her stop wanting me.


Close your eyes so moonshadow brown;

don’t show me the hole where the moon comes down.

~August 2013

posted for     real toads

Challenge: Out of Standard with Izy

Blue Moon Special

Isadora Gruye, of the Nice Cage blog,  as always looking for ways to torture me, asks us to write a poem about the moon which doesn't mention the sky or the night in any way, shape or form. I haven't written anything in so long, I thought, wth,  I would see if it was even possible, and amazingly wrote this in about fifteen minutes. Thank you, Izy, for getting my pen moving--I take back all the four letter words your challenge initially caused my bad bad mouth to spew.

Image: deadlight2, © joyannjones 2012

gone fishin

Back when I catch something

Due to a disturbance in the Force, I've decided to take one of my periodic breaks from blogging. (I reserve the right to emerge if I catch anything that's big enough to keep, however.) 

Everyone have a wonderful remainder of the summer.

 

 

Image: copyright Richard Marchand, 2004

Moth Mirror

 

Moth Mirror

I know we lived on honeysuckle,

eye-spot moths above the mirror cave

back when we could have been saved.

Each dawn blew the first rose of summer

each night the last stars took

long dives through black nothing

to shine in your dark eyes.

We believed things

we said then. We'd looked in the mirror

to see who we were, for certainly

all that we saw there was true

but to wing-eyed moths

it only showed how to burn, 

only showed the glove of your love

slipped on me all dazzled 

with starbroken glass,

only my back spread for your blanket

across four seasons salt phosphorescent

cloud grass, till blind husk and ash 

in the blow of the last autumn day,

the mirror turned ice let us fly away.

~August 2013

posted for     real toads

Challenge: Hungry and Haunted

Hannah has turned the torch of her transforming Fridays to a rather unique spot on this earth, the Salar de Uyuni, a great salt flat/lake in Bolivia. Visit the link above to learn more about it, and to see some stunning photography of its mirror-like aspects. I've tried to work that image into the title theme with this one.

Images: The Salar de Uyuni viewed from space, and a mature luna moth, both  public domain via wikipedia

Loving The Storm

Loving The Storm

There's a twitch

on earth's skin,

skybugs quick-crawling

over black eyes of clouds

cracked bloodshot with lightning.

Once this weather

lived wild

in your kiss, rain
a grace, long-missed,

life-pouring.

Now,  monotonously weeping,

hypocritically holding

the circular scythe in

its hard hand of darkness,

it's a  roaring destroyer

re-gifting

the bright silver torc
of pain.

~August 2013

55 monotonous silver drops for     the g-man

Photo by Travis Miller, flick'r Creative Commons.