B-logorrhea

B-logorrhea

I'm just a blogging poet

despised by academe.

I don't count my atonalities.

I rust my cast iron dreams

in a rain of ruinous lunacies.

I polish twenty syllables

to spin you a ragged dime,

I sonnet from non-portuguese;

I don't hold my nose at rhyme.

I'm just a blogging poet:

read, rinse, repeat online.

~December 2013

55 blithering logorrheic units for    the g-man

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night! I plan on taking a blogging break till the New Year, but I will be lurking around in case someone makes me a prompt I can't refuse. 

Best of holidays to all and so many grateful thanks to all my readers who take the time and energy to visit, read, rinse and repeat all year long.

Image: Untitled, by Janiana C Falkiewicz on flick'r
Shared under a Creative Commons License

The Whole Of The Moon

The Whole Of The Moon

In the whole of the moon

there was only one poem

last night. Her floured face was

matted with clouds. Nothing was bright

but your eyes

and her faint outline

a circle in amber solitude

chasing a night of saturated silver.

A matrix of stillborn memories glowed

with her, waxing and waning 

willfully as your smile when

you wore all the rings of Saturn,

caped the cloth of filmy nebulae

at your throat

with Orion's dagger brooch,

posed for a sideshow slot

in a world that thinks magic

comes in a plastic package

mechanical, chemical,

insoluble in water.

Meanwhile the murky moon looked down

as senescent she slivered away

and made herself young again

in your eyes.

~December 2013

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Open Link Monday

Image: Untitled, by Zdislav Beksinksi

May be protected by copyright. Posted under fair use guidelines

via wikipaintings.org

Funeral Of The Knife

Funeral of the Knife

In this absence,

sudden pause, naked as a strip-mine

half-precious as a licked pot
clean-cheeked as a skull,

the knife is waiting

for the silence of burial

to lie null and dulled

in earth packed beneath
still-bloody boots.

Let it be so: that it fails,

is ready to go, to be dropped,

death-work unremitting

finally too much.

So long we've spent making it,

honing it, plunging it deep,

so long it's been

sharp-sunk at the center
revolving a delirious

compass, pinning us

blind to course, swinging
between hate and fear

never still long enough
to map the latitude
of peace.

We are lost without it

shoveling here, lost
as the freed needle spins, lost

but waiting, wanting

these mortal wounds
somehow to

scab over.

~December 2013

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Weekend Feature: Nelson Rolihlala Mandela ~ In Memoriam

Kerry O'Connor has given us a thoughtful, suggestive and loose prompt, to reflect, in micro or macrocosm, on the life and struggles of this recently passed larger-than-life figure and great man of South Africa and the world. Here I have tried to write about the possibility of peace, and how it seems to be an elusive promise wrapped in blood and struggle.

Top Image: Knife Stabs Downward, by Anthony Easton. on flick'r.

Bottom Image: Copper with knife, by GollyGforce, on flick'r 

I have manipulated this photo. You can see the original HERE

Both images shared under a Creative Commons Attribution Only License.

Evergreen

Evergreen

For
Christmas
one  year my
grandmother  got  a
small poinsettia, feet wrapped
in green foil, top red as the blood
 on the split palms of Jesus over her bed,
a scarlet  exotic swaying its  tropical  hips,

taller each winter, bloomlessly braced on a broken
hula-hoop, reborn evergreen; in her house, like Christmas,

things always
lived..

~December 2013

55 red, green and blue memories for     the g-man

Process notes: photo is of my Swedish grandparents, Clara and Ragner, on one of their sixty-odd wedding anniversaries.( I'm guessing year 30 here.) My grandmother's dress was river blue with grey-blue, pale green, and white paisleys, very filmy, and my grandfather's tie, his favorite, was dark blue and loud with a gold/deep green leaf design. The poinsettia was literally both an exotic and an extravagance back then--I believe it was a gift from one of my uncles--and it did end up, rather emaciated but huge ,staked  on an old red hula-hoop in a giant pot, where it grew like a vine and was alive the last time I saw her, Christmas 1976,

Photo (c) joyannjones. All rights reserved.

The Nature of Fire

The Nature of Fire

"The  great desire of a flame  is to continually burn.

 The nature of fire is that it always wants more."

~Corvidus the Elder

Under the wing of the Crow

hides a feathery system of madness;

students burn syllables of darkness

spat into the alembic of sanity,
turning gossip of  metaphysicians
wanly cadaverous by starlight,

whispering quicksilver clues.

The philosopher's stone still eludes them

though they work with the frenzy of madmen

to dry the cold humors of water, push
a natural progression of vileness
to purity using the flame.
The nature of fire is that it's immaculate;
the essence of fire is that it always wants more.

They speak these desires of fire

in the tongue-twisting gibberish of blackbirds,

court the devilish salvation of  oddity,

vulgarly cawing of victory in the

soothing-sweet chant of the damned.

I cannot credential this lunacy

despite my degree in Catastrophe.

I toast it instead with a memory;

our glasses hold flames' flickered casualties

like ladies lavish with luxury pile

amusements in portmanteau'd  piracy,

knowing fire will always want more.

 ~December 2013

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Wednesday Challenge: Get Listed

The inimitable Fireblossom is in charge of summoning poems today, and has provided us with a word list drawn from "The System of Dr Tarr and Professor Fether' by Edgar Allen Poe. I thought I had used  all 23 of her diabolical words here in one form or another, but I missed 'irrational.' But it is there in spirit! You may peruse the list in full at the link above.

Process notes: Poe prefaced many of hs short stories with quotes, and many of them were ones he made up, as I did here with my  excerpt from the works of the imaginary alchemist, Corvidus The Elder.   
"The philosophers' stone or stone of the philosophers (Latin: lapis philosophorum) is a legendary alchemical substance said to be capable of turning base metals such as lead into gold... It was also sometimes believed to be an elixir of life, useful for rejuvenation and possibly for achieving immortality." ~wikipedia

Optional Musical Accompaniment

Image: Alchemy, or The Useless Science, by Remedios Vara

May be protected by copyright. Posted underfair use guidelines

via wikipaintings.org.