Waltzing on the Cross
A Dizain
You, my sweet drifting feather dipped in lead,
faun's startled glance in the soul pool mirror,
piped a masque of muted dancers dressed in red
swirled in a beggar's ballroom bright with fear;
reflections drowned in glass were never clearer.
Our bloodless puppets linked their inkstained hands.
I jumped and posed and waited your commands;
you ground me up and used the paste as balm
to seal the leaking wounds the heart remands:
stigmata where the ego pierced your palms.
~July 2012
Posted for real toads
Open Link Monday/Sunday Mini-Challenge
Kerry's form challenge this weekend was on another aspect of the ballade stanza, the dizain: 'a decastich, a whole poem made up of a single Ballade Supreme stanza, a 10 line stanza...'
with rhyme scheme a b a b b c c d c d .
with rhyme scheme a b a b b c c d c d .
Image: Bust of a Satyr, by Jacob Jordaens, 1621
Public Domain, via Wikipaintings.org
I haven't had a chance to try this yet (and may not), but am quite charmed (not right word) (blown away) by yours - the grinding up in to paste to seal the wounds pretty darn great, the ego stigmata (sounds good as well as profound meaning), the inkstained bloodless puppets. Are you sure you haven't been secretly working over there? Glad you are feeling better. k.
ReplyDeleteThanks k. I had lots of feverish scribbles of three or four words come to me while semi-comatose--but putting them together and making something out of them had to wait for more active brain cells. ;_)
DeleteOooh! So much to sink the teeth into here: a feather dipped in lead, a reflection drowned in a glass, bloodless puppets and ego-piercings. I was so wrapped up in the words and images that the form itself became a wonderful frame for your work of art.
ReplyDeletedang hedge...way to bust back on the scene...some really cool allit throughout....that opening line is a gripper...our bloodless puppet linked...omg...good stuff...the ego pierced palms...tight...
ReplyDeleteyeah, i missed you...smiles.
When the faun pipes, someone pays . . . Here it's done in pairs: (1) "soul pool mirror" and "reflections drowned in glass were never clearer." (2) "feather dipped in lead" and "ink-stained hands" (3) "waited your commands" and "heart remands" and (4) "Waltzing on The Cross" and "stigmata where the ego pierced your palms" Maybe this was not conscious? I too would fear this dance and the healing that consumes me. I am so happy to see you again!
ReplyDeleteYour faun pipes so beautifully. He'd be welcome at Titania and Oberon's clash at my place. The ink is fresh on my fingers. Grasp my hand . . . shall we reel.
ReplyDeletewhoooossshhh. "i jumped and posed and waited your commands." wow.
ReplyDelete"drifting feather dipped in lead" ... Well if that isn't clear imagery, I don't know what is!
ReplyDelete"Our bloodless puppets linked their inkstained hands." ... What a great line.
WOW! "the soul pool mirror"......in this case the Ballade Supreme is well-named:)
ReplyDeleteJoy...you floor me every time. Sometimes I am afraid to read because I know I will be thinking about it all night. You ink a feel better than anyone the writing is fabulous. Heavy sigh....pass the wine, back to the drawing board for me.
ReplyDeleteYou're back! You're back! You're back! yayyyyyyyyyy!
ReplyDeleteI mean, er, hey Witch.
What a first line you achieve re-entry with...a feather dipped in lead. All these images, the muted dancers, the beggar's ballroom, the bloodless puppets, if the nouns were unmodified they would denote life, action, and creation, but their modifiers are all dreary, heavy, and drained, giving the effect of a scene that *should* be one way, but just isn't. Even your title is contradictory; a waltz suggests beauty, grace, organized flowing movement, while the cross suggests suffering, pain, and physical destruction. Surely two forces are at odds here.
I'm struck by this:
"I jumped and posed and waited your commands;
you ground me up and used the paste as balm"
The first of these two lines is full of eagerness to perform and to please, and what is it met with? Pulverization.
There is nothing truly holy here. It's a mockery, a perversion, of what could have been. And it's one hell of a poem to come back with, Joy.
Thanks so much, Shay. As always, you so get it.
DeleteGreat to see you Hedge ~
ReplyDeleteLove the form and my fav lines are:
you ground me up and used the paste as balm
to seal the leaking wounds the heart remands:
stigmata where the ego pierced your palms.
Now, hold on. Shouldn't you be at least a little rusty or something? Jeez!
ReplyDeleteYou owned this form like it was invented for you. Stunning, where did I put my wig imagery.
laffin @ MZ.
DeleteThink of all the money we're saving each other at the salon.;-)
Deletetoo many amazing lines to quote ~ stunning "hedgewitch" poetry ~ you never write anything less than stunning! so happy you're on the mend!
ReplyDelete♥
Stigmata where the ego pierced... Sharp, as in clever. :-)
ReplyDeletethe last five lines, I felt were worth the whole poem.and the killer twists of the last three were just superb.the metaphoric connotations spiral into circles of unending wonders.
ReplyDelete