Monday, July 21, 2014


(Flight MH17)

A glare-dot blotting
a white expanse
bleeding its way
past a bandaged moon;

a silken chill
in a summer sky
a febrifuge, a fool's refuge
burning up by noon;

sudden the strike,
the shattered seam,
the twist in fire
the jackal calls its dream.

Fill the cup
for the hummingbird up,
open the bud
for the bee,

let the grass grow
where bodies were snow;
but remember
remember me.

~July 2014

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Open Link Monday

Images: Sunrise, 1916, by Georgia O'Keefe
Posted under fair use guidelines
Hummingbird Cup, copyright joyannjones 2014


  1. It's great to read another poem on the same event, having lived in it intensely these past three days of endless revision ... Yeah, I wanted to write that too, to go into the magnitude of the flash. Here it's almost infrared, or seen in the lens of a drone -- an emulsion of magmatic heat to sear an image onto the eyeball that bursts and fades immediately into black. The cool-off is almost as intense as the flash -- freezing ("febrifuge," amen), and the way you left that so immediately as well for the floral wreath you lay on the graves that woven with forget-me-nots. The reporter I write about in my contribution wrote of how "MH17 came to rest in a wheat field dotted with purple flowers & ringed in Queen Anne's lace." What she saw is exactly as you imagined. The poetic here is terse and immediate and so powerful. How are we to see past the flash? What will we remember? Indeed. Thanks for the singularity of this flower.

    1. Thanks, B. Your poem eloquently covered so much; this was all I had, but heartfelt.

  2. Love the wish... the last minute prayer/hope/compromise... the request to let the world continue being while never forgetting what it takes (who it takes) to maintain it.

    I remember...

    From Behind, my Monday Open Link entry.

  3. Those last four lines... they should be carved on an epitaph. Just so heart-rending, the whole thing - poem and what gave rise to the poem: another human catastrophe.

  4. Oh, this is incredibly beautiful .... Happy Monday!

  5. One day in the not too distant future, grass will cover this parched field, and there will be no trace, except in memory., And the refrain from a song that goes "When will they ever learn."

  6. the wish to remember me! beautiful...

  7. I will, I will. Goodness. I had no words for this, and now I have your poem. Thank you.

  8. You have a way with words and flowers~ This is lovely and now I want to go look at my garden~ I know you have green fingers and thumbs~ This is enchanting!

  9. Nothing i say will add to your poem, which is complete in its succinct emotion. can't get my head around what's happening in the world today; all I know is that people seem to have lost their minds and are at each other's throats with no end in sight.

    1. Yep, that pretty much sums it up. Or as the Poetic Edda says about the days preceding Ragnarok:
      ' —an axe age, a sword age
      —shields are riven—
      a wind age, a wolf age—
      before the world goes headlong.
      No man will have
      mercy on another."

      Thanks, dear BFF.

  10. … I just keep thinking how many of the tears will turn to revenge… If only it would open eyes to the truth that bloodshed doesn't heal, doesn't' make anything better. And the quote above - chilling.

  11. My thoughts are somewhat along the same line as Brendan's, I think. A drone lens . . . a blip on a radar . . . the push of a button. There's something even less than barbaric about it, and I feel that here.

  12. I agree with Kerry that the last four lines are particularly moving. There is such a strong irony with the hummingbird up line as well and the whole sense-- senselessness of blip and flash. I am lucky not to have a tv or lately even very consistent internet so I read about these things but don't really have access to the endless coverage that I would probably watch if I were able to. Of course, this one is horrific even in print. Your poem captures the suddenness of the violence but the longterm effects for some.

    I think modern times are pretty awful but I think the world has historically been a pretty violent place. I think about the forties with millions on millions killed. My fear is that people forget the possibility of those types of conflagrations when they are so quick with shows of force. It all certainly is a blot. Beautiful o'keefe. I am on a bus on a phone so forgive incoherencies. K.

    1. Oh, the world and people haven't changed, I agree. We just have followed our seemingly natural progression as the detroyers of everything we come in contact with, including each other, and our little monkey minds have only gotten better at inventing ways to do it. Thanks for reading, and safe travels.

  13. dear sister of the blot- yours is far more eloquent than mine... ~

  14. more senseless slaughter...out of our human machine...
    id only we could choose life...the bee and the hummingbird
    over more and more....

    quite evocative piece joy....
    good to read you again....


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats

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