Sunday, December 18, 2016

Wasp's Nest

Wasp's Nest

A heart hangs now
in the center of winter
a vacant nest
built of poison and paper
empty celled
where each lover lingered
in change, a drone to the flame
till ending's escape.
A collection
of spaces, 
exit wounds, dead places 
to make recollection's ruinous progression,
 first conceiving to last leaving,
a Fibonacci hanging swaying;
a summer home buzzing connection
now shelled and blown
on the white breath of the North
while the ambitious maker,
light as that empty cold
quickly curling her legs, 
lays down her husk on the crackled grass

~December 2016

posted for real toads 

21 lines for Kerry's   Final Twilight 

and some rather surreal musical comic relief:

Image: author unknown, fair use via the internet


  1. I love the implicit human and emotional analogy you apply with the empty ruined nest, Joy. Such good balance in the phrasing. A great idea very artfully executed.
    Steve K.

  2. I find wasp nests fascinating. Such industry in the making, but the poison of the maker ever.present. you create an expressive list of comparisons, Hedge. The culminating image of death is almost poignant.

  3. You cockeyed optimist, you. I love the poison and paper line, and the entire idea of a wasp's nest as a metaphor for a heart.

  4. I agree with Shay, the poison and paper line is perfection. I also sense its emptiness, and maybe also that it takes a winter to be able to get close, maybe it's the same for us. It's in death and weakness we prove ourselves the best.

  5. This is just gorgeous read aloud. It moves beautifully.

  6. I love the heart hanging in the center of winter, a vacant nest. I especially love the "crackled grass".

  7. An unrealized reminder. Well done

  8. Wasp nests are like outposts, marking new territory as well as the last massacre ... nests communal in predation where bee hives are hearths of pollination. Wasp nests are also much easier found on the eaves and rooks of the day, external and dangling -- male genitalia of the species, perhaps, venomed with testosteroney intents. Anyway, this heart of "poison and paper" (exquisite) is defined by its winter vacancy, the sum of every lover's exiting wound. Loved "a summer buzzing connection / now shelled and blown / on the white breath of the North" -- the final twilight's rapture. The missing final period ends things as they do, before there can be finality. Only that last light to see by and then . (I just saw to the tenting of an old abandoned church, sending thousands of wasps to golden hives elsewhere.) Raucous applause from the snow men in the peanut gallery.

    1. Thanks B--appreciate the attentive read--and the testosteroney image (sort of like rice-aroni in its hybrid splendor)Empty as this nest is, it's the industrious and serving bee who is threatened with extinction rather than that quick-flitting predator with its mastery of papier mache and impossibly slim waist a handle to its vicious sting. My sympathies on the church labor--I had a barn infested with them once--en masse they are formidable. I'm afraid I gave them perhaps a softer touch of pathos than they deserve here.

  9. Fantastic. Makes me feel unwittingly sentimental.

  10. Wonderful imagery, and you managed to paint it with such style. This is really a great piece!

  11. Catacombs and emptied hearts. Once alive and pumping, one with unpierced dirt/rock, the other with blood. Both beautiful in the beginning... then cold and a bit scary in the end.

    So many wonderful lines, Hedge. Such deep feelings... for something that was built with precision and care, just to be left behind...

  12. It brings me to the emotions I had when our home became an empty nest. There were pieces of the four of us, but the electricity generated among us went from a 100 watt bulb to 40. It took time to adjust.

  13. that is some video - early vegan free-love propaganda, clearly meant as a lascivious, insidious siren-call to America's youth to... to... make hay like they do... ha!

    we don't get the 'white breath of the North' here, just the fog of an exterminator's poison, but we do get wasps, and the paper they make is remarkable. (I was curious to read B's comment, too.) we and bees may fear them, yet they *make*.

    now, if only we fearsome beasts could find a way to make, as well, amidst our destruction. ~

  14. afa the clip, I blame cocaine--or possibly mind-altering bathtub gin. ;_)

    We masters of war do make many ingenious things, not least the engines of our own destruction--but also poems, love, and beauty for beauty's sake--too bad the former so outnumbers the latter. Thanks, M.


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

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