Sunday, August 6, 2017

Gypsy Shipwreck

Gypsy Shipwreck

The starved gypsy moon
caravans out of sight

feeding all she has stolen
to the heart of the night.

The bell-jangled tracing
of her white legs' skip

to the violin's sobbing
going down like a ship

 grinds me for music 
that growls like a dog,

 while all hands are lost 
in the gunpowder fog.

~August 2017

a 55 for Kerry's Flash Plus

Images (Swept Away, Summer Breeze) by Erte  via    Fair use.


  1. Love this especially; "The bell-jangled tracing of her white legs' skip to the violin's sobbing going down like a ship" is incredibly vivid! Beautifully executed.

  2. No five songs for a quarter here; little quarter at all when the moon is a Gyspy thief and the ship is going down in the deep part of the night.

  3. Your imagery is always so striking, Joy. A wonderful poem!

  4. I like the rhymes and the energy in this. All is lost in the gunpowder fog...Yes indeed. Including apparently, the gypsy's shoe.

  5. The word that comes to mind is 'chanson'.. The lyrical quality so perfectly suits the fashion of the art, and your poem is more artful, in my opinion. I love it.. going to read it again before I go.

  6. No quarter and all hands tossed in my reading of this hurlyburly of an acheybreaky heart. Pair o deuces, snake eyes, 8 ball scratch of a screech as the demon fiddler bows. Boom. I love the smell of gunpowder in Hedgewitchean moonlight.

  7. Enchanting imagery... I love that the metaphor feels real enough to be seen almost literally, if that makes sense. I can see the moon doing all of it.

  8. How well you constructed the poem out of the tantalizing image. The violin sobbing was the image that really stood out for me.

  9. deft, as always, you bring more than just the words to the page. Kerry's note rings true - and with that song and rhyme, the listener / reader's mind is momentarily lulled before you scythe in with that killer last line...


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

Comment Moderation Has Been Enabled