Wednesday, April 1, 2020



Awakenings these latter days
seem sullen, straining for
a gone green music, unprepared as
the day that lumbers up,
tripping its way through a
zodiac of sticks like a clumsy thief,
 too old to run but still wanting to steal.

Hours revolve in a maelstrom
of ferns, once fresh for morning
now a parable of crackling
 brown loss drying back to some point
of unknown where its powdering tides will
drain down earth's fissures,
intimately gone; I'm just another

torn membrane losing the lie,
spinning down the dark drown.
Still I pull all the architecture
of my ruins--the folly, the narrows,
the knot garden, the rockery of
a thousand dead alpine desires--
forward to find

a station of cleared space
to stand in place for life's moment,
asking eyes shut, seed face
blind and upturned,
 sunflowered on my stem
for one last hot meal
of yellow light;

being a daisy,
being a dream.

April 2020

posted for Kerry's

Note: April as always is poetry month, and though I will be writing as much as I can, it most likely will not be a poem a day. Nonetheless, I will offer to those who are the Friday 55 each week for their use if so desired. So see you here on Friday if you need a meme.

Images: The Old Tower In The Fields, 1884 by Vincent Van Gogh, Public Domain
Still Life With Four Sunflowers, 1887, by Vincent Van Gogh, Public Domain


  1. the rockery of
    a thousand dead alpine desires--

    So many astounding images, Joy, and the words of Thomas are given such immaculate placement in these lines. I found the whole read quite breathtaking!
    Thank you for finding the inspiration from this April wordlist.

  2. "Straining for a gone green music....." How thoughtlessly we delighted in other Aprils, never dreaming one like this one would come. This poem is SO BEAUTIFUL, especially the way you close it, the daisy being a dream. Sigh, What perfection, to read this this morning.

  3. That first stanza blew me away with how you describe awakening. The lumbering day still wanting to steal. (!) And, despite everything cycling back to dust and going down a craggy rabbit hole, there remains the gift of a cleared space and a new way of existing, at least for the present moment. I would say more but my finger doesn't like typing anymore, it seems. Direct and honest, this is writing that's a joy to read but demanding to write.

  4. I was taken in from the beginning. To have an even wake up to find our skin holds no fever is such a gift these days. A daisy is a blooming example of longevity. They are the perfect flower to form a bouquet because they last much longer than a rose. In awe as always by your work.

  5. Van Gogh is really just perfect for April, for the pandemic, for the last glint of sun on our blind seed faces.

    I only decided today to maybe write this month. I'm glad you are, wherever the muse takes you ~

  6. last hot meal...those four words in that order perfectly summarize desire of all kinds.

  7. I am enthralled with this entire poem Joy - it's a prayer, a plea, a petition to the heavens and earth, and it skillfully draws me in, as I first wade then drown in my senses. Of course, I have deep ties to the earth, the water and the skies - so your vivid, brilliant imagery speaks volumes, softly treading on my skin, flushing deeply into my pores ---
    I have been sitting with this since yesterday, savouring the layers, the richness - it's lusciousness. And I really love the way you suddenly break the poem in the centre, grounding it with the concrete images/reference to architecture ...

    Still I pull all the architecture
    of my ruins--the folly, the narrows,
    the knot garden, the rockery of
    a thousand dead alpine desires--

    A truly wonderful reading experience.

    thank you - and be well and safe -


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

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