Monday, April 13, 2020

Gone Away Monday

Gone Away Monday

Does Easter Monday have a name;
of the rolled stone, the fleshless breath of bone, the
hollow's voiceless void; the comfort of a sobriquet, 
a calendar law of foreign Palms or dreadful Goods,
to mark the thing it's not?

The steam, the mayfly dew, the hope, the striking snake
that rises only shimmers happy cataracts 
to disappear; a lie preserved in
language of dead seeds, amber silo filled with
miracles' weeds,

of a cloud we
would become and cannot be, a flame burnt out
we barely know we see.

 April 2020

 for Kerry's April wordlist #13: lie
and Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads

(the 13 words: disappear flesh bones voice dreadful
away dead law happy comfort amber miracle flies)

Images: Cave Dwellings near Sperlingua, Sicily, 1933 © M.C. Escher  Fair Use
The Cave, 1901, by Clarence White   Public Domain


  1. First, I've always been jealous of that perfect tag "snake in the lass." I noticed yesterday that my calendar listed something called "Easter Monday"...huh? Roll away the stone to find an unfamiliar landscape without, that may seem familiar or to have a whiff of something barely remembered, but in fact is amorphous and baffling and quicksilver.

    No chocolate Saviors for you, Cappy Scandy. And in fact, some of them are so well hidden that they may not be found until an entire new checkerboard of named days can be assembled and filled with some assigned sort of nougat that suits the makers' purpose.

  2. Wonderful, Joy. i was so happy to see Clarence White's photo here because it was one I wanted to use back when I did the old photograph prompt. It is the perfect accompaniment to this contemplation of the cave/tomb, the death of things, not least of them faith but not in the archetypes which record the human condition.

    1. Thanks, Kerry. It's a very evocative image, isn't it? Glad to know it was one you know and appreciate.

  3. Those closing lines have extra import. Wonderful, Joy.

  4. Hangover Easter...The Christ risen from the hidden Easter Egg stolen from the Pagans...I feel this poem..

  5. With Ea<ter Monday just ending I feel a lot like this was an odd day, especially this year of Covid-19 when nothing really seems real. Tomorrow I will not leave my home (again) but yet it's a workday and I will set the alarm clock and remember that Easter has passed.

  6. Like the middle child, the day after most big parties seem to be overlooked. And like Bjorn suggests, the current situation seems to have made this on quieter than most. Thank goodness for that (almost gone) flame...

  7. Yes, a strange day perhaps, for Christians. I wouldn't know. I wasn't raised that way, so for me it was just always part of a welcome holiday at this time of year. But you paint the possible anti-climax well ... and the disappointment that might be found nowadays from taking a close look at the tale. (I like the way you included the snake ... or a snake).

  8. This is incredibly poignant! I love the accompaniment of the artwork by Clarence White, it compliments the poem as well as puts emphasis on "the hollow's voiceless void; the comfort of a sobriquet." Inspired~

  9. I was enchanted by the internal rhyme of ‘the rolled stone, the fleshless breath of bone’; the phrases ‘the comfort of a sobriquet’, which links to the idea that nothing exists until has been named, and ‘a lie preserved in / language’. I agree with Bjorn, it just didn't seem like Easter this year.

  10. Sounds like my Easter. There are some real gems in here -- "the hollow's voiceless void" and the entire second stanza -- some of your best. All we have to go on is that moment of shimmer, the echo of a flame "we barely know we see." A--men. - Brendan

  11. You exquisitely capture the emptiness of the first Monday of Easter. The interplay between your poignant, evocative lines and the stark photos is striking!

  12. Frank, check your spam folder for my comment. Word Press and Blogger are currently at war, at least for me.

  13. I like to think if you jam Easter and Monday together, you get Monster, sort of like Frankenstein, but then I've been cooped up too long.

    I'm struck by the image 'the language of dead seeds'...~


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

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