Thursday, September 30, 2021

Mantis In The Kitchen


Mantis In The Kitchen
"A name is the shortest form of a spell."
The mantis in the kitchen
knows my name. He
stares with ice eyes glistening,
watches me
watches me
tilts his mild triangular 
faceted face
as if to say, I'm busy,
but later..
I'm never alone for 
the things you've possessed
surround me,
watching me
watching me,
mingling our names
in an insect clatter.
The ice eyes meet the fate
of all our glaciers. The mantis 
pales and shrinks as
we liquefy in the heat
where even names melt,
leaving a duplicitous aquavit;
the honey of sweet
the vinegar
of change.

~August 2021

 posted for Open Link
at dVerse Poets
Note: Akvavit or a distilled spirit that is principally produced in Scandinavia, where it has been produced since the 15th century. Akvavit is distilled from grain and potatoes, and is flavoured with a variety of herbs. ~wikipedia
Images: Praying Mantis In Morning Light With Chai ©3D Storyteller All Rights Reserved Fair Use
Cannibalism Of The Praying Mantis Of Lautremont, 1934 © Salvador Dali    Fair Use

Saturday, September 25, 2021

The White House


The White House
Fall is sky
of milk and water, of
sand and blood, a field of ev'ry fruit
and folly, gathered around the slant white house that
rocked its boards like a boat and took in
the moon's footloose orphans.
The white house 

grew a child;
it seemed safe there by the
warm muddy lake,rough beach of red dirt,
trees bent over brown water by the weight of locusts'
spell chanting out the night, the old gods'
didgeridoo. There were
always dogs
in the yard,
toys on the floor, music
in the hall, food in the kitchen, bells
of laughter rung on blue sheets, your bright virgin eyes
umber as winter oak, wild as wine,
alight in the white house.
Now the child
is grown, you
are gone, and nothing is
safe. The white house, drifting in its trees
by the clouded lake, is a slow rocking boat un-
manned but full; October's hand turns wind
 to firelight for moon's
last orphan.

September 2021

posted for 

Process Note: This poem is written in the triquain form, consisting  of seven line stanzas with lines of 3,6,9,12,9,6,and 3 syllables respectively.


Images: Old house, author unknown, via Sunday Muse  Fair Use
Autumn Day circa 1986,  © joyannjones 

Saturday, September 18, 2021

Snake Smoke


Snake Smoke
An eye is a window,
a window an eye.
I can't tell you any more
so don't ask me.
A promise is a lie,
a lie is a promise;
curling smoke from my pipe,
a snake climbing air.
Chaos the white bride
for a bridegroom of money,
worst man holds the ring.
Priest eats the flower girl.
A promise is a lie,
a lie is a promise;
snake smoke from my pipe,
a garotte made of air.
A marriage is a funeral, 
a funeral a marriage.
I can't talk now
I'm late for the wedding.

September 2021

posted for Fireblossom
Note: Yes, it's a cigar, not a pipe. Poetic license.
Images: Wind From The Sea, © Andrew Wyeth, 1947  Fair Use
Photo of Lakeith Stanfield, author unknown via internet Fair Use

Thursday, September 16, 2021

The Luna Moth Dress


"...Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet delight.
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to endless Night..."
~ Augeries of Innocence, William Blake 

 The Luna Moth Dress

In my apple green dress
with my faceted eyes
black as the breeze
from hell's back door
I flutter around
where the blue shadows play,
where my velvet arms
drop the face of the light
deep in a focus
on one bright flame,
no last sweet sip
of the moonflower's wine.

My cheap insect mask
frightens the child.
Dogs bark as I walk
on the edges of bricks
but in my luna moth dress
soft eyebrows all feathers,
I know I'll soon fly on
the breath floating the sky,
welcome at last
in the green wood of life
one with the Fae, one
with the lark, a thing with 
a place, a peace, a time,
a laugh
full of giving past
the slow dance of moon,
free from this exile
in endless Night.
September 2021

posted for Open Link Night
at dVerse Poets 
Note: Luna moths (Actias luna) live 7-10 days and are nocturnal. Adults have no functional mouthparts and live on energy stored as caterpillars.  

Images: Luna-moth © sunelixir   All Rights Reserved   Fair Use
Luna Moth © Jessica Mahan   All Rights Reserved    Fair Use

Saturday, September 11, 2021

Blue Flame


 Blue Flame

I was the woman who
loved you hotter than a sun
hard as a granite gravestone
but time has chosen to
braid me differently, tying years
into grey knots

behind which the crimson
of memory
coagulates and fails
making it seem as if there
is not, never was,
love as stubborn as a pebble in a shoe
piercing every step.

A parody of a woman
rolled in a circus tent, lurches like
a wheelbarrow when she walks,
from the pebble, from the weakness, from the void.
Her flesh sags like a
campfire marshmallow melting
on the stick.

Yet in the mirror gateway
my eyes avoid, sometimes a flash;
the high snow-swept cheekbones of that girl,
the sunburnt hair longer than winter,
the bell glass body moon-rounded, glowing
a blue flame within, feeling
your touch so
fluent in flourishes of stars;
 love as sharp as thirst
September 2021 

posted for
Images via internet, authors unknown    Fair Use

Sunday, September 5, 2021

Dream Trip


 Dream Trip
 After a pipe dream courtship
he married disaster. Six months gone
he woke up to
a quick divorce. He untangled himself
on the road to Vegas, where lies went down

like a cup of strong coffee
fast and black in the tarry night,
lounge tunes bleeding in air 
sharp as snake-eyed desert light, hope
another bad debt to be written off.

The wind's hand shook
like a drunk croupier, fumbling out
aces and eights
before the martinis, sanding the gas tank,
whistling at graves. The car gave out

before he made Tahoe, when
nothing was left but Jack and shit
and Jack left town. Stars sarcastically
 winked when he put his head down
slack on the wheel and slept

dreaming of her, dreaming of then,
dreaming a toffee-striped lizard
and a stand-up owl
laughing their asses off
at punter's luck.


September 2021

posted for
Images: Abandoned Car, author unknown, Fair Use
Lizard © Chernee Sutton-Jurutu  Fair Use