Wednesday, January 5, 2022

Factory Girl

 
 
 
 
 
 
Factory Girl

 
I remember that midwife year
you found me at the factory
holding the hand of water and
making shadows for the moon.
It was the year of cakes and blood
 
when everything was sharp with fear
waiting to be lost or born back to me
piecemeal in a box of sand.
You had a gambler's gift for tongues; fortune
loved to ripple where you stood.
 
Three times I turned a rose to tears.
Three times I spat your sugar melody
on the ground. Three times I made a man
from fire to fit your form; too soon
I saw the fourth time was no good.
 
Now I have no dreams, just hands
on fire for the work expected by the moon,
and faces in the ash I never understood.
 
 
January 2022


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 posted for dVerse Poets


and including words from
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Record Breaking Workers At The Factory ©Pavel Filanov  Public Domain
Lightning and Volcano, unknown artist, via internet.  Fair Use
 

12 comments:

  1. This is an intriguing tale, written in beguiling language: I would like to know more!

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  2. This is absolutely mesmerizing! I love the rhythm and use of language here especially; "You had a gambler's gift for tongues; fortune/loved to ripple where you stood." Thank you so much for such a beautiful response to the challenge! 💝💝

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  3. "You had a gambler's gift for tongues"
    wow, what a great line, and
    "Three times I made a man
    from fire to fit your form; too soon
    I saw the fourth time was no good"

    i can feel the fire in this poem, the pain, the deception. great sounds, great rhymes, great beat, so and so on, you know i love your work=)

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  4. Wowwwwwwwwww. The form, which I just whipped into resentful submission myself, is difficult enough, but your imagery, my word, woman.
    "holding the hand of water"
    "fortune loved to ripple where you stood"
    And the entire final two stanzas

    There's not a misplaced or awkward word in this entire poem, no small trick while observing the form. I am just so impressed, Joy.

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  5. Wow, HW... this is dark and intense... and I really love how the poem went from water to fire - that's just brilliant.

    Much love,
    David [ben Alexander]
    http://skepticskaddish.com/

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  6. WOW, this is a stunner. You can feel the intrigue, the emotion, and pain in this poem in its scope of intensity. The imagery is especially evocative and poignant.

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  7. Hedgewitch, this poem is so powerful, exquisite from start to finish. I can't pick out any particular line, they are all so stand-alone wonderful and compelling. It's like you dangle some piece of vivid clarity and yet it's woven in mystery at the same time. If I had to pick some lines, these:

    "it was the year of cakes and blood

    when everything was sharp with fear
    waiting to be lost or born back to me"

    "Three times I made a man from fire
    to fit your form: too soon
    I saw the fourth time was no good."

    But the whole of this stanza, the whole tale, every word, is wonderful. I am drawn in and wanting more. Truly great. By the way, may I call you Joy?

    <3

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  8. Love the burning memories, the counting and the failed attempts to capture someone in form. Stupendous. ~K.Hartless

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  9. For goodness sake....this is brilliant...heartfelt...with lines conjured out of wizardry - surely, such a powerful tale in verse....really, am blown away, love the unexpected turns of phrase, the storyline, denouement - I love reading poetry like this, with that tinge of bitterness..

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  10. From an interesting -- high - shelf of la biblioteque infernale. Maybe the word list had lots of moon spice and adder's thrall. An abstract poem of the heart, like looking through wistful glass ground hard-fine by time. The voice's rhythm, assured and strolling, kept its tapestry billowing.

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  11. This is what I always get from reading your poem, the surprises from the first line to the last. Even the title and the artwork becomes an integral part of the poem...

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  12. I appreciate how this travels along time and space, from naivete to deep wisdom, from enchantment to disillusionment. It's a satisfying read, Joy.

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