The Hell War
Hades crowns the flight
of dirty falcons
with scarlet galaxies
spilled by hell's black tusk
above cities cracked,
broken-backed
in that glittering metaverse
where truth wobbles itself
into lies, idiots become geniuses
and poets wolves,
their meat
the bleeding revolution.
In the shadows, all that's left
of softness
rocks the experimental child
who cannot cry.
March 2023 ~ a 55
posted for
Images: Untitled (Hell Tower,) © Zdzisław Beksiński Fair Use
The Molars of Leviathan, © Wayne Douglas Barlowe Fair Use
Wow! This is dark. You have really woven a mad mood with these words. The rhythm and flow are superb and the images are powerful.
ReplyDeleteWow, what a slam-bang ending, Joy. I also especially like how you put "truth wobbles itself into lies." Unfortunate that this sounds so like our world today.
ReplyDeleteI was astounded to see how quickly you came up with this! I always figure you need to mull, but this time you already had the fire lit. Since the G-Man can't do it, allow me to wish you a kick-ass weekend!
A grave warning!
ReplyDeleteMamas, don't let your babies grow up to be Furies, because the heat now can melt steel. Musta been some list and a 55 the only jacket impregnable enough to sport it. Or is it just another Friday in Oklahoma? You arrested me at "cities cracked, / broken-backed / in that glittering metaverse / where truth wobbles itself / into lies."
ReplyDeleteGAH! This poem rings like an anvil on steel. Fantastic writing, too many astounding images to quote. Really stunning work, Joy. I especially love the poets becoming wolves. Smiles.
ReplyDeleteYour poem tells the unvarnished truth ... 'glittering metaverse where truth wobbles itself' shakes to the core. What will become of us? All of us. Thank you for the generous comment, Joy. I love manipulating images and was quite happy living on the Planet of Softness.
ReplyDeleteMy god. Amazing. You found the artery, slit it, and a hard jet of our souls shot out.
ReplyDeleteYeats for the plains. Thanks for coming by my place, cob-webbed that it is. The drought continues despite the sky rivers on the western edge. Hope you are well, and continue to write. ~ m
ReplyDeleteThanks for coming by, M. Every time I write a 55, I think of not just the G-man, but you who have made it sing so often. Good to see you, and I also struggle with cobwebs.
ReplyDeleteWow! You've taken dark to a whole new level here, Joy! Each frame by frame image, from the dirty falcons in the scarlet galaxies to the glittering metaverse, the poet wolves, and the child rocking at the end, is as utterly stunning as it is chilling. I love the images you've chosen to accompany your poem too, you always pick such great images :-)
ReplyDelete