Showing posts with label back in the long ago. Show all posts
Showing posts with label back in the long ago. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 28, 2022

Fairy Tale

 


 
 Fairy Tale





Princess Moonzumi and Prince Heart-of-Ash
were betrothed as children through a looking glass.
She never knew him. He never saw her,
just a shadow that moved in the mirror's blur.

Prince Heart-of-Ash learned bard song and sword,
to jest with a blade and kill with a word.
Princess Moonzumi went out every day
to dance with the Sidhe where the dogwoggles play
 
down in the mud, up in the scud,
around the green tree that sheds no blood.
She knew every fae in the wild dark wood
and they taught her to fear the evil in good.
 
Princess Moonzumi and Prince Heart-of-Ash
were married in autumn when the east winds thrash
as the leaves fell like fire on earth's mirror-face,
and they loved each other for a year and a day.
 
Then Prince Heart-of-Ash took his sharp bright blade
down to the wood where the dogwoggles played.
The princess died like a mouse in the leaves
for a lie in the heart only ash could believe.
 
 


September 2022










posted for earthweal's
 
 
 

and 
 
 
 
dVerse Poets'








Sidhe/SHē/noun, plural noun: Sidhe: the fairy people of Irish folklore, said to live beneath the hills and often identified as the remnant of the ancient Tuatha Dé Danann.









Note: I wrote the seed of this poem while running a fever a few weeks ago, but the prompts shaped it to final form. Apologies if I have stretched the boundaries a bit on what was requested.



 
 
Images: Mammal in Leaves, author unknown, courtesy of earthweal   Fair Use
They went hand in hand in the country that smells of appleblossoms and honey,  © Arthur Rackham, Irish Fairy Tales
 Fair Use

Tuesday, March 22, 2022

Soup Kitchen

 
 

 
 Soup Kitchen

After the blizzard
it was warm in the kitchen
where the angel-witch cooked.
 
All the survivors
crawled in from the avalanche:
the lost girls, bent heroines,
 
peacocks and choirboys,
pulled along by the wine
to canned soup and oranges,
 
looking for the revolution
that was always stillborn.
He was just another strategy
 
there in the churn
of dream-debris bobbing, plaintive
as old violins; scooped, angular,
 
scuffed but still thrumming.
His sorrows tempted me
but when I touched him
 
he growled
like a sore dog.
Finally the angel-witch
 
took him to Phoenix 
and we were all stuck
with her snow and tomato soup.


March 2022







some nonsense for Shay's Word List #18:












Note: My favorite song of Cohen's is the first I ever heard, Suzanne, released in '67. It was a part of this time I chose to write about, in particular, the blizzard of 1967, which I spent marooned in my best friend's apartment with J.J Cale's , the Doors' and Cohen's music, and a crowd of assorted misfits. 
 
Some notes on the actual event: 
 
"The Chicago blizzard of 1967 struck northeast Illinois and northwest Indiana on January 26–27, 1967, with a record-setting 23 inches ..snow fall in Chicago and its suburbs before the storm abated the next morning. As of January 2022, it remains the greatest snowfall in one storm in Chicago history..
 
The snow fell continuously in Chicago and surrounding areas from 5:02 am on Thursday, January 26 until 10:10 am Friday .. sources estimate [between] 20,000 - 50,000 cars and 800-1,100 buses [were]stranded...Gusts of 48 to 53 miles per hour..caused large snowdrifts..[and]..the blizzard closed both Midway Airport and O'Hare Airport. Ten-foot drifts covered the runways at Midway. Chicago Mayor Richard J. Daley ordered city workers to clear city streets around the clock..the city was virtually shut down and area schools were closed."~wikipedia 









Images: Cars stranded at Oakwood entrance to Lakeshore Drive, manipulated, Fair Use
Volkswagon Beetle stuck in snowdrift at Stockton and Diversey, manipulated,  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