Showing posts with label when you believe in things you don't understand you're generally screwed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label when you believe in things you don't understand you're generally screwed. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 11, 2022

Hatchet Job


 
 Hatchet Job
 
 
Tricks and teases made a hatchet for the autopsy. 
 
You couldn't
just say it was over, oh no. Too many cows
wanted gingerbread. Too many women
in the cellar wanted more time...

Tesla's ghost was on the radio for years
while the black nightingale sang but hardly
anyone listened. 
 
Too much static fuzzing. Too much 
imitation current clogging the waves...

I swear you gave my ear a permanent scar
with all that dizzy disarray, tricks and teases,
bluffs that bragged with musky electric tusks...
 
Put the body
on the table and have done, I said. I'm through

discussing second grade and your mother's
lonesome eyebrows.You don't care about
the cause of death anyway...
 
just the wonderful way
you can chop. 
 
Bravo!




 
January 2022
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
posted for Shay's Word List # 8: 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images :Hatchet, via internet. Fair Use
Moon and Cow, 1963 © Alex Colville   Fair Use
 

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Century






Century



A hundred years ago
you came to undo my buttons
throw my calico skirt, my muslin shift
over the moon, unpeeled teal eyes
laid me down in piney night,
exhaled a smokering sigh to drift
around me, knotted with me tight
in deep green black.

I spit this centenary curse:
that we ever came back
to the skins we couldn't shed
on that cabin floor,
from murmuring boards so old
they glowed snake blue, luminous
as the windfall shapes we wore,

dropped apples of a  slanting 
summergone sun.
I walked like a freckled young lioness
before she learns her scarlet roar,
my mane of stars shook out on the jade inflow;
who could know I'd die there
under the gun
a hundred years ago?




~January 2013













Header: Cabin Under the Trees, Paul Gauguin, 1892
Public Domain, via wikipaintings.org
Footer: Jungle with Lion, Henri Rousseau, 1910
Public Domain, via wikipaintings.org

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

How Hansel Ate Gretel


It's Valentine's Day, that most commercially candy-coated of holidays, and the day when Love in all its sweetness is celebrated across the land--except, of course, at Castle Hedgewitch, where instead we have a twisted cautionary tale for hungry young lovers whose eyes may be bigger than their stomachs, and a retelling (with customary poetic license) of an old feral, er...faerie tale from the Brothers All-too Grimm.

Offterdinger Hansel und Gretel (1)



How Hansel Ate Gretel


Looking back, as I make off into mothering trees
I see your trail wind under their stooping knees,
snake of cherry heartbits beneath the moon
and know it for what it is, your pheromone croon
baiting the sweet biological trap up on the heath
where every heedless sacrifice drops its spore.
See your sisters all come running to hide from death
and instead become your food supply, nothing more.

Your candy call draws the lost ones, wild to eat 
the gingerbread house with sugar hands and feet.
Each famished girlchild sucks at white icing's sweet
slick, swallows glazing and dreams the full child's dream
inside the cage made to plump her up as the oven heats.
With luck, the last one's fallen bones gnawed clean
make a silent deceit to a blind eye’s need for meat,
pinched to test what's forever incomplete.

Still, gingerbread girls will always let you start
those hungry cannibal gulps that crumble the heart
but what surprises is the discipline you show
sparing some of the half-baked morseled dough
(bitten off, those cookie legs can’t run like flesh)
to pull and scatter speck by speck as you refresh
that trail that tells the strays just where to go.
O we all need to eat, so I don’t mind the meal 

or being dessert that's thoroughly lost in the woods,
nor the  sandpaper licks I took so I could feel.
It’s the marker you make of every spit-stained crumb
to bait your sweet-breathed trap for damaged goods
that freezes all I have that’s still not numb.





February 2012



Posted for   OpenLinkNight   at dVerse Poets Pub




Note: I've significantly altered this old tale to suit my  fancy, put it into a  valentiny rhyme scheme and fictionalized first-person form, removed the stereotypes of the wicked cannibal witch-hag and evil stepmother and made poor innocent Hansel, who was the original victim, the villain of the piece. That's what happens when you let feminazi witches rewrite the history books.



Image: Late 19th century illustration  of Hansel und Gretel, by Carl Offterdinger, photo by Harke [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons 

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Spelled Out



Carhenge
Spelled Out



I finally noticed
when the trees fell and
the leaves were bare
when the sandstorm rained  moss
when summer rode into January
on a seahorse
that you had put
a spell on me.

I think I saw you
slip flashpowder
in my cells and light it
with a whistle you blew
from the corner of serious and Canis Major
and when that howling is on me
when the spell is wound up
I’m deaf and leafdrunk; 
I drop

like a marionette when the puppeteer
breaks for lunch, watch you
pull a string from my
soul laces and hang it 
on your ley line
to dry in the stone wind.
I never asked
to be this 
charmed

but now I find I can’t navigate without
my wheel tied down tight, so
I drive with eyes closed
drift to the side of a two lane night’s
brownout desert, and bump
myself still, afraid of the broken mirror
afraid to get out of the crazy car 
and walk
the crooked ghost town of my life.



January 2012





Image: Carhenge, by cm195902 on flick'r
Shared under Creative Commons 2.0 Non-Commercial License