"Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness."
Khalil Gibran

Saturday, February 25, 2017

Accidental Deconstruction

Yeah Yeah Yeah - It's Blitz Album cover
Fair Use (Source)


You grabbed a cold egg from the refrigerator
and felt it leave your fingers
as you closed the door;
you fumbled a catch
and the texture of moisture on its thin shell
remained in tactile memory
long after it hit the floor.

Several options presented themselves.

1. You could have chosen to marvel at the intrinsic value of three-dimensional art
     in a corner of your kitchen.
2. Or to contemplate the infinite quiet of the exoplanets as they revolve
    around their dying sun 39 light years distant.

Instead you took a dishcloth to the mess
and swiped the remains
onto a piece of salvaged newspaper
trying to avoid
the viscosity of the albumen
and deliberately not reminding yourself
that this was intended
as your first meal of the day.

There is a slow kind of sadness which descends
at such times for no apparent reason.

Maybe you caught yourself thinking

1. All art is a waste of time, including the poem you wanted to write in yolk
    on the kitchen wall.
2. Man is prone to breaking things, scraping up the dregs and never giving
    a second thought. Calling it accidental.

You may have said a small prayer for the exoplanets,
hoping that 39 light years is far enough away.


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Izy Gruye encourages us to bring back something shiny and new for her Out of Standard - Multiple Choice challenge in The Imaginary Garden.


Saturday, February 18, 2017

Night Blindness

Astonishment
Alexej von Jawlensky (1919)


I have no head for stars; their numeracy
confounds, but there were once more

when, as a child, I had eyes for the count.
Now I see the moon, a death’s head grin,

Low, blurry around the edges.
Perhaps it is a failing streetlamp.

Or a spaceship, capsized,
and a very long way from home.


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Micro Poetry ~ And the Moon is the Sunday Mini-Challenge in the Imaginary Garden

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Single Tear

Love Letters
Stanley Spencer (1950)


In an age of alternate facts, I can
conveniently declare my undying etc
without fear of misconstruction:
Don’t hold me to it, please.

So long as I make my denial
on Twitter, the whole wide world
(or my handful of followers)
will know you got it all wrong.

When I said, I loved you,
I meant ‘love’ in the generic sense:
a word we give away with a click

or select from a range
of colourful and convenient emojis…
(I have one with a single tear I’ll send your way.)


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A bit of fun for The Tuesday Platform and Poets United Midweek Motif, hosted by Susan.

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

The Ministries (In Four Voices)

Le Grand Bateau (1927)
Pierre Roy
Fair Use


Ministry of Plenty


We learn about want. And need. Reason not the one. Subdue the other behind a smoke-screen of selflessness. Cradle one hand in the other to prevent grasping. Back to the wall. What you don’t know? I own a seed. I feel a tree growing in my veins. Point your weapon down. Speak your first desire.


Ministry of Truth


You made a game of secrets  (truth or dare) and also the rules (fact vs fiction) and I learned how to cheat to win, or to flout the rigours of your subterfuge (true/false) when I wanted everything to be square and just, and not open to any old interpretation or at least to replace truth with trust. 


Ministry of Peace


Meet me in the sentry box. 23hr07. Be careful not to lose your grip on the iron stair. The nights are long and cold. No need to remove your boots. Or helmet. The sky twinkles with drones. But here the cams scan only for proles. The shield wall will hold. Remember the password. 
Pax Romana.


Ministry of Love


Ankles yearn for kisses. And thin gold chains. Your eyelashes feel like dandelion seeds. Closed lids. I see fields of green. Your fingertips behind my knee. I taste rose-petals. On the tongue. Your name lives but hidden. I am the landscape. I am the river. You travel towards me. Hearts do more than beat. Cry.


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This is the extended version of my response to Flash 55 PLUS!


Sunday, February 5, 2017

Ministry of Love



Ankles yearn for kisses. And thin gold chains. Your eyelashes feel like dandelion seeds. Closed lids. I see fields of green. Your fingertips behind my knee. I taste rose-petals. On the tongue. Your name lives but hidden. I am the landscape. I am the river. You travel towards me. Hearts do more than beat. Cry.




Saturday, February 4, 2017

Te Amo

Frederic Remington (1909)
Fair Use


When I told you I could not understand it,
you took to writing me long letters in Spanish
on unlined paper in black ink
and I was in two minds whether I should
look up every word
or accept them
as autobiographical notes
in an ancient tongue.

Ven a mí, búho de la noche
Soy el lobo que ronda las llanuras

En la oscuridad antes del amanecer
Susurraré tu nombre

More than seductive
I knew you had something to say to me
but to put it in words I recognized
would be the ruin
of innocence or an admission
that you would always
return to me.
All I ever needed was to know
the inexplicable incantations
had been written by your own hand.

Sígueme a través de la oscuridad, mi pájaro
Nunca cuestiones el camino

Sabrás que te amo
Cuando mis labios posean tu nombre


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Fireblossom Friday has poets 'Looking Behind the Obvious'.