Tartarus

How fragile is this hand
as it gentles the ferocious coils
which abide below the halfway mark
of belly, making discords of dogma,
and soothes the grinning sibilance
as the ravenous maw bites through
this tenuous grip on new realities.

Oh Mercy! The poison is luscious as lotus!
Desire welcomes the monstrous tongue
in the throat beyond question
of what will become of these bones
once the leviathan has picked them clean.



Inspired by the artwork, Thieves Blend by the artist, Eli Evangelidis a.k.a. @eliedwardart

Utopia

How beatific the ghostly face
as it turns from grim reality
of painful flesh beneath taut skin
unaware that heart is caged
and lungs are slaves
while bones remain as shackles
to the absurdity of decomposition.

Oh God! Time strikes like a meteor!
Life always ends too soon
to disregard the searing blaze
and ascend beyond the embers
of immolation until consciousness
becomes one with oblivion.



Written in collaboration with the artist, Cemal Eker a.k.a. @abreathinutopia, inspired by the illustration entitled Ayesha.

When searching for your truth, remember

Designer @eliedwardart
Painter @skyloverpoetry
Copyright is Reserved

When searching for your truth, remember

you are an ocean.
An ocean is deeper than anyone knows.
Light penetrates the surface
then things get darker.
Your skin is holding back the tide.
Your smile barricades
a gulf of unseen currents.
Only your eyes
reveal the true colours of your sea.
You are a creature.
One of mind and matter,
head, heart and limbs
all intertwining.
This creature lives in your ocean
and makes love to life.
You hold truth in your hands.
Your choice is to rise or drown.



I have written this Ekphrasis poem as accompaniment to the art collaboration between Eli Edward Evangelidis and me, entitled Entanglement.

Tarot Suite ~ The Magician

Let the wind die down. Let the shed 
go black inside. Let evening come.
Jane Kenyon

Copyright Kerry O'Connor
Nexus Cards
@nexuscarddesign

X
The Magician

Let the flame rain from sky
as consorts of creation. Let the earth
be as a womb awaiting conception.

Let the storm plunge its hands
into the ocean. Let the night
invite the stars to bloom.

Let the honeybee find the flower.
Let the wind sleep. Let the seed grow
in the heart of god. Let sun awaken.

Let us be without fear of manifestation.
Life quickens even as it dies, so let it come.
Let mantis become man.



Work still continues on my African Tarotscape Deck. This is my latest piece with accompanying poem, inspired by 'Let Evening Come' by Jane Kenyon.

Death by Serpent

"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety."
Antony & Cleopatra, William Shaekspeare

Death of Cleopatra
Kerry O'Connor

Haunted by relics of bygone age,
slabs of stone, hand-hewn, a painted frieze against the wall

All that endeavour and detritus,
it is ground to a fine dust beneath the heel of time.

What were we to each other more than
spark to dry tinder? We consumed ourselves

Twin flames in the eyes of Ouroboros,
until we choked on the dismal ashes of defeat.

Now history has traced my eyes,
with black kohl, and placed two serpents in my hands.

I see cracks in mortal foundations
but know not how to make order out of anarchy.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This poem began as a companion piece to my illustration of Cleopatra, but was quite hastily written, without much thought for form or meter. Sanaa's last prompt in The Imaginary Garden, to write poetry in the Landay form, sent me back to my poem, which I restructured using the guidelines. I much prefer this version and shall return to the form again because it is very user friendly.

My original free verse poem:


I am haunted by relics
of a bygone age
slabs of stone, hand-hewn,
painted frieze against a wall,
all that endeavour
and the detritus it is ground to
beneath the heel of time.
What were we to each other
more than spark to dry tinder?
Twin flames in the eyes of Ouroboros,
we consumed ourselves
until we choked on the ashes of defeat.
Now history will trace kohl around my eyes,
place serpents in my hands.
I see cracks in mortal foundations
but know not how to mend.



Historical Blurb

Cleopatra VII was the last Pharaoh of the Ptolemaic Dynasty, 69 - 30 BCE.
Lover of both Julius Caesar and Mark Antony, whom she married in 32 BCE, Cleopatra was a major influence on world affairs during her lifetime. As joint rulers of Egypt, they were defeated at the Battle of Actium, by Octavian. Mark Antony fell upon his sword. When Cleopatra learnt that Octavian planned to lead her in triumphal march through the streets of Rome, she committed suicide rather than surrender, traditionally by asps smuggled into her chamber in a basket of figs.

Haven

Pharos ~ Kerry O'Connor

When all the lights went out,
I looked for you
but you had already left me,
taking yourself away in the confused
aftermath of your own self-doubt.
And the nights seem endless now,
the starred sky, a bed of nails
and every stabbing wound,
the pain of sabotage.

Wherever you are, out across
the grey wasteland of sea and stone,
you are not asleep either.
I hear my name on the salty wind
and it is your voice calling.
I have fuel enough to ignite the lantern
one last time, to set the beam
and guide you home.

But I do not know when to strike the match.


Art FLASH! in December
The symbolism of the lighthouse which I used: It is feminine, reminiscent of an enclosed area, a walled sanctuary, and a safe haven.

Graphite on Paper

@jasonlimberg
Autumn Breath
Used With Permission

What does it mean that we move through seasons
untouched by everything that changes?
You are implacable, a mirror of self in my eyes.
Your voice is the fragrance of woodsmoke.
When the fabric of love was made to crumble
how do we find our way in the dark of each other?
The trees surrounding us on all sides may be bare
but the touch of mist, your touch, is indelible upon my soul.
Why is it that in the sky-brain of our existence,
we follow the path of the moon like graphite on paper?
I don’t know. I don’t know.
But yours is the mind I reach for,
mine the breast where you keep your heart.


Art FLASH! in The Imaginary Garden features the work of Jason Limberg.

Fortress of Dreams

Untitled Original Ink
@mc__monster
Used with Permission

Imprisoned in this Fortress of Dreams
I am the embodiment of smoke
on an inky skyline –
I am the thoughts the owl
speaks to itself –
I am a wolf’s cold stare
reflecting the glimmer of stars
a billion light-years away
a glint upon a frozen lake
a fractal heartbeat of midnight’s prey –
Wake me up!


Art FLASH! in October  introduces the work of McMonster, a wizard of ink illustration.
An Ekphrasis poem in 55 words.

Beekeeping

The Beekeeper
Cat Schappach
@catschappach

The bees have all left this country.
But the equinoctial garden does not know.
Its buds beckon with cupped hands.
The maladroit keeper is scrubbing the hive.
He picks at old wax like an eczema scab.

This country has lost all its queens.
But the hegemons do not seem to notice.
The flowers shrivel, suspecting their infertility.
And its women are arranged in agricultural order.
Womb first, and head last, the last honey spilled.



This amazing work of art was a gift from the amazingly talented Cat Schappach.

The Divide

I am living in the day before midnight –
here, in the narrows between the bitterroot
and the black wind –
I am drawing my magic circle in dust –
there, in the scorched remains of the fire dream
and its mirror image –
I am fighting back by giving voice to my story –
everywhere, a secret pilgrim of love and survival
and indelible, a true woman –
But I am bleeding in this otherland –
where to be is to be lost in a maze of blind faith
and who knows if you will remember me,
the kiss, the almost revolution that used to be us.


Artistic Interpretations with Margaret

Leo Rising

Emperor of the Dawn
Quincy Washington
@albanusdesign

I am the conqueror
who set fire to the eastern gate
of this temple mount at my birth.

Reincarnation of the huntress,
I clawed my way from the furnace
of heaven’s dark cauldron to freedom.

I am the carnivore,
noble and savage, who wields both
tooth of logic and sword of integrity.

Embodiment of feline temptress,
I have composed my dangerous heart
to forge a golden mask of wild seduction.

I am the captivator,
charismatic and brave, ever-seeking
to discover the quest Divinity insists of me.


Art FLASH! features the surreal, dark art of Quincy Washington: Leo / Emperor of the Dawn from his Zodiac series.  

Demolition in Unseasonable Meantime

I’m shedding this contradictory skin,
the plaster cast of keystone calamity,
and breaking my fused jawbone
brick by mortar.
Night is the season I wake.

I’m hatching a glaring afterthought,
my temple casements unhinged,
and imploding incidental steeples
soot by slaughter.
Solar womb is the mind I create.

I’m sprouting a secondary pair of wings,
the unburdened boughs of fruitless summer,
and clouding hard bitten airwaves
tooth by laughter.
Mean time is the pattern I upbraid.


This poem is inspired by the surreal art of Cat Schappach, namely the piece entitled Avion, which can be viewed on Instagram.

Ravenwood

Eli Edward Evangelidis
@eliedwardart
Used With Permission

Let tricorn blade be keen-edged
honed on a serpentine whetstone
and strike throat
like a green stem with fresh cut.

Let blood drop as rowan berries
in the brambles of violent obsession
and gaze upon
death behind obsidian eyes.

Let bitter nor’easter be guide
to you in raven-winged moonlight
when you’ve drunk
from the salt marshes of cruelty.


Art FLASH! features the pen and ink illustration, Beauty Forgotten in Survival's Eyes, by Eli Edward Evangelidis.

Artistic Interpretations with Margaret gave us a list of paint colours to work with and I have included several in this poem.

The Rain Has Liberty

The Sea and it's Raining. I Missed You So Much
Wura-Natasha Ogunji
 33rd Bienal de São Paulo

Kenia Santos
Used with Permission

The grass bends its back in the stillness of the rain
in its endless falling, the yellow grass

leaning away from the wind in endless yellow rows
like soldiers marching through mud, and dying

but behind the fallen, are ranks and ranks
of the living, golden in youth but dying too.

And the rain has liberty; and the mountains
open their mouths and drink; and the grass

is heavy with seed; and this is the way of things
because the dead are always with us

we march in time in our ranks to the grave
where the yellow grass grows tall in the rain.



Day 25 ~ LIBERTY

I am hosting in The Imaginary Garden today, speaking about Imagism and further inspired by the Contemporary Art of Wura-Natasha Ogunji (Photo shared by Kenia Santos)

Hreindýr

And once more I remember that the beginning
is broken.
W.S. Merwin

Flame Keeper
Jason Limberg
Used with Permission

You made a promise,
the kind that tastes of blood and salt
when spoken:
‘I will always be here.’
and thus you remain
as if rooted
while the years and seasons
wrap themselves around you
and branches grow
from your skull
always bare
always heavy
as the thoughts
which burn trails
set your nerves alight
and the night moths flutter
like snowflakes
of sorrow from your eyes.
‘I will always be here.’
Words unspoken:
Only your crown of bone branches
and a promise remains.


Day 21 ~ PROMISE

Kim is our host in The Imaginary Garden today, asking us to delve into the mysteries of Tree Mythology.

Inspired by the amazing art of Jason Limberg, I have gone a bit further than the prompt intended by pursuing the mythology of young women transforming into deer, which abound in European and North American folklore.

The Illustration

To a Steamroller ~ Marianne Moore
The illustration
is nothing to you without the application.

The Behemoth and The Leviathon
William Blake

The Almighty lords it over Job, pointing –
in Blake’s illustration – to his creatures.

Bear-like, ponderously cowed, the behemoth
slavers piteously, musculature carved in stone
or maybe ice.
There is an immobility to god’s demon
which strikes you as less a threat of war
and more an image of a beaten dog –

and writhing beneath in symbolic fury

the leviathan, spitting lava and seething
impotently from his watery wave, has a fiery eye
but limbless,
seems doomed to roiling magnificently –
You do not doubt the immediate effect
but rather the literal application

for land and sea, one nothing without the other,
both plundered beyond even an aged god’s redemption.


Day 10 ~ CREATURES

Anmol is our host in The Imaginary Garden today, with his prompt idea: Open a Book. The sentence I found from an anthology of modern poets, specifically my muse poet of the week, is the one quoted above by Marianne Moore.
I am also revisiting Blake's works this week, so my second source of inspiration is his Illustrations of the Book of Job.

Śaśaŋka

When the blackbird flew out of sight, 
It marked the edge 
Of one of many circles. 
Wallace Stevens

StarGazing Rabbit ~ Jason Limberg
Used with Permission

Here it is always April. Let us join hands, dance
a circle with the gossamer hare of the moon.

If you exist in the dream while sleeping reality,
let your coverlet be the cambric rabbit of the moon.

Because I lost my lover in the poppy fields,
I returned to the wild, jade hare of the moon.

The artist dips his pen in night’s fluid realm,
out slips the ephemeral rabbit of the moon.

As it was, so it is and it will be again…only stars
timeless, and the gracious hare of the moon.




Day 6 ~ GRACIOUS

I am the host of this day's prompt in The Imaginary Garden, where I introduce the artist, Jason Limberg, who so graciously allowed us to be inspired by his pen and ink.
Further examples of Jason's work can be found on Instagram @jasonlimberg or visit his website: HERE.


A Wee Note:
My poem is written in the form of a Ghazal, and is inspired by the many myths and legends of the rabbit in the moon.

śaśaŋka
One of the Sanskrit words for the Moon: शशाङ्क   
meaning ‘The one whose mark is a hare’

Fallen Temples: Aether

Fallen Temples

Landing by Tomasz Zaczeniuk
@fotowizjer

Part 3
Aether

They never erected a temple, nor formed a cult,
Aether being too pure and blinding for mortal eyes
to fully conceive, the rarefied breath of the gods.

When darkness took night in coital embrace,
a vast river of quantum light was born from chaos;
Cosmos uncoiled itself from the event horizon.

But man is rooted in known dimensions of
human physics: he longs to touch, hold, keep.
Thus love binds only flesh, while the infinite god

waits in some wayside shrine for one true mind
to grip the quintessential thread: All turns to one.
And souls bridge through ether, in universal fusion.





This is the final part of my new series of poems, "Fallen Temples", inspired by the genius of surreal artist, Tomasz Zaczeniuk.
Also submitted to Visual Verse.

Fallen Temples: Chronos

Fallen Temples

Broken Time by Tomasz Zaczeniuk
@fotowizjer
Used with Permission

Part 2
Chronos

Though men still bend the knee before his shrine,
they do not know his name, these generations;
forgetful of the beginning, when he first blinked:

The cosmos streamed from his eyes; chaos, birthed:
aether brought to be, while he, unaging father of hours,
took up his scythe and raised consciousness from confusion.

The present does not exist, but is perceived in the fleeting
expressions on faces of indifferent men, who fail to know
that past is no better than imprecise memory, reaped.

Ah, Chronos, hold up a mirror to the unwitting passer-by,
unveiling truth: bid man genuflect before the reflection
of his own imminent demise. The future consumes all.




This is the second part of my new series of poems, "Fallen Temples", inspired by the genius of surreal artist, Tomasz Zaczeniuk.

Fallen Temples: Horus

Fallen Temples

The Temple by Tomasz Zaczeniuk
@fotowizjer
Used with Permission 

Part 1
Horus

In time to come, a prayer could resurrect
Horus from his ruination; to ascend, a new sun,
above the collapse of civilizations.

An avenging god of broken light,
thus awakened to lift his hollowed eyes
from speculation of this eroded temple:

stone has crumbled into bleached sand
of a desolate shore and sea is mere memory;
the sky a shattered mirror of fallen stars,

the falcon god might rend the fabric of heaven
with his granite-fletched wings, and never again
contemplate the baseless pylons of human history.



This poem is written in collaboration with surreal artist, Tomasz Zaczeniuk, featured at The Imaginary Garden in this month's Art FLASH! prompt.