One a Day in May: Spring Cleaning

[champagne1982]

A Day In May #12 (one behind)

The Lexicon
Novemberish 2006


There isn't a language rich
enough in metaphor and design
to fill this page of words
and love. The pain of living
beyond a day when realization
dawns on wisdom unknown
before it's too late to say
all those clever phrases or even
the simple song, I'm sorry.

Pride and anger, fear and resentment
tie you to a time and place where
you're not sure how many words
it will take to write the perfect
eulogy or even just a letter explaining
how much a friend could give
and how much you've lost
in his going away. But you do
and the lexicon records the illustration
of your stubborn honesty.
_________________________________________
The Truth
V2 May 2008

There's no language rich
enough in metaphor and design
to fill this page with love
or the pain of living, beyond
when realization of hurt
dawns on wisdom, unknown
until it's too late to say
all those clever phrases
or the simple balm, I'm sorry.

Pride, resentment and fear
tie you to time and place;
you're not sure how many words
it will take to write the perfect
eulogy or just a letter explaining
how much a friend could give
and how much you've lost
in his going away. But you do;
the scribe records your stubborn honesty.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Mermaid

Once there was longing
in watery secrets, sunk deep
among anemones and coral
where urchins float weightless
and castles are lustrous
albalone spires. Endless moats
flow turquoise, emerald, sapphire.
Endless treasure abounds
but rain is blue when Sun is cold,
a distant amethyst reflection.

There is longing where no birds
herald morning, no leaves
promise seasons, no bees
sing worksongs to flowers.
What do stars mean
in a murky world?
What is sky?

When I could acquiesce
no more I dreamt of sweet grass
that tickles toes, of Sun
warmed flesh that's mine. I dared
to dream on seafoam clouds,
and so I wished upon a starfish
to walk with legs on moving feet
sunk in the loamy earth.

I dared to dream of smoke and sand,
of paths that lead beyond the dunes.
I had listened so long to empty shells.
I pledged to walk away from all
familiarity knowing I'd bleed
regret but harboring delight I walked
caught in a twilight pain of loss
and freedom, I moved forward.

I walked.

This is how I journeyed
to another world
to save a dying prince.
Air stirred my hair,
the wide still sky cradled me.
I saw bright rooms,
I knew candlelight,
was warmed by fire.

And I must tell you
every step hurts.
I did not know direction,
everything apparent shifted,
but there are new latitudes
flung to oxygen, spun in polarity,
I am distant and dissimilar.

Now I dance.

My prince loves me.
He puts his trust in my hands.,
shows me his weeping heart. I try
to protect it. I try to protect my own.

To live without a voice
is not to live. To be undiscovered
is being and unbeing. I will be
foam gathered at the shore,
carried with the waves. Read
my story before it washes
from the sand.

I'm going to try to offer an actual stylistic critique here. Close your eyes; this could be gruesome and pitiable, but I really noticed something about this piece that I'm going to try to articulate. I suspect everyone in the entire world will disagree with me. That's okay.

Anyway, what I noticed was that at any number of points, you begin a stanza with an abstract or a sort of introductory phrase, and then you bang these fabulous images in, these amazingly concrete things, for the rest of the stanza.

Like here:

Once there was longing
in watery secrets, sunk deep
among anemones and coral
where urchins float weightless
and castles are lustrous ...

and here:

There is longing where no birds
herald morning, no leaves
promise seasons, no bees
sing worksongs to flowers.
What do stars mean
in a murky world?
What is sky?

and here:

When I could acquiesce
no more I dreamt of sweet grass
that tickles toes, of Sun
warmed flesh that's mine. I dared
to dream on seafoam clouds...

and so on.


Not that you should take the main idea, the subject of the sentence out entirely, obviously, but if this were my poem what I'd do is blow away all the abstract first lines entirely and take a look at it that way, and then re-examine the actual core of the section. I think the idea is there, like the idea of longing for example, within the images themselves.

Then I'd puzzle it around, too, to see if it works to stick the abstract in later on in the sentence:


Watery secrets, sunk deep
among anemones and coral,
contain longing
where urchins float weightless
and castles are lustrous
albalone spires.

I mean, okay that particular rearrangement doesn't work, really, but you see where I'm going.

I just like the vivid collections, the sort of image collages, so much that I want to be hit with them first thing, right between the eyes. Then if you really need to explain what they mean any further, I'll already be halfway there.

If that makes any sense at all...

bj

 

[Angeline]

I'm going to try to offer an actual stylistic critique here. Close your eyes; this could be gruesome and pitiable, but I really noticed something about this piece that I'm going to try to articulate. I suspect everyone in the entire world will disagree with me. That's okay.

Anyway, what I noticed was that at any number of points, you begin a stanza with an abstract or a sort of introductory phrase, and then you bang these fabulous images in, these amazingly concrete things, for the rest of the stanza.

Like here:

Once there was longing
in watery secrets, sunk deep
among anemones and coral
where urchins float weightless
and castles are lustrous ...

and here:

There is longing where no birds
herald morning, no leaves
promise seasons, no bees
sing worksongs to flowers.
What do stars mean
in a murky world?
What is sky?

and here:

When I could acquiesce
no more I dreamt of sweet grass
that tickles toes, of Sun
warmed flesh that's mine. I dared
to dream on seafoam clouds...

and so on.


Not that you should take the main idea, the subject of the sentence out entirely, obviously, but if this were my poem what I'd do is blow away all the abstract first lines entirely and take a look at it that way, and then re-examine the actual core of the section. I think the idea is there, like the idea of longing for example, within the images themselves.

Then I'd puzzle it around, too, to see if it works to stick the abstract in later on in the sentence:


Watery secrets, sunk deep
among anemones and coral,
contain longing
where urchins float weightless
and castles are lustrous
albalone spires.

I mean, okay that particular rearrangement doesn't work, really, but you see where I'm going.

I just like the vivid collections, the sort of image collages, so much that I want to be hit with them first thing, right between the eyes. Then if you really need to explain what they mean any further, I'll already be halfway there.

If that makes any sense at all...

bj

I'm very pleased to be the first recipient of a Bijou review.

I mucked about with this poem--which I originally wrote in 2005--for about two hours last night and then another few this morning. I can't get it to where I'm satisfied with it and I finally just hit the submit button in disgust lol.

Maybe the reason I've been so unhappy with it is what you're articulating: that I'm trying to summerize what I'm already saying in the imagery. I hadn't even considered doing what you suggest, but really it's a fabuloso idea. It makes great sense. If the metaphor is doing what it's supposed to do then I shouldn't need to tell the reader, for example, "this poem is about longing and loss." So yeah you done good.

I'll try what you suggest and repost it. I don't recall any rule that says we can't rework the same poem more than once. But not tonight. My daughter is calling me every ten minutes, the Red Sox game just started and I haven't even lifted a pinky toward making dinner yet.

Tomorrow I'll try it. Bless you, my beautiful skunk.



PS You have to give me more feedback after I try again. You knew about that part, right?

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I****

Tomorrow I'll try it. Bless you, my beautiful skunk.



PS You have to give me more feedback after I try again. You knew about that part, right?

AUGH! You know I have feedback anxiety.

But I'll try. I'm glad this gives you some directions to pursue. Yay!

bj

 

[unpredictablebijou]

May #13

Burning Man Suite


you are the burning man.
You are
the burning man

sometimes we made great sculptures
of dried grass, wicker, raw wood
sometimes we stood them up on the solstice and fired them
and hoped, hoped for the best
sometimes we wished we could inflame the sun
as reliably, or find each other in the dark
with such a bright light as that,
but we are only the hands of our archangels,
the workers and builders of this plane
and can only do dances and build burning men
and hope, hope for the best.
In the light of the burning man
our shadow puppets take on life
the shapes we make create themselves, fertilized
by flame, by the sun and its grass god.
Against the walls of the sky and
the trunks of trees, life unmelts
and finds its way to the center as we dance

This flame on the feet touches the dirt
the true sacred, the opener and closer, splitting open to give birth to the trees, or covering us over, diligently, as the dried husks of us decay,

mother and mother, and not mother at all but

Kali-Ma, the terrible, giver of life which is death, and death which is life.
The burning man's feet
Sink into her.

You are the burning man, bright on the surface of the earth,
short-lived, your existence an omen
your life a microcosm of something larger, one short hour of flame within a year. Built tall
and touched with a spark while bodies moved and worshippers
sang songs in hopes of your greatness
You took form, sprang to life, a short night of fierce fire
before you turn to ash, return
to the waiting womb, with its coals and its embers

You are the burning man
and during your time of fire those who wait and watch
dance around you, and hope,
hope for the best.

We are the burning men
at dusk on midsummer night as the sun falls
like us, on its way to winter
as it rolls down the hill and douses
in darkness
This bright burning
you can inflame within you


rush toward Shiva's mouth with your hair on fire,
your fingertips ten blue flames
your heart at last ablaze
and sparks shooting from your mouth,
your face an explosion, your beautiful, terrible body
crackling with heat
You are the wild disaster, the conflagration
and at this moment you have the power
to make all things fertile, to create a thousand years


and let it then truly be the truth
that this could change the world
and feed every hungry mouth
and drench the earth in honey and good milk
and clothe all goddesses in gold
and let this truly be the truth
that we can find each other through the real dark
and remember what we knew, and remind ourselves as we will be
send messages to ten and one hundred years, and one thousand
tell ourselves what we know.
That we can learn to be our own hands
and do the work with the heart.

 

[annaswirls]

May #12

LOST IN VENICE


we were already half way to Rialto bridge
when you finally found the street signs
hidden in the tile mosaics under our sandals
back pack heavy
we barely make check in

later: lost again
we find a mattress down a staircase
outside San Giovanni cathedral
some homeless guy was sleeping down there
below spires and circumstance

I can't stop thinking in English
tripping across text book time lines
in this city of history
Jumping back to the day Vivaldi's mother
first felt him kick her ribs
here on these steps
right here where we stand

later: this century, a wireless connection
he gets the latest news
"hey look! our little bean's startin' to grow his kidneys
no espresso for you m'lady"

five minutes after you throw away the map
we find an unmarked museum
Salvador Dali opens my torso
like a four drawer dresser

we lean over ropes
to see inside

 

[annaswirls]

May #13

EVIDENCE: the dead are among us


1.

you come back to me on days of transcendence
like the January days slept away
when I forget to count the hours
days or months you have been gone

as we packed up your belongings
a crow dropped your daughter's gold necklace
down the chimney
it sounded like something much larger
but we could not make out brick echoed words
were you trying to tell us something
we had forgotten?

2.

your ex-lover captured you
in a montage of voice-over photographs
I could not recognize you without motion

3.

a young boy
climbed on the bench
next to a beautiful woman
kneeling close
he pushed the hair
from her face
and touched her cheek
he moved without ever taking his eyes
from her face

4.

an elderly woman wears breakfast
in stains down the front of her ruffled blouse
she watches the birds scatter for imagined crumbs
the wind blows hair into her eyes
she sees more birds scatter for imaginary crumbs

5.

you come to me
these days where all rises over impossibility
ozone sharpness raises the hairs on my forearms
electrons at my fingertips
wait for release

6.

a boy saw you stream down the storm drain
I just know he saw your ghost
the way he chased that water
and watched it fall
and disappear
but still it kept coming
still it kept coming
it must be raining
somewhere in the North
because still you keep running on down
home home home

 

[annaswirls]

you are so sweet-- and thank you, as always for chinning me up.

and it does help, it does... and people here have been wonderful, it is just not the same, of course, it never is, and that is okay, it is a different kind of family I am growing down here.

I have to get through this challenge. Things are crazy but they are always crazy. I need another me.

Dear sweet Anna

Darling, You are not selfish, not at all. It is a state of being, the desire we humans have felt since we were created, to have the company of those who are "related" to us, to have them around us.

I wish so much that I could just pop over there like Jeannie and give you a monster hug. You are such a gifted poet, a kind person, loving mother. It hurts to think of you in pain, but you are so strong, you radiate strength and beauty and always have, since your day one here when you messaged me about that poem, Feeding the Winter Solstice."

If I could give you that poem, I would. You give so much. And, those people who have yet to welcome you into their homes and church, well, they are missing out. Just wanted yo to know how much you are truly loved an dhope that it helps in even such a tiny way. you ARE loved.

 

[TheRainMan]

too far behind to even think about catching up

. . . .

 

[TheRainMan]

I cannot believe it has been 2 years since I wrote this!!!


JONAGOLD

Someone
made a decision to put numbers on my produce.
When did they assign Golden Delicious 1045
and Jonathan 2029?

My guess:
at that precise moment
scientists were given divine permission
to sew flounder genes
into our strawberries
so they too can be frost resistant.

All the way down Route 70
alphanumeric codes on metal signs
mark the end of the corn rows.
I want my words back.

I want my words back.
The cashier does not know the name
of my onions.
She does not need to know
the name of my onions.
They are not even in season.

Vidalia
Vidalia

We spit stickers in the sink.

you should not touch one word of this.

you are putting up a lot of poems that are done, or near, it seems to me

-- i think you already have a/several manuscript/s waiting to be mailed, and don't know it, or don't want to know it, or don't believe it, or don't want to believe it.

but it's true.

 

[TheRainMan]

. . . .

 

[TheRainMan]

edits 5/14/08

. . . .

 

[unpredictablebijou]

May #14

Elements of the Red Meal

1.
Do not drink the wine.
Instead, pour out the cup
on the earth. It is for
the world to drink, it is an offering
to thirsty death.

2.
Kneel at the table that holds the feast
lay hands upon the bread, the oil, the wine.
Tear the bread in half, slowly
with your two hands
one solid half for you
and one for God.
Eat from bright dishes
believing everything.

3.
The prayer begins this way:
Honey and sesame and bright wine
containing life, may my mouth
now be the mouth of god.
Give me holy hands, so they will not burn.
Meat, fish, water, fire,
under the bread is the belly
painted with spirals.

5.
Offer the oil in cupped hands
enough to keep seven flames burning.
Open the gates, one by one,
gently, like sections of an orange
parted with the fingertips.
touch the earth with one hand
to testify, to remove all doubt.

6.
If one of you becomes a grain of wheat
the other must become a sharp-eyed bird.
You may be fish and otter, apple and snake.
In the shapes of the Sun and Moon
meet and meet again, red joining white.
Write all your names on each other's skin.

 

[loststar]

day11

Just talk to me
let me be in love with you
let rapture settle once more
studded blissful oblivion
blocks harshest realities
just one more moment

one more moment
for I shall hold on to it
throughout this mundane existance through time
normal is calling
expecting me to return
suburbia
2.5 kids
TV
grow up
make a respectable life...

I can not think on it now
close my eyes
hear your voice
the smile you get
just as you laugh
oh sweet oblivion

 

[loststar]

day 12

My troubled soul wakes my body from slumber
my heart beats fast at the thought of you
I try to stop it
I try to lie
you dont love her
I try the truth
shes not in love with you
I try reason
it would never work
I try maddness
she is gone

still

my heart flutters
with excitement
just as it did
after that first
kiss

It jumps and skips
yet every pulse
is painful
every beat
reminding me of you
every tap
shreading my honor
making me feel so alive
so confused
and torn
and spun
around and around
in
a
mess of my own making

 

[loststar]

day 13

too much love to give
sits stagnant in my heart
turning sour with self pity
becoming a posion
infecting those around me with my self loathing
spreading bitterness across my world

heartbreak leaked posion into my system
it spread its black fingers through
my soul

touture and torment

I let out the pain
the posion

my heart begain to love again
and carefuly I show affection
to avoid the affliction
of love

 

[loststar]

day 14

finnaly caught up hip hip hurray
ok on to the poetry


I spent all night dreaming of her
and what she does to me
how can I ever hope for sanitiy?

I wake tangled in the sheets
strangled with need
wants and desires wrapped up in me

I can feel her kiss
hands in my hair, nails down my back
our bodies welding with desire

It was a dream
I reason
a lust filled, desire driven dream

I can never touch her again
she is trying to live with out me
I have to let her

she is trying to let go, trying to forget
moving on or back
picking up the pieces of a past

and so should I
yet how do you
let go of what you dont want to lose

 

[annaswirls]

Hey there Mr. Rain,

You are right-- I am putting up a bunch that are almost done, I think all of them so far have been published somewhere or another. But sometimes the ones I see out there make me cringe because I see something that needs to be fixed!

Thanks for your vote of confidence Down deep I do know and believe, I just have to have the motivation and time to finish anything! It is hard to allow (and force) myself to take a minute or two away from my household for my writing, which was my ulterior motive for starting this thread... to get a collection of poems that are ready, and to do so in good company, fulfilling my need to be a social creature at the same time as getting the job done.

Glad to see you back! I want to go read your poems now

J

you should not touch one word of this.

you are putting up a lot of poems that are done, or near, it seems to me

-- i think you already have a/several manuscript/s waiting to be mailed, and don't know it, or don't want to know it, or don't believe it, or don't want to believe it.

but it's true.

 

[annaswirls]

you should not touch one word of this.

Thanks dude. This is actually the newest edited version of the edited version and so on. You and other people helped me get it to this point, and I think it is DONE thank you

 

[annaswirls]

May #14

When I sing for my supper, You skip to dessert


When I heard how you copied the pattern
from Persian poet,
I copied you. When I copied you
I developed a slow leak
in my passenger’s side.

We coasted along the rumble strip
selling autographs, chapbooks,
lemon confections.

When I used the last of the ink
I melted sand. When my fingers burned
I sang myself into silence.

When I bought back my voice
off the last barrow
I sang out Of Jewels and Horses!
For God, Mother and Country!

And the merchant replied
When I this, I that.
When I this, I that
and I told him a three time poet laureate
from the New World wanted to say hello,
thanks for the Samuari’s Song, 1
lemon bars, carbonated fruit punch, tea.


1
Robert Pinsky "Samurai Song"

 

[champagne1982]

A Day In May #13 (now 2 behind)

A Walk Together
April 25, 2005 (A challenge response for BooMerengue's Here's A Challenge)

Walk with me.
and we'll seek a better world
where even though
death is still a part of living
tears shall be no more.

Walk with me.
The child within wants to hold
your hand tight in hers
and know that even though
the path is new
the way is not forgotten.

Walk with me.
and when we've come full circle
rest a while and look
back on all we've seen.
All we've been is hidden
just around the bend.

Walk with me.
until I can walk no more.
My love, I only ask
that when journey's end
has brought us
to the winter's shore
that you rest with me,
for without you,
I will walk no more.
_________________________

A Walk Together
V2 2008

Walk with me.
We'll seek a better world
where, although
death is still a part of living,
tears shall be no more.

Walk with me.
The child I am wants to rest
my hand tight in yours,
reassured that although
the path is new,
the way is not forgotten.

Walk with me.
Once we've come full circle,
there, rest a while and look
back to all we've seen.
All we've been is hidden
just around the bend.

Walk with me
until I can walk no more.
When journey's end
has brought us to the winter
shore then rest with me,
for without you,
I will walk no more.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

May #15

Glosa from an erotic story

This was my dream.
She lifted her hips toward me,
deepened the cleft, the pressure,
her fit to me.


This was my dream
and so she was bent forward, of course,
her skin rolled out downhill
a poured-cream landscape
for my hands.

She lifted her hips toward me
and my knees were steady between hers
driving her wide
I slid and gripped
and divided her
and she became water
and made the sounds of wild birds.
Her motion, the way she arched

deepened the cleft, the pressure,
like a lotus making space
for this thick stem,
this secretive disappearance,
this miracle of space.
And I reached
miles, to the top of her head
and out, into sunlight.

Her fit to me
was so perfect, thick
with sound, and I pulled
back, suddenly, and sent
glowing stars, whole oceans
over the length of her spine
covering her with it.
It made the gift
visible.

 

[champagne1982]

A Day In May #14 (still one back)

Adam's Child
March 2007

The pine lifts tortured boughs
to the heavens in a silent
scream that echoes from limestone
faces, bounced along the valley
floor where once, a bolder river
flowed and is no more.

Time is faithlessly insistent
that we shall continue, despite
the scars we bear or the tears
wept onto clouds until the sorrow
is beyond the strength of the sky

to carry. Adam's child, what
have you wrought with free will
and power to reason
through each season,
each chill dawn,
every sunset swelter?
Where do we go but down,
once we've touched the sky?

Destruction cannot be the fate
we choose. Demons are set loose
upon the world and we laugh
at their antics, ever hopeful
that they but play, and play
they do. Fools believe no harm
shall come of this.

Ask the father of the sorrow of his son,
don't deny the comfort of tears;
allow his grief to come unchecked,
mourn with him, his sadness is great
so sate his empty soul with tears.

Choirs have given voice to despair,
hymns fly through the buttressed arches
in cathedrals built to honour His name.
Lord, Father, God - which are we to know?
Doubt assails the wayward children.

We know naught.
______________________________________

Adam's Child
V2 2008

The pine's tortured boughs
point to heaven in silent
blame, echoed by limestone
faces, pressed to the valley
floor where once, a broad river
flowed and is no more.

Time insists we continue,
no matter scars we bear
or tears angels weep
onto clouds until their sorrow
is beyond the strength of the sky

to carry. Adam's child, what
have you wrought with free will
and power to reason
Where do we go but down,
once we've touched the sky?

Ask the father of his son,
don't deny the comfort of tears;
allow sorrow to come. Mourn
together; his grief is great
so slake his empty soul with tears.

Choirs sing the requiem, despair
flies through the buttressed arches
in cathedrals built to honour His name.
Lord, Father, God - which are we to know?
Doubt assails the wayward children.

 

[annaswirls]

May #15

........

 

[loststar]

day 15

I light the candles because I dont want to be alone
I want a bad habit
a way out
away from the pain
emptiness

I am alone
except for the flames
that remind me i am not so alone
and the music
that reminds me there are others who feel as I do
and the cats
that miss them as much as I do

I sit here
freed of responsibility
reality
and my bra

I am here in socks and a tank top
living my days as I please
trying to fill this dull void
I use the last match to light the flame
and pray that next time I will find a way