Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[Angeline]

Mermaid

I
There is longing even
in the deepest cornflower,
where fishes swim
among anemones and coral.
Castles rise with pearly spires,
the sea flows in shades
like rainblues. Sun is distant,
a watery purple flower.

There is longing even so
because no birds sing
to morning, nor wheels
turn, scattering dust.

What do stars mean
in that murky world,
what does sky?

What is acquiescence
when somewhere else
sweet grass tickles your legs,
and you, Sun-warmed,
dream shapes in clouds?

Walking on legs, on moving feet!
Walking among the scent of day,
earth and growing, rain and smoke.
Walking somewhere new,
every step away from familiarity
bleeding with regret and delight,
caught in a twilight of pain and freedom,
but moving forward, voiceless,
words spoken only in the heart.

II
I journeyed to another world
to save a dying prince. I felt
air stir my hair, saw stars unrippled,
set against black. The wide stillness
of sky gave me breath. I could not
swallow, but I saw rooms bright
with candlelight, felt warmed by fire.

Every step hurt. I did not know
my direction, everything apparent
shifted. I was in another world,
spun from an uncharted latitude,
flung to oxygen. I could not speak,
held everything behind my bones,
felt the cut of polarity, of distance.

I danced.

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

III
I can not stay. I can not
stay for love or land
beneath feet barely tried.

To live without a voice
is not to live. The pale cast
of memory strains the air
of this undiscovered country,
and I am undiscovered,
awash in currents of human voices,
turned awry, being and not to be.
foam gathered on the sand,
carried with the waves.

 

[Tathagata]

Mermaid

I
There is longing even
in the deepest cornflower,
where fishes swim
among anemones and coral.
Castles rise with pearly spires,
the sea flows in shades
like rainblues. Sun is distant,
a watery purple flower.

There is longing even so
because no birds sing
to morning, nor wheels
turn, scattering dust.

What do stars mean
in that murky world,
what does sky?

What is acquiescence
when somewhere else
sweet grass tickles your legs,
and you, Sun-warmed,
dream shapes in clouds?

Walking on legs, on moving feet!
Walking among the scent of day,
earth and growing, rain and smoke.
Walking somewhere new,
every step away from familiarity
bleeding with regret and delight,
caught in a twilight of pain and freedom,
but moving forward, voiceless,
words spoken only in the heart.

II
I journeyed to another world
to save a dying prince. I felt
air stir my hair, saw stars unrippled,
set against black. The wide stillness
of sky gave me breath. I could not
swallow, but I saw rooms bright
with candlelight, felt warmed by fire.

Every step hurt. I did not know
my direction, everything apparent
shifted. I was in another world,
spun from an uncharted latitude,
flung to oxygen. I could not speak,
held everything behind my bones,
felt the cut of polarity, of distance.

I danced.

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

III
I can not stay. I can not
stay for love or land
beneath feet barely tried.

To live without a voice
is not to live. The pale cast
of memory strains the air
of this undiscovered country,
and I am undiscovered,
awash in currents of human voices,
turned awry, being and not to be.
foam gathered on the sand,
carried with the waves.

~sigh~
reading this and seeing christmas lights in the early morning, with light snow falling.....Magic
Thank you Ange

 

[Angeline]

~sigh~
reading this and seeing christmas lights in the early morning, with light snow falling.....Magic
Thank you Ange

Thank you dear Tath. I dunno about that last part--it needs work, but at least I have a first draft.

 

[annaswirls]

passioned somewhere else not knowing where else to store it for a bit

~~~~~~~~

You make me want you

wanting is not made,
grown, nor pressed through tubes
onto metal pans for baking.

wanting has always existed,
and waits for a name to replace
generic pronouns.

Want creates want
as it watches for an object to posses.


I want "you"
is a feeling not made,
harvested from hot houses
nor bought in pretty packages.
no arm twist or belly dance
can make it happen.

it sucked us into existance
and pulls us on its twisted string
that tangles and chokes all
that stand in the way.

 

[Angeline]

Night Tripper

Doctor John
croons gris gris news
in urban bourbon growls
and gumbo ya ya yowls.

He knows Mama Roo
was the queen
of the little red wagon.
He can raise her up
in steamy air, float her
crypt creep foggy
up your back
in mystic tonal change.

Some old spirit came this way,
riding Papa Legba west
to coffee-scented Congo Square,
beating rhythm in the dust.

Forever mojo there.

The gift of blues is born
in tears, wrapped in pain.
Art remains in New World
griot voice, in ancient tales
reclaimed.

O
Buddy
Bunk
Oliver
Bechet
Louie, too.

You know what I mean, specka bean?

Mack, such a long and raucous night
remains. The beads, the feathers,
hot crawdaddy Nawlins ghosts.

 

[Angeline]

A Winter’s Tale

So listen, snow?

Could you blow
and crack the cheeks
of your last
tormented particles?

Poor Tom's a'cold.

Would you,
you brittle thief,
you fractious plague
of ice?

You eat precious time,
swaddling hours' fragile
bones in slips of glass.

Listen, nadir of Boreas,
could you return now
to your Thracian bed
and sleep?

Persephone has Raynaud's.
Unleash her blue hands
to the rising warm.
Release her. Open
her palms, just sprout
one silky crocus.

 

[PatCarrington]

......

 

[Angeline]

O, apple my beloved gave to me,
In glow of rose illumed and yielding cream.
Imperfect fallen orb, your blushed beauty
Recasts the winter's chill with summer's dream.
Though never half so sweet as his warm kiss,
Nor skin so fragrant as his curling hair,
Nor flesh so tender as the bitten bliss
I find within his limbs--an orchard rare!
Yet all of nature’s piece are thee and he,
Both having left a garden for my side.
To swallow this much joy is vanity,
Is tasting you or him a sin of pride?
I hold you in my palm and contemplate:
Once fallen ‘tis fruitless denying fate.

 

[Angeline]

When bed is not comfort
enough, I lay cupped
under a sorrow of moons.
They pass through skies,
joining loss to loss.

Remember, stars
project their own time,
and time is relative.

Remember riding bikes
around and around the block?
We dreamed we were flying.

You flew away in December.

I remember,
but I don’t understand
why stars burn so bright
because the Sun
has gone supernova,
and I've learned to breathe
without oxygen.

 

[Angeline]

Copacetic Persuasion

Arvell Shaw is gone.
Picked up his bass
walked syncopated grace
into the fog of time,

insubstantial heaven,
or wherever these cats
fade off from solid,
when their last notes blow.

Arvell, Tito, Bags
Buddy, Hamp.

All-saints join a line
turn backs away
from our minimal future,
roll a chaotic century
up neat.

Dizzy, Miles, Mingus
Bird, Prez,

walking bass away
in lush lines, swaying
cool detached.

Sassy, Lady, Dinah
Ivy, Carmen,

distingué in satin
and the belle weather
of Lady Time’s joyful peal.

If you listen
you can hear Count say
Amen, splank
and space rises
between the notes
of swing time

If you listen
you can hear Duke’s invitation
settle crisp as his tux flows
tail over bench
before the first chord
steals your heart.

Pops stands at the head
of the second line,
a barrel-chested god,
crinkled with unbowed years,
and poised for glory,
dented cornet in hand.

Oh didn’t he ramble!

A century of marching
in gutbucket strain and plea,
a century of tears
hung heavy on branches,
a century of blindness
fallen like soldiers,
moves in a fading line,
turning inexorable wheels
to ever-fainter alarums
of history.

 

[Angeline]

Copacetic Persuasion

(Revised. I think it's done. Cooked.)

Arvell Shaw is gone.
Picked up his bass,
carried syncopated grace
into the fog of time
or wherever these cats
fade off from solid
when the last note blows.

Arvell. Tito. Bags.
Buddy. Hamp.

All-saints join a line,
turn backs away from
our minimal future,
roll a chaotic century
up neat.

Dizzy. Miles. Mingus.
Bird. Prez.

All-saints join a line,
walking bass away
in lush tones, swaying
cool detached.

Sassy. Billie. Dinah.
Ivy. Carmen.

Distingué in satin,
belle weathers
of Lady Time’s joyous peal.

If you listen
you hear Count say Amen.
Splank. Space swallows
the notes of swingtime.

If you listen
you hear Duke’s invitation
settle crisp as his tux flows
tail over bench.
Then the first chord
steals your heart.

Pops stands at the head
of the second line.
He's the barrel-chested god,
crinkled with unbowed years,
poised for glory, the dented
cornet still in hand.

Oh didn’t he ramble!

A century of marching
in gutbucket strain and plea.
A century of tears
hung heavy on branches.
A century of blind hope
fallen like soldiers.

They’re waiting in a fading line
while we listen to ever-fainter
alarums of history.

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[Angeline]

Re: 2nd revision

Driving 47 in the Sun


I try to vanish behind my eyes,
where it should not cost
to be alone.

Always sneaking past
the longing, the stares
that someone else forgot:
flaking whitewash on a bent shack,
high weeds across corn,
a withered tombstone rose.

No one ever speaks of
the wobble on the wire,
or walking away.
The crooked.

We rush to new,
and in the numb and dizzy
we cobweb our old places,
force them all to peel and tilt,
display their fester.

This is just what we do,
humiliate and forget.
No one ever said
it should be some other way.
I never thought before
perhaps I should be sorry.

What I’m trying to say is
I do not know myself any more.
It is a cold highway.
They are all muraled here,
in the catatonic eyes
on the bright blacktop,
the locked droop in the fields.

It makes me hate this polished day.

Yayyyy! The muraled eyes are back (and stink is gone)! (but catatonic?)

 

[Angeline]

Revised

O, apple my beloved gave to me,
You glow, a rose illumed and yielding cream.
Imperfect fallen orb, your blushed beauty
Defies the winter's chill with summer's dream.
Yet you are not so sweet as his warm kiss,
Your skin not fragrant as his curling hair,
Nor flesh so tender as the bitten bliss
I find within his limbs--an orchard rare!
And each of nature’s piece are you and he,
Both having left a garden for my side.
(To swallow this much joy is vanity,
Is tasting you or him a sin of pride?)
I hold you in my palm and contemplate:
Once fallen ‘tis fruitless denying fate.

 

[Tathagata]

Re: A Winter’s Tale

So listen, snow?

Could you blow
and crack the cheeks
of your last
tormented particles?

Poor Tom's a'cold.

Would you,
you brittle thief,
you fractious plague
of ice?

You eat precious time,
swaddling hours' fragile
bones in slips of glass.

Listen, nadir of Boreas,
could you return now
to your Thracian bed
and sleep?

Persephone has Raynaud's.
Unleash her blue hands
to the rising warm.
Release her. Open
her palms, just sprout
one silky crocus.

This was written by you in another life and you just remembered it right?

Seriously it has the feel of one of the classic poets
it's wonderful

 

[Angeline]

Re: Re: A Winter’s Tale

This was written by you in another life and you just remembered it right?

Seriously it has the feel of one of the classic poets
it's wonderful

I wrote it last year, which sort of was another life.

You don't think it's too smarmy? Saying Persephone has Raynaud's, lol.

Thank you, Cheetah.

 

[Tathagata]

Re: Re: Re: A Winter’s Tale

I wrote it last year, which sort of was another life.

You don't think it's too smarmy? Saying Persephone has Raynaud's, lol.

Thank you, Cheetah.

you're asking me if something's too smarmy??

bwaaaaaaahahahaha

nothing is too smarmy
; )

 

[Angeline]

Re: Re: Re: Re: A Winter’s Tale

you're asking me if something's too smarmy??

bwaaaaaaahahahaha

nothing is too smarmy
; )

righto.

I'll have some coffee and regain my wits.

 

[Tathagata]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: A Winter’s Tale

righto.

I'll have some coffee and regain my wits.

and i'll have some absinthe and half mine

 

[Angeline]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: A Winter’s Tale

and i'll have some absinthe and half mine

holds out coffee cup.

wanna write a poem together today baby? (you can edit it this time.)

 

[Tathagata]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: A Winter’s Tale

holds out coffee cup.

wanna write a poem together today baby? (you can edit it this time.)

are you home??
cause i'm on a half day and i'll be home about 11-1130...
otherwise I'll start it and email it to ya
; )

 

[Angeline]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: A Winter’s Tale

are you home??
cause i'm on a half day and i'll be home about 11-1130...
otherwise I'll start it and email it to ya
; )

I am home. We have a poetry date this afternoon. Deal?

 

[Tathagata]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: A Winter’s Tale

I am home. We have a poetry date this afternoon. Deal?

woohoo
deal

do we get naked for that??

 

[Angeline]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: A Winter’s Tale

woohoo
deal

do we get naked for that??

well it is warmer today, but high only in 40s here. i'll take my socks off.



P.S. This is NOT strip poetry!