Mongrel Angel

 

A mongrel angel in the dark

who wakes the dogs who start to bark

beneath the yellow windows in the rain

she knows the words and hums the tune

for lonely rabbits on the moon

who wear their pestles on a silver chain

A mongrel angel high at noon

comes uninvited to the room

where holy flunkies serve the business crowd

she knows where all the blossoms bloom

in graveyards where they dust their broom

and common kind is simply not allowed

And the mongrel angel lives halfway from Heaven on her own

like a fish out of the water or a turtle on a stone

A mongrel angel's setting sun

is just like any other one

but dialect of night's a special rhyme

that only dogs and she can hear

a melody of atmosphere

that leaves her breathless every single time

And the mongrel angel lives halfway from Heaven on her own

like a fish out of the water or a turtle on a stone

_____________

for Word Garden Word List--Cat's Cradle

Word Garden Word List--Cat's Cradle

 

Hello my little Bokononists! You know, when I was in my 20's, I read a ton of Kurt Vonnegut's books. I loved God Bless You Mr. Rosewater, Slaughterhouse-5, Slapstick and Breakfast of Champions. I also liked Wampeters, Foma, & Granfaloons  and Welcome to the Monkey House. Twenty years later, I read Bluebeard   but cannot now recall a single thing about it. I may have read others; I was not yet keeping my book journal when I read all but that last one. I read so many Vonnegut and Kerouac books back in the day that I'm no longer sure exactly which ones except the favorites. 

So anyway, I decided to see whether I still like my old author pal. I did not think that I had read Cat's Cradle, so I got a copy and ripped through it last week. I am still not sure if I had read it before, but I enjoyed it. It concerns a scientist whose three children own a chip of a substance called ice-9, which can turn whole oceans--and people--to solid ice on contact. Not good for living things, clearly. These three adult children, plus the writer/narrator, all end up on a tiny island called San Lorenzo, where everyone follows a religion called Bokonon even though it is prohibited. (Oh, and its founder freely admits that everything about it is lies.) It's classic Vonnegut. So, that is our source this week!

What we do here is to use at least 3 of the 20 words provided in a new, original poem of our own. Then simply link up, visit others, and whatever you do, don't touch the ice-9! This prompt remains active through next Saturday.

And now, your List!

absurdity

angel

blossoms

blueprint

bubble

clownishness

college

dialect

hook

imagine

letter

models

mongrel

nervous

records

rockets

tombstone

turtles

unless

wicked

Tiger

 

there is a tiger

who travels through each of my arms.

One is filled with jacaranda

with the moon asleep in its branches.

the other is a dusty courtyard in afternoon

with a fountain 

and a small child who walks its low wall.

your little balcony

is where the tiger likes to go.

there is a purple reflection in the fountain--

the child 

peels an orange to find the moon at its center,

and me in your arms

near the jacaranda branches

where everything is harmonious

and fragrant.

Saint Agnes On The Bus

 

On a bus in the city

on a slush-spattered morning

St. Agnes rode quiet to her grave.

Her sister was praying

her ear buds were playing

a song that was slow, sad, and brave.

The driver was sleeping

on a cushion of roses

and the wheel was a garland of sand

St. Agnes was pure

as few ever can be

mending wounds with a gold rubber band.

On the streets there were dogs

and they spoke of a healing

that cures every creature entire

St. Agnes is holy

and her sister is humbled

by the cost such devotion requires.

The bus turned to ashes

and the souls of the riders

had to carry all the things they must learn

St. Agnes beheaded

her sister lamented

that glory, to be sweet, must be stern.

_____________

Snow Day

 

Bosco 2003-2014

Zacky, my spring-heeled dog, goes bouncing into the middle

of the flyers around the bird feeder--

his pure simple joy as he watches them rise.

his tongue hanging out, his eyes alight, defies the winter.

We have had snow, then thaw, then rain, then refreeze.

The world here is icebound.

The rain pooled almost to the doorstep, but the

still frozen ground could not accept it and iced over again.

The rinks have endured for two weeks now.

My dog comes to the door, exhilarated, certain

that his mama will be there to let him in for a cookie and a nap.

I am his open door, his open heart, his centering sun.

Someone I know has just lost her dog--

she is crying. I am crying for them.

Two to four more inches is expected here shortly,

while winter plays the immortal.

As I hold my smiling pal, I think of my old dogs,

Sundance and Bosco, and how much I miss them.

They passed.

Winter will pass.

I too will pass, along with all my stuff and memories.

Today I will sit stroking Zacky and watching out the window

as the snow falls and falls. 

Winter will have its day but will fade, as will 

presidents and peacocks,

blue jays and babies,

a constant falling, 

with all of us aboard for the ride.

(Detroit Michigan, 2/13/25)

_____________

Written for What's Going On? "Landscapes."

Music: Dave Grusin The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter theme

Dear Katie

 

Dear Katie,

                  please pardon the confusion--

mine,

yours,

the weather's.

Today in group they wanted us to talk about

someone who really loves us.

I started to laugh

                            like slipping on ice

I couldn't wave myself fast enough

                            to save a fall

and the laughing became an ugly cry.

They like us to do things with our hands here

so I made

                a love potion for you.

Yeah, too late. like checking a smoking oven.

But,

       I can still portion by intuition

like how much to kiss you in the morning.

I used

a pinch of rust from a love lock

the memory of five black tulips

and 1 tsp essence of caramel fudge ice cream--

       Jeff Buckley ballads to taste

        baked at 350 until the moon turns silver like your poetry.

Gosh Katie,

                   they took away my books,

said I needed to engage with others.

I went back to group today and said, whoa, back up--

let's do that thing

                              from yesterday.

I pulled my shit together this time, not like before,

and I said,

                Katie mon amour

                 Katie je t'aime je t'aime, je t'aime.

This one bitch goes, you're not French,

you're not even Canadian you fucking freak

But she never stumbled drunk up the stairs with you,

poetry ringing in our ears and the summer night on our skin.

More to be pitied than scorned,

                                                    I can hear you say.

Anyway,

              love ya girl

Katie mon amour,

              Our Lady of Tulips and the Silver Moon.

________________

for Dverse Poetics, "From Your Valentine" hosted by Sanaa.

Music: Chantel Chamberland-- Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

Word Garden Word List--Sula

 

Hello my little wanderers! This week's Word List is taken from a marvelous novel I recently read entitled Sula  by Toni Morrison. She is also the author of Beloved, The Bluest Eye, Tar Baby, and many more.

Sula  centers on a pair of childhood friends; Nel, who grows up along the expected lines, marrying, having children, not making waves, and Sula, who is a wild spirit who does exactly as she pleases, and then lives with the consequences, as do many others in her wake. I loved this book. It moved me and I find myself still thinking about all the characters. 

What we do here is to use at least 3 of the 20 words provided in a new, original poem of our own. Then simply link up, visit others, and then read some Morrison! This prompt remains active all week. 

And now, your List:

bird

bizarre

cook

gossip

grace

grave

joke

kissed

mask

paints

pony

quilts

robins

screen

soap

songs

story

touched

true

voice