The Wedding of the Mourning Dove (a de Chirico)

 

A crippled dove is dying; her wound a dusky red

in the maple's crook she's hiding.

Her heart her wedding song; herself the newlywed.

A carmine blaze upon her breast to mark the place she's bled

like a penitent confiding

A crippled dove is dying; her wound a dusky red

The purple splay of sunset now reveals a fraying thread

in her tiny breast subsiding--

her heart her wedding song; herself the newlywed.

Beneath her injured wing, she hides her tawny head

as the sun is lower gliding

a crippled dove is dying; her wound a dusky red. 

The summer grass, soon bereft, would take her place instead

except for circumstance dividing--

her heart her wedding song; herself the newlywed.

The presiding night has finished; the ceremony said--

her new master toward the threshold swiftly striding.

A crippled dove is dying; her wound a dusky red--

her heart her wedding song; herself the newlywed. 

_______

the de Chirico is similar to a pantoum, except that tercets replace quatrains. 

Word Garden Word List--Warren Zevon

 

Hello, my excitable ones! If you happened to read my recent poem Famous Contemporary Poet, or are close to me and have had to listen to me ranting about it, then you know that I've been reading a lot of poets laureate and prize-winning "accessible" collections and it has made me want to get a good running start and hurl myself against the wall. There's hardly any true poetry in any of them. (Ishmael Reed and A.E. Stallings, thank heaven for you two!) I've become quite excited about the whole business. Which brings us to today's source--the lyrics of madman songster and notable excitable boy, Warren Zevon.

Here is Warren singing Ain't That Pretty At All: 

From the Werewolves of London (from which the execrable Kid Rock flat out stole the music for his infantile song All Summer Long) to Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner and Detox Mansion, the late Mr. Zevon took us through a whole fun (and sometimes not-so-fun)house of wild characters, crazy situations and even reflections on mortality. 

If you're not familiar with Warren Zevon, here is a link to one site's list of the top 10 Zevon songs. They're all fantastic. His unexpected subjects and his wry sense of humor were uniquely his own. 

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 go get a big dish of beef chow mein from the place called Lee Ho Fooks!

And now, your List:

accidentally

bad example

burst

desperados

diamond

envoy

excitable

guess what?

hurry

jubilation

lungs

next

pitiful

reconsider

rehab

sentimental

sleep

soulful

volunteer

waitress

Chronics

 

In the rehab place where wasted hearts

sleep too much like buried creatures

the nurse dispenses dreams from a cart

and the worst of us become the teachers

If you're feeling sentimental

aversion therapy works the best

and for something supplemental

try stuffing newspaper in your chest

We the burned, we the bruised

nod in our not-quite present way

shock-shelved inventory seldom used

but trotted out on holidays

A waitress serves the plates--we break them

to wake ourselves like catatonics;

we choose a new mistake at random

we the dazed romantic chronics.

_____________

for Word Garden Word List--Warren Zevon

Music: Damien Jurado Kansas City

Bachelor Rat

 

There is a bachelor rat

living alone in my neighbor's garage

as I also live alone,

a single dog lady in my lighted box. 

I have begun to feed him

leaving a Tupperware of dog kibble,

french fries, a leaf of lettuce

or whatever, out for him last thing each night.

Watching from the window

I see him, five minutes later, skittering

across the yard like a pleasure

boat on choppy seas, to claim his plunder. 

I eat in the evenings

in front of tv, solving mysteries

as the bachelor rat

also does, always alert for killers.

Predators concern us both

(mine call me up, his lay low in the ground ivy.)

The neighbor behind tries

to poison him, as social media tries to poison me.

We just woke up in these skins,

he in his, me in mine, flesh costumes of the moment,

costumes that get hungry, cold,

ill, old, and any number of other similarities.

Why feed that bachelor rat?

some may ask, aghast. He's nothing but vermin.

I just feel like there are so many cats

set on doing harm to one little rat, or one old woman,

and so I set out his Tupperware

meal last thing while letting my dog out each night.

I wish him good fortune, my simpatico

bachelor rat, to make it through the winter all right.

_______________

Famous Contemporary Poet

 

I'm trying to finish this famous contemporary poet's

fourth collection, which groans under the weight of

all the glowing blurbs on the back cover.

The famous contemporary poet avoids rhyme as if

it was a downed wire--half grand mal seizure, half

pit bull off the chain and charging.

The famous contemporary poet writes a few poems,

carefully packed in vignettes, snapshots, and musings,

all the excelsior found in any packing crate.

In high school I had an acquaintance, this guy.

He'd toss out something cryptic and then wait

like he'd flipped you a Rubik's Cube.

Everything out of his mouth was a test and he'd give

you this bright smirk, like can you figure it out and

get to where I am, up here?

I would like to meet the famous contemporary poet

and show her one of mine, plain as the flat of my hand

when it breaks her nose and the blood comes.

I am trying to finish the famous contemporary poet's 

fourth collection even though it's like watching a movie 

with muddy sound, in dialect, no captions.

______________

The Saints of 1962

 

It was summer, 1962

and I was seven years old. 

I loved our screen porch where my mother never came

except for meals in the berry-bush cicada evenings.

It was my father's domain, and mine.

He read his newspaper or did crosswords

with a ballgame on the radio.

I loved the march music at the opening and in the beer ads. 

Sometimes the weatherproof rug was a dance floor

for my dolls when my brother wasn't there to make fun. 

My main thing that summer, though

was my cards spread out on the old

table, retired from the kitchen, now the grand dame of the porch.

I had prayer cards--

Saint Anthony, Saint John Bosco, Theresa of Avila,

colorful as comic books, bright as the light of Heaven.

I had baseball cards--

Rocky Colavito, Cuno Barragan, Orlando Cepeda

with dark woody borders

and early 60's dark caps

they looked as if they played in perpetual shadows.

There was incense

in the form of my father's Dutch Masters cigar.

There were the sacraments

and the sacrifice bunt.

The saints seemed backlit, blessed by Divine Hollywood.

The players cards were sometimes misprinted with a

green-tinted background as if they were undersea.

I liked to mix them, shuffled and fanned out.

Saint Sebastian, patron of athletes, his foot

resting on the top step of the dugout, gesturing

his fielders into position

with a wave of his scorecard,

or by messages brought by angels.

Jim Bunning striking out the devil with a wicked side-arm fastball,

making Old Scratch look foolish

as the vendors call and the fans

cheer. Jim walks off the field in the sunshine, no shadow in sight.

I have forgotten which cards I had, mostly.

Who was the beer sponsor? Schlitz? Blatz?

What had I done that spring?

What did I do that fall? In summer 1962

my father and President Kennedy were alive 

and so were the saints and ballplayers

On the table

on the screen porch

in summer, 1962.

_____________

for What's Going On? "Forgetfulness"

Music: Gale Garnett We'll Sing in The Sunshine

And Detroit Tigers march music radio intro

Kitty (a pantoum)

 

Your cat has killed my singing bird

she sunk her teeth into its throat

and now, its every song deferred

it wears a reddened funeral coat.

She sunk her teeth into its throat

and left its body on the mat

an ornament for Charon's boat

does kitty give a damn for that?

She left its body on the mat

and licks her paws without a care

does kitty give a damn for that

or anybody anywhere?

She licks her paws without a care

her tail she'll switch in plain disdain

for anybody anywhere

she casually causes pain.

Her tail she'll switch in plain disdain

for having killed my singing bird

or casually causing pain

by any bloody song deferred.

____________

The Word Garden Word List is very much active and can be found HERE.