In a cage with bars of foxfire,
I kept an apparition who claimed
to have made, from flax and piano wire
your nom de guerre, your midnight name.
"Tell me, moonless one, " I said,
"Sunless, starless nattering ghost,
Is there gravity for the dead?
A superseding circle outermost?"
She moaned and split to sugar and salt
identical in paleness to your kiss,
and offered a platitude neatly got
from a serpent poisoned with nothingness.
I burnt a root and bled a bird,
a canary-colored silent fake
whose solitude was ringed by words
that only my love or the damned could make.
______
for Skylover's word list.
When not even an apparition can bring something else than platitudes I wonder what spell will work.
ReplyDeleteYour witchcraft here is worthy of Calypso, or perhaps Artemis herself, who bent the crescent moon to make her bow. The neatness of these ordered stanzas belies the fire and chaos they are built from, and has there ever been a last line like that, which the unexpected use of rhyme drives in to the hilt? You have knocked the socks off the muse, Shay, or plied her with some potion known only to you, to get her to surrender this particularly rich cosmic buffet. Besides the ache in the knoll of the final couplet, I am especially pleased by these images: "...made from flax and piano wire..."/"...identical in paleness to your kiss...'/ and "...a serpent poisoned by nothingness..." Yeesh! You made me quote!
ReplyDeleteYou have indeed plied your muse with a potion available only to you. The leap your imagination makes when you put pen to paper is beyond what is available to most of the rest of us. Too many "wow!"'s to quote. This poem is stellar.
ReplyDeleteWow! Just wow!
ReplyDeleteOh, how absolutely wonderful! Your apparition is so beautifully drawn, and I love the combinations of words you found. Overall this has a musicality which I really admire.
ReplyDeleteThis is absolutely spell like! I particularly like the rhythms of the last stanza.
ReplyDelete“She moaned and split to sugar and salt
ReplyDeleteidentical in paleness to your kiss”
“I burnt a root and bled a bird“
Every time I read you, I just shake my head in befuddlement over how a brain can possibly be as talented as yours. I’m so grateful that rich orchard exists.
The last verse is incredible. Just freaking incredible.
ReplyDeleteShay, you can write a poem about casting a spell like no one else. This so delightfully plays off the tongue - it's a thrill to read out loud. And that last stanza soars!
ReplyDeleteIncomparable. Just so good.
ReplyDeleteVerse witchcraft worthy of Hekate, goddess of night roads frequented by the dead and our lost hearts. For all I've written about ghosts, nothing comes close to this question about them: "Is there gravity for the dead? / A superseding circle outermost?" Indeed. But the answer is found in the pile of Kleenex at our feet, in a "solitude" "ringed by words / that only my love or the damned could make." Indeedymost.
ReplyDelete“She moaned and split to sugar and salt / identical in paleness to your kiss” and “I burnt a root and bled a bird“ - astounding. And I didn't even notice the rhyming at first, it was so seamless!
ReplyDeleteSuch a great one to pull out from your hunting quiver, Shay. I can only echo my original comment, as the same lines were the ones I was about to quote, plus. "...a canary colored silent fake.." (!) Just superb writing. And a complete testimony to the power of words.
ReplyDeleteLove this... intriguing because one wants to know more about the apparition itself with its nothingness platitudes and splitting into sugar and salt... like the nom de guerre, a version of oneself... wonderful write.
ReplyDeleteA series of powerful lines, each casting a spell of their own, which in turn become a w(hole), which has swallowed you before you know it. Bedazzling.
ReplyDelete