Ice

 

Winter went too far that year

like a friend who shows her ugly side,

as heedless as some smartphone fuck in a bookstore

as numb and hard as a cop's baton.

Southern beauty, transplanted lady

brought here as a baby, 

my English walnut tree was shivered--shocked--

a dazed involuntary wandering the halls of summer for years after.

This year, unfed, the bandit squirrels stopped knocking down 

her new growth bouquets.

This year her gown is lush, her branches heavy with baubles,

the first walnuts in five years.

I love to sit beneath her, bathed in green

and the susurration of her clustered feathers.

No silent era star wearing ostrich plumes

could compete with her now--she preens in the pleasant weather.

This spring, she is an Impressionist lady 

holding a parasol over me as I am shivered--shocked--

by my country showing her ugly side

my sanctuary soft and sweet, the future hard as a cop's baton.

________

for Dverse--"A View of One's Own" hosted by Dora. 

The images are taken by me, of the walnut tree in my yard. 

Music: Glee cast Don't Make Me Over

Word Garden Word List--Anne Sexton

 

Hello everyone and welcome to this week's Word Garden Word List poetry prompt. I'm a day early with it since I didn't post one last week. Our source this time is Anne Sexton's collection entitled To Bedlam and Part Way Back. 

Anne Sexton

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 as you are able, and enjoy the rest of your weekend. This prompt remains active through next Saturday. 

Your List:

animals

begat

calling

carvings

cures

elephants

erasers

hotel

jackpot

madness

mine

noon

poets

postmarks

radio

roller coaster

rowboat

silk

spoons

wooden

My Child

 

My child was born over the radio at noon

calling, crying, appearing--clearly mine.

She displayed an instant madness, an affinity for the moon

accepting only pomegranate and warm plum wine

as Nurse counted up the medications and the spoons.

We communicate by carvings, deep and raw

and love words mercurial and gritty as a dune,

that respect no wound, no custom, no law.

My elephant child, heavy, hunted, wise

eludes rubber-handed teachers of the exhausted strike

arriving in little rowboats in full courtly disguise

to mine my little darling as she rides her phantasmal bike

down to the grave of stars to kiss the thing that dies

in a tiny wooden cradle beneath a concrete sun

to bring it back, to make it rise

and then her work is done.

Come, child of animals, black earth and fire

to the shelter I have cobbled from discarded turtle shells

where poets burn on pages, porches, pyres

and all variety of heavens, limbos, hells

to arrange your dolls named Judgement and Desire

who sit on silken pillows or in coffins fit with bells

to call their mothers, those beauties, belles and hags

combined into an advocate for my child with tongue flat-felled

by a celebrated seamstress, dumbly mute and dressed in rags.

_____

for Word Garden Word List--Anne Sexton

Music:

Sin City 

Cowgirl's Lament

 

Yippee yi o

and ki yi yay

I've got just one 

more thing to say--

Please don't let me

die here all alone.

Across the mesa  

and through the pass

Old Scratch has gone and 

nailed my ass--

Please don't let me

die here all alone.

Around the campfire

with beer and beans

Who knows what the

hell it means--

Please don't let me

die here all alone.

Kiss me, cowboy

and trim the wick

Had no notion

I was even sick

Please don't let me

die here all alone.

Here's a letter

here's my will

The night is silent

sweet and still--

Please don't let me

die here all alone.

_______

No List today--under the weather. Back next week. 

Word Garden Word List--Bittersweet

 

Hello my little holiday weekend warriors! You may be suffering from too much potato salad or the aftereffects of that spiked lemonade, but I know what real  suffering is. I have just hate-read to the bitter end of Michael Ondaatje's overwritten, torpid, preachy, over-ornamented, meandering, disjointed mess entitled The English Patient. Now, I usually cull your weekly List from something I have recently read, but that turkey is snug in the bin and is not ever seeing the light of day again and soooo... I have decided to feature and old favorite, Nevada Barr's Bittersweet. 

Nevada Barr is known for her mystery/thrillers set in various national parks and those are fine reads, but Bittersweet is a love story between two women in the old west. I love it and thank my BFF for gifting it to me. 

Nevada Barr

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 as you are able, and then sit back and read something more like Bittersweet, and less like The English Patient. (I did love the movie, though.) This prompt remains active through next Saturday.

And now, your List!

autumn

basket

bible

birds

candy

crush

doctor

dreams

frizzy

glasses

honey

kitten

mail

moon

onions

shyness

soft

stars

texts

watercolor

Greenhouse Afternoon

 

There should be a bible for things like this--

something dependable

something I could grab onto

when I feel bewildered,

   dizzy,

from your smile and your scent

when you stand closer

   than I expect.

Such a bible would have shed its

shall-nots

in favor of

more love-thy-neighbor

   especially

when the sky is full of soft stars

and you remove my glasses

   along with my reserve.

This bible would be full of watercolors

and nested in by drowsy birds.

This bible would be

   lit like a greenhouse afternoon

or suggested in midnight indigo.

Lay hands on my shyness

   and let me lay my burden down--

turn me to the text of oh-gosh-yes

   like a prodigal

whose lips can finally confess.

_______

for Word Garden Word List--Bittersweet.

Music: Denise King Say You Say me

My Gibbet

My gibbet is a fine and private place

where a lady may tarry of a summer afternoon

elevated and untouchable--

an ideal love just out of reach

like fruit for Tantalus, all pointless sweetness.

Allen Ginsberg appears from out of the crowd,

pink as a schoolmarm, fat as a Christmas goose

carrying his harmonium

singing about plutonium,

barefoot as any angel, toking on the Golden Blunt.

He looks up, mistaking me for a caught kite

dangling above the street in my gibbet

making other women's children

point and cry

demanding candy or weather reports.

Someone climbs up and ties tin cans

to the bottom of my gibbet

in an atmosphere of giddy holiday.

I die and begin to stink

pieces falling away like confetti.

Here I sway to this very day, high above 

the Emily Dickinson Parkway

a paragon of virtue and demure reserve,

dead as hell

black as a bowling ball

ring still on my finger, an ingenue of the afterlife, 

until gentrification when they'll take me down

because gibbets are out, they're upsetting,

like poetry, 

like dead dodos

like buskers in the subway, beautiful, buried, irrelevant.

_______

for Word Garden Word List.