It's you
with the glass eye,
blue bottle marsh-mud skin,
ivory dog and bus ticket.
It's your child down the moon grass shore, calling.
When he's home, it rains; salt won't pour.
My Ouija child, c'est ca,
the face I love--
it's you.
______
"C'est ca" (say-sah) French = "That's it"
A circle of salt is sometimes used as a barrier of protection against negative spirits.
Rictameter on day 14. Thanks to Hedgewitch for suggesting some forms for me to try.
for Marian's "Eres Tu" (It's You) prompt at Toads.
Oh the fire continues to breathe - to slow spark and then catch, build in the smokey intensity of the words you are so .... spell-bindingly bidding to your call .... this is sweet magick - the hoodoo, blues, candle eruption of a story, passionate, deeply mournful for the mask of lust and love - the longing, the mystery of what the heart wants, knows - and yet will fulsomely surrender to the madness of it.
ReplyDeleteYou are birthing so many children here Shay, it's just staggeringly unfucking believable!
Seriously woman, you are breaking a sweat on my for the intensity of your labours.
ummm ... yeah, forgot the "brow" .... on my brow ....
ReplyDeleteand like, again, a million pardons, my friend - but I'm not pulling any specific line/word phrases, cause this is just to rich for it -
ReplyDeleteand the new form? (new to me) well ... I'm not sure whether you've technically nailed (I'm guessing you probably have or come damn close) but that's not the point, because this just totally works - on every level, so if the form has allowed this foundation for the house to rise in such perfection, then, hell yeah, please - keep building - I am a captive audience/witness. And I don't surrender to captivity willingly.
This is one of the hottest things you've written. I could eat it. I could dance to it. I could for damn sure make a baby with it. Pink sky cam, shazaam, and a handkerchief. I have fallen deep-hard into this poem. And man, did you set it up with that picture. An older guy with a harmonica, arm tattoos, and a hat --- now THAT is my style. Yum-yum, baby. Yum.
ReplyDeleteYou are so beyond my depth here....
ReplyDeleteBeyond just the sheer soar of this, it's the image of the child here, or perhaps the child within the protective if caustic circle of the adult, fitted with a glass eye that won't pour salt, that gets to me, and the ivory dog, because you can only have a charm of something that must be cared for when you are someone on the run, on the prowl, sleeping in the moon grass...I see both self and Other here, and the quirks of each that are only beautiful if loved...stellar work with the form--which, as you've ably demonstrated, is one that makes every word speak something important.
ReplyDeleteA unique face indeed, love the blue bottle river mud skin, and the white dog. Perfect.
ReplyDeleteIt is you, it is always you.
ReplyDeleteWow. Shay you are smoking'. All of these wonderful poems you are writing. I am wondering if I should just give up and stop.
ReplyDeleteWhen he's home, it rains; salt won't pour. I want to sing that line.
ReplyDeleteSo unique, love the character and I hope for the son, loved so much,,, :-)
ReplyDeleteThis is really cool, Shay. I love that picture (I want his silver cuff!) and every line is a zinger.
ReplyDeleteI'm with Kerry. I love that photo (right away I coveted that cuff). The 6th line--especially--is gorgeous.
ReplyDeleteYes, I wanted to say to Jasmine, "And don't forget the jewellery!"
ReplyDeleteGreat image, surpassed by the fabulous poem. I have tried that form (can't think of its name) – harder than you make it look, and of course you have executed it perfectly.
despite everything - she loves him.
ReplyDeleteRictameter is a new form for me - I love the shape, Shay, and the story you have expertly squeezed into it! That's a great description: 'glass eye, /
ReplyDeleteblue bottle marsh-mud skin, / ivory dog and bus ticket', juxtaposed with the tender love of the final lines.
This is just perfect.
ReplyDelete