The generosity of madmen
--whether born or made so--
is like a pitcher overturned,
sweetness wasted in the sharing.
I'm not about to mistake straitjackets for haute couture;
I am as hard and closed as a policeman's nightstick.
Still, you can lay naked in the spring grass,
holding a hymnal and a caramel.
Pretend yourself a parrot, all colors.
I will still be the crow from whom the night borrows its darkness.
When you have gone, I will play ancient games
with dying cicadas.
The years will fold themselves into pastries
the crumbs of which I horde and never drop.
Go, parrot. And this time
do not leave open my coat of poems
with sleeves like shaded roads, and wool like forgotten noons.
But if you do, I will have been right in my manic certainty
that you would make me cry in the end.
------------
22 lines for Real Toads.
You took the quote, rinsed it, wrung it out and reshaped it, Shay, into something that kept the base material but grew its own backbone! My favourite lines:
ReplyDelete‘I'm not about to mistake straitjackets for haute couture;
I am as hard and closed as a policeman's nightstick’.
I also enjoyed:
‘Pretend yourself a parrot, all colors.
I will still be the crow from whom the night borrows its darkness.’
A day is not complete until I have read a poem by you. I sigh, I sigh, you write so much better than I........but it gives my heart wings to admire your talent. I love that you will remain the crow from whom the night borrows its darkness. And cackle at "bitter old hags unite". LOL. I went in somewhat the same direction, just not so lyrically. I am old. My head is dizzy and it hurts. I am happy to be writing anything at all. And to be reading you.
ReplyDeleteI will still be the crow from whom the night borrows its darkness...I love that you wrote this. You could have almost used the quote from Ginsberg for this. Holding a caramel and a hymnal. Gag. I disdain the overly romantic poems that lie in their teeth and parrot what they think people want to hear. You will never do that Shay, thank goodness. Your writing is always clear and honest and spot on. thank you for writing to this prompt.
ReplyDeleteI utterly adore every line and the truth they each uphold, but i am in love with "the years will fold themselves like pastries the crumbs of which i horde and never drop" such amazing imagery. You always say it like no one else can! I love this poem!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteSo, the summer heat has not killed you yet... Some of have our brain baked by the horrible heat and humidity. You, on the other hand, apparently flourish.
ReplyDeleteGorgeous poem.
Each stanza is so strong in imagery and originality. All the beauty before her and yet it can't be savored - That manic certainty forbids it. Amazing!
ReplyDeleteSo difficult indeed to carry Oliver's bright early sails into the latter years, especially when frost is everywhere in poems. An honest and true and unvarnished assent to the thing which bids us all sing.
ReplyDeleteWhat a glorious read; words of the mind usually unspoken but giving us access the to writers feelings
ReplyDelete"When you have gone, I will play ancient games/with dying cicadas..." This is the phrase that leapt out at me, startling in its aptness--as is the line about the overturned pitcher. Just brilliant, Shay--full of a poetic juice sweeter than summer blackberries.
ReplyDeleteThis one transported me to a far away place, I remain grounded in your words. You are magic.
ReplyDeleteShay- this is magical. You cast a spell with your words and I am mesmerized.
ReplyDeleteOh.. WOW! A Quintessential Fireblossom Love Potion poem. I love the stark contrasts and the taste of caramel.
ReplyDeletePerfection in all of your poetry! I love years folding into pastries. Sweet beyond comprehension.
ReplyDeleteI am awed by this poem, Shay. Each stanza is a poem. The last one wraps up every thought that goes before it.
ReplyDeleteYou did justice to this quote, Shay. I love how you weave your metaphors. Excellent job!
ReplyDelete