I am a ghost looking for spirits; steam searching for smoke.
I wear my long duster, and carry a kerosene sun.
I am a nun praying my penance; a singer struck by stroke.
I am your grave digger; you, better loved than anyone.
I wear my long duster, and carry a kerosene sun.
I am found by dire-light, turning scripture to palimpsest.
I am never done, though my diet is the slenderest.
I am a nun paying my penance; a singer struck by stroke.
Collecting throats in my pockets, renaming them all night.
I have choked back every longing, and paled your name with white.
I am your grave digger; you, better loved than anyone.
My all-and-none, my crossroads queen awoke,
I am a ghost looking for spirits; light transformed to smoke.
________
This is a trimeric, for Sunday Muse #184.
A great trimeric sprinkled with lovely phrases. You da best!
ReplyDeleteGoodness. The bar continues to soar ever upward. This is a poem that deceives with its lightness of touch and subtle cadence, a wisp of the smoke of the heartfire that burns one alive, a dive into language that both exhilarates the senses and darkens the soul--forgive me for quoting, but "..I collect throats in my pockets, and sit renaming them all night..." jumped out at me, and of course, that final tercet is for the record books. Just stellar writing throughout and the perfect form to showcase it, full of the deep moods of autumn. Fine work here, Shay.
ReplyDeleteI smoothed out that line you liked. ;-)
DeleteThis is one brilliant poem my friend! The longings that burn can sometimes injure those that touch it. As always your imagery is off the charts amazing!! I read it out loud more than once, and saw more smoke each time. Sigh.......I love it!
ReplyDeleteOMG, this is heart wrenching and gorgeous. I want to hear it sung/recited on a dark autumn porch.
ReplyDeleteWonderfully composed. I have not tried a trimeric. It looks more difficult than a pantoum. So well done, Shay. Too many beautiful lines to quote. But I love "you, better loved than anyone" the best.
ReplyDeleteYou slaughtered me with that first line. The ghost/spirit steam/smoke are magnets of meaning that pull atoms from the ether. Then "carry a kerosene sun." just stop. " turning scripture to palimpsest" then you land the marriage of the ineffable at the end, with the gravedigger turning the spade of trimeric dirt over and over.
ReplyDeleteAs always, your writing takes me to a thoughtful place as I soak up the atmosphere you create with your wonderful phrasing, images and craft. Thank you Shay.
ReplyDeleteDizzy from these journeys you insist I take (impossible to resist, under your spell) ... a lovely form, a lovely Emmylou ... You.
ReplyDelete"Kerosene sun" -- Brilliant! I love it as I loved every movement of the poem into a phantasmagorical trimeric. What a thrilling read for Halloween!
ReplyDeletepax,
dora
Such a beautiful poem. Love the flow of it and the embedded (?) rhymes. Difficult to pick favorite lines from this one they are all so good.
ReplyDeleteThe "grave digger" line was my favorite. Nice 'trimeric', Shay.
ReplyDeleteThank you too, for help in finding this guy.
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I don't think I could add much to the comments already made. Your poem is pure art.
ReplyDeleteYou are an awesome writer, plain and simple. I feel who you are in this write; you bring the reader in to walk beside you, and that is what poetry is meant to do.
ReplyDeleteGoodness, this poem is awesome. So many lines to love ....this one really punched me, "Collecting throats in my pockets, renaming them all night." It is powerful, visual, dark. Again I am wowed by your talent.
ReplyDeleteLove it! You have used the form masterfully. The final two stanzas are particularly striking to me.
ReplyDeleteI thought I had commented but, I guess I didn't. It's always a marvel to read your poetry. You travel
ReplyDeletethe multi - (verse) in a unique way. . with a kerosene sun...an imaginative use of light.
I love the way you used this form. I found this poem to be quite powerful.
ReplyDelete