For J. ( A Sonnet)

"One loves well only once; the first time." --La Bruyere

All that winter I waited, close to you
as breath to words, and yet I was silent,
wise enough to be mute and not intrude,
content as your listening instrument.
No voice was ever so adored as yours--
no hands that made me wish to be the book
they held, so memorized, all else ignored
in my single wish for your favored look.
The devil finds a weakness and within
it builds the sweetest of all illusion.
So, for such deception, thanks are due him;
pieties are best spent when we lose them.

Why did you kiss me, just once, with no word?
Kisses evermore, superfluous...absurd.
__________

This Poem Is the War Bird, the Cat, and Ashes

This poem is the war bird, tethered.
This poem is the cat, crouched, waiting.
This poem is ashes, flame's dark warmthless daughters.

Once-soft Goddesses wearing gauntlets
hurry new dawns into a red sky unready;
The bones of songbirds make trinket jewelry
for these light-drunk chippies, unsteady.
It is not the war bird who is tethered to these dime store deities--
they desperately tether their silly selves to him,
his talons,
his keen eye,
asking him in a rush, blathering,
to tell them of rising, of honest blood, of sky.

Quiet becomes rare currency
in a plaza sick with ambrosia barkers.
Weaving between pillars and the busts of noble dead,
comes a common cat, traversing the markers.
It is not the feline who lives at the edges and margins,
but the noisome voided screechers calling themselves master--
vomiting,
wearing bibs,
insensible to the common cat, crouching,
stalking the dull bird under their ribs.

Here is what we did and what we were,
here and here and here. Weep for the beauty of it,
write poems and songs and marble art,
to present to these defectives--our citizens--steeped in shit.
Everything skips a generation, so the wise ones have said,
before we cored them and tore out their tongues,
all the while
pasting on a laurel wreath.
See our favored girls, pampered and scornful,
smiling ice from rot-sweet teeth.

This poem is the war bird, tethered.
This poem is the cat, crouched, waiting.
This poem is ashes, flame's dark warmthless daughters.
_________

for Hannah's mini-challenge, "boomerang metaphors".

 
 

The Second Garden

In the Second Garden, the poison vine
as thin as a thought, as long as a doubt,
the devil's darling, nocturne saturnine.

The hangman's weaver bird slips in, slips out,
creating lace of loss, brocade of dark,
as thin as a thought, as long as a doubt.

By second moon, burn the bloom, climb the bark;
a slender creeper who kills by embrace,
creating lace of loss, brocade of dark.

Dream by the lily pond, drown in the race;
the high-shown face is mere mask for the root,
a slender climber who kills by embrace.

Here find bloom for the blind, song for the mute;
black-gone fruit is the dark garden's heart.
The high-shown face is mere mask for the root.

The snake's second skin is fine seed to start
in the Second Garden, the poison vine.
Black-gone fruit is the dark garden's heart;
the devil's darling, nocturne saturnine.
______

A Terzanelle for Real Toads form challenge. Curse you, Kerry O'Connor!

Managed Care

Do not be alarmed at the pace
our doctor plies his noble skills--
one potion cures, the other kills.

To heal is not a game, a race--
a dance between the grave and flesh
with partners green with rot, or fresh.

Accept the process and embrace--
the literature we gave you;
the surgery that can save you!

Depend on skill, dumb luck, or grace
negotiate another breath--
your enemy is not us, but Death!

The Reaper waits, or nears apace.
Patient in aspect and of mien--
takes possession or leaves unseen.
______

This is an invented form called a Constanza, which Real Toads has inflicted on me this morning. How do I hate this form? Let me count the ways: I hate that all the lines are four feet in length, making a sing-songy quality almost impossible to avoid. Over time, I have come to enjoy a lot of forms, but this one felt like trying to play tennis while wearing a straightjacket. (Some say I would look good in one!) Let's shed the jacket, and try this again...

Just a little bit longer, if you please.
Sit down. Read a magazine!
(They go back to 1983.)

The doctor is a very busy man.
He will do everything for you that he can.
Fill out this form.
Learn the French horn, try a language or get a college degree

while you wait.
From Mail Order State.

Come in, come on, stand on this scale!
Oh my goodness...
all we get are
skeletons and whales!

Any complaints?
Catarrh?
Were you hit by a car?
Put on this gown, then sit down.
The doctor will see you if you'll just shut your mouth,
sit here and wait through his rounds of golf.

Knock knock! Hello!
And how are we?!?
Oh yes. Oh my. Oh dear. I see.
I think we can dispense with dreary tests...
Have this prescription filled.
If it doesn't work, come back, we'll drill.

Pay up, pay now, pay through the nose!
Your co-pay is more, your coverage is less,
and all gone to receivership
of Mr. Death, our C.P.A.

Have a nice day!
_______

  

Leap / Revival Season

LEAP

A salmon sees the bear and leaps,
whether to safety or surcease.
Please don't pretend you know its mind--
You can't know fruit from watching rind.

While fish-brained babies softly sleep,
a salmon sees the bear and leaps.
Say "baby mine and baby sweet"
and kiss its tiny foreign feet.

O world of ease and world of woe
reclining in a gob of roe;
a salmon sees the bear and leaps,
the gateman waves, the gateman greets.

Little bubble on the surface,
rise or sink and think you've cured this
fever's damaged dreamy heat--
a salmon sees the bear and leaps.
_____

REVIVAL SEASON

A singing skull knows just one song
and sings it, flays it, grinding on;
agreeable to itself it is,
screeching musical sentences.

Nerves nestle hot in fireplace tongs--
a singing skull knows just one song;
the ear can bleed a fine red rose
and trickle crimson from the nose.

Come dressed for evening, gown and hat,
and take the arm that's white and fat;
a singing skull knows just one song
and sings it, brings, it, on and on.

Pose and smile, promenade and grin,
and be damned glad you're not like him;
bat space of eyes where eyes are gone--
a singing skull knows just one song.
_____

2 quaterns for the Real Toads Sunday form challenge. I'm really pleased with the first one, and I include the second one because, hey, today is BOGO day at Shay's.

  

The House Amid The Lupines

Two wolves with but three eyes between them
set each half its teeth in my heart;
having given such rare food to feed them,
it killed me to tear them apart.

The shepherd with spectacles woolen,
was convinced he certainly dreamed them;
while his damned bloody blindness emboldened
two wolves with but three eyes between them.

As Mistress, I sanctioned the pasture
for concealing the Moon and the Stars;
but the Sun, in league with the Master,
set each half its teeth in my heart.

The cook baked her devils some sheep's heads
from her oven she built in the deep den;
then she served herself with their sweetbreads,
having given such rare food to feed them.

My wolfish love with the Master
set hooks through the meat of our hearts;
when our opposite tempers tugged faster,
it killed me to tear them apart.
_______

For Hedgewitch's excellent mini-challenge at Real Toads!

Heads

Heads in
relay boxes
wait for postmen to come
to place them softly in their bags
by night.

By night,
bright-keyed angels
gather the weary ones,
and, graceful as birds, home in and
head in.

By night,
the blue-trousered
messengers soothe their cargo
as if kisses were a postmark
from God.

From God,
by carrier,
the rescued heads are sent
to outward points by hand, by day,
by night.

Heads from
relay boxes
will change the world under
aegis of the eagle and its
glory.
_____

This is a crown cinquain for Marian's mini-challenge at Real Toads. The top photograph is hers, and is used with permission. It shows what look to me to be postal relay boxes. Collection boxes are the familiar marked blue boxes, but relay boxes are unmarked dark green boxes which are used for temporary storage of items to be picked up and delivered later the same day.

Zen Cones

Summer has brought forth much life.
To set one's feet in nature, is to find joy.
Do not mistake the diamondback for the gentle garter snake.
We all err; dance with enthusiasm, then lie down.

Invite a friend to play Chinese checkers in the afternoon.
Like the pieces, companionship comes in many colors.
The dragon may defeat the skunk, but the skunk will have revenge.
How pretty, the lights of the ambulance and police car.

A grain of rice may be humbly small in dry seasons,
But the boiling pot will coax the tiny one larger.
A young woman visits the Zen Master privately.
Even boiled rice is not so large; the Zen Master disapproves of her laughter.

A prettier song lures one bird from the nest.
The other uses solitude to meditate and forget.
Zen Master's dog pees all over the carpet.
Rainy days bring remembering, and a bad smell again.

_______

for Real Toads Sunday mini-challenge: zen koans

A Ballad In Shades Of Red

Am I your best girl?
Let me ask the doves--
But the gamesman's killed them, one by one;
What was he thinking of?

Am I your best girl?
Let me ask the fox--
But the gamesman's set out poisoned meat
To save his hens and cocks.

Blue morning glories climb the post,
Red roses crowd the door--
I keep my head held shameless high,
My dress pooled on the floor.

Am I your best girl?
Let me ask your back--
The gamesman brings you bright gold rings
And birds with broken necks.
_______

To Those Learned And Level, Proclaiming From Shore

photos by Zena Holloway

Just
because
you cannot
imagine me,
you deny me, I who have always been.
_____
a tetractys, for Real Toads mini challenge.

The Woman With The Cat Face

The woman with the cat face made a wish
And all the sparrows turned to fish.

The sky produced them at her command
Stacked like kippers upon her hand.

The woman with the cat tail switched it once
And paving stones turned to hot cross buns.

The woman with the cat tail switched it twice
And made Catholic bishops out of five field mice.

The woman with the cat heart had a beau
Set him on a gibbet and swung him low.

The woman with the cat heart clapped her hands
And made his coffin out of watering cans.
______

composed in the journal Hedgewitch gave me, for Gay Cannon's form for all.

The Best Trick ( or, Cywydd Llosgyrnog Does Toad Aid )

Woman, never trust a gypsy.
She will thieve your heart so easy,
And if she doesn't, then she's fake;
Watch hard to catch her at her crime,
The stolen dollar, pilfered dime,
The smooth climb of the charming snake.

Faith suits saints and children, not you my dear--
Cradle fear like a favorite shiv;
Hold it low and easy beneath your skirt,
To hurt if you must, but also live.

Woman, never trust a liar,
Hearts will fall that fly that gyre--
Better to wire a trap that keeps;
Catch thieving hand in fox quick fist,
Bind fast your gypsy by her wrist--
The best trick's sudden, sweet, and cheap.
________
for Grace's Welsh form prompt at Real Toads. Hey, I said I don't LIKE to use form, not that I couldn't!

The Beauty Of Dance

being a Balassi strophe for Real Toads

Fat Otto, dumb kraut head,
I wish you would drop dead--
Here, try this poisoned strudel.
Your singing is off key
Like a busker's monkey
Weirdly trying to yodel.
Lumbering lunatic,
You Teutonic limp dick,
Dance, and make my scorn total.
_______

 

Speak!

(this is a mirror oddquain)

so
completely
correct you are, sir;
don't get shy now, Pooky Bear...
speak!

so
adorably cute how you
really think I care...
ruff harumph!
speak!

____

for both Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and Magpie 86.