A Sequence of Bells

 

Where is the bell that was ringing?

it is in your throat

waiting for Sunday.

Where is the bell that has not yet rung?

it is in the ring

shrugging and feinting. 

Where is the tongue

with which the bell will speak?

The cat took it

and left it on the porch rail.

What does the ringing bell signify?

That the priest's hand

is strong and able. 

The boxer delivers his sermon.

You speak, and a shiver goes through me.

The cat is a night cat

and goes before me, always.

___________

Imagine My Surprise

 

Imagine my surprise

when I noticed that your body beside me

was a cello

and when you snored,

the sound was the most beautiful thing

I had ever heard.

Hush now,

do not speak

or get up, standing stiffly on your one leg.

There is no ceremonial dance to be done.

Our people have all fluttered

away, a cloud of crows

or treble clefs

dotting the air like ellipsis points.

They seed the sky and make it rain

golden notes

glittering dreams

wild and giddy

like experimental harmonics.

You have my ear, darling.

Speak and be 

the instrument of my glorious undoing.

___________

for Word Garden Word List Chouette

Music: Sunny & the Sunliners Talk To Me

Black Velvet Rose

When I was a child

I made a catalog of sounds.

My fingernail across upholstery,

birds calling to each other in the yard.

The world spun

in oval vespers

from day to night

as wind spoke to trees in whispers.

Why was my voice someone else

when hearing it on a recording?

Why did I wake up so often

to echoing music in the morning?

Now, when I am very tired,

I hear the dead speak again.

A siren goes past in the street outside.

"I love that sound," says the ghost in my mind.

Rain and rivers help me sleep

with a black velvet rose in my dream

and the kind-voiced sweetheart I've invented there

says that dawn, or the devil, may care.

________

for What's Going On? --"Sounds."

Music: J.D.Souther Black Roses, White Rhythm & Blues

Trill

 

The planet itself sways--

every sailor and starfish knows this.

It was my mother who was stillborn, 

and I have ever since 

searched for a heart beat to lay my ear to.

Language seduced me in a railroad car,

a constant leaving, one destination after another,

all the way to the horizon.

All my devotion has bought me is these bowling ball souvenirs,

these anvils in interesting rows.

But music! Even urchins carry flutes,

cows in fields wear bells, and Tartini's Devil left him a trill.

Music has been mercy,

from Janis's blue sandpaper

to Vivaldi's honey-hive violin,

I lay my ear on my own heart and hear the mermaids sing.

_______

For Sunday Muse #222. 

Helpmeet

Come on in, the water's fine.

A stitch in time saves nine.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

He who hesitates is lost.

Are you calling the plumber, or shall I?

Call 1-800-WET FLOR.

Call upon God in times of crisis.

Bring a positive attitude.

Bring it, come at me, bro.

Bring in the left-hander.

Bring that up again and see what happens.

How long can you hold your breath?

How far is it to Katmandu?

How deep is your love?

If you laid the Bee Gees end to end, what good would it do?

Stay on point.

Stay on topic.

Stay. Sit. Roll over.

The water do wave, the water do roll.

Do the water a pour into this little bowl.

Climb up, climb out, do a cartwheel and a bow,

and see what I've got planned for you now.

______

for Sunday Muse #136.

Ceremony

The sea offered a knife for ceremony
carried on the tide to my feet.

At first, I refused. 
At first, I sheathed my face and pretended spiritual palsy.

The sea spoke, insistent, saying, "The world is empty.
Your body is dark earth, a mother for every seed."

In those days, electrical storms were continuous.
The beach was strewn, as all beaches were, with fragmented glass.

"Must every edge open a new mouth
before any creature can sing?" I asked.

Wearily, I took up the knife for ceremony.
My blood became cities. I became the sea as it became me.

Find fools, we urged ourselves.
Offer ceremony.
Insist, until the sky calms, 
and if the world then writhes, 

Blame the doppelganger god who sent us in the first place.
_______

for Play It Again at Real Toads. I used grapeling's Pablo Neruda word list.

JAMA to this, motherfuckers

I had a little ache in the heart,
and so sought the cure prescribed in pop songs
with you
and you
and you
and you
and you.
Results ranged from muttered obscenities Q 2 hours as needed
to inability or disinterest in getting out of bed, observed for up to 3 months.
In sum, none of it was worth
the elevated heart rate, 
the altered mood,
the little swimmy endorphins which followed my boat after you'd been aboard.
Darlings,
all of you may kindly fuck off.

Contrary data poured in in response:
"She is mercurial, alternately combative or child-like,
not as interesting as she seems at first,
too solitary, talks everything to death, 
writes those god damn poems afterward."
They allowed as to how I could kindly fuck off as well. 

Too bad
that we arrived exchanging charm and kindness,
only to follow the usual course of dis-ease
to a trading of vitriol and silence.
The good news is
that we are immune now,
free to walk again among men (or women) without fear or hope, either one.
Dig my dead smile
promising nothing,
desiring nothing,
done and cured after all,
patient X back at ground zero, sick of love but medically cleared--
a success story in journals that do not publish poetry.
______

for "Love Hurts" at Toads.

 

Observations on The Construction of The Human Ear

Every ear is different, as unique as fingerprints,
and that is why the world
can speak in a million voices
and to each in her own particular language.

Same-same, the trick is to listen
to what's coming from every direction and to make 
nonsense into music;
foolishness into poetry.

If you can do that, the world will not seem so mean, so ugly,
but will, instead, whisper in your ear like a dream of the Divine.

 

Wee-Ooh

Can you hear my thoughts?
You ought to be able to,
it ought to be a snap
there's an a app for that
a map for that
don't be an ass for that's the worst thing you could do, I think.

But if you can hear my thoughts,
it's not like you didn't know I was gonna say that
it's so easy
lemon squeezy
let's go crazy it's the sanest thing to do.

And la la la
I can't hear you, all you alien abductors
train conductors
found and fucked 'ers 
spinning around the planets like Super Nobody

La la la, oh
I'm not listening, here in the great midwest
what I like best
what I want to suggest
is that we change the station change the station....

So, can you hear my thoughts?
What did I just dream about?
Do I have to get out
the hand puppets just to make myself clear
and if you don't hear what I haven't said,
it's no use, like shouting at a foreigner, a waste of time I think.
_____ 

For Marian's Music Prompt: Dar Williams. Image at top: Clemence Poesy.

 

The Resurrection of The Fly

When the funnel came twisting down out of the anvil cloud,
I saw it first in the middle pane of the window,
then the one on the lower left, as well.

A dead fly hung suspended where the the twister hit the earth,
remaining motionless, as it had for weeks,
while roofs and SUVs circled, suddenly airborne.

I rang the bell, and if it was only the tiny ornamental servant's bell,
at least I tried. "Get to safety," I thought as loudly as I could,
then sat down to wait.

My children all live elsewhere, I already took in the mail,
and covering the garden flowers would do little good,
even if the afternoon weren't mostly gone.

It's gotten too dark to read; besides, the power is out.
I will just calmly watch the resurrection of the fly,
shaking in his cobweb, brother to the brick wall, sister to the semi, the silo, 
and the cement overpass where idiots huddle 
only to be swept out and away, having ignored my warnings.
_______

for Karin's mini-challenge at Real Toads: for whom the bell tolls.

convo

I listen to every word you say,
but all the time, I can't stop thinking about your lips.

I want you closer. No...closer.
I want to wrap myself around you,
and bury my fingers in your hair and kiss.

I want you in my arms, my bed, my life.

Meanwhile,
keep talking.
__________