Mandarin Manx

I see it all the time,
the way of things,
how season follows season,
and flake follows leaf;
but don't ask me what it means--
you'd do as well to ask the apple
on the tray on the table
on the porch up the steps
why the wind blows, or
why Sally is prettier than Jane, or
why cats can't speak Chinese...
it's a mystery to me.

Still and all, I have observed that
when I call you,
you call back,
and that's a righteous joy
beyond explaining.
______ 

linked to Real Toads, because I am GRATEFUL that I have friends who love me.

Vântului

There is a music unheard
at the edge of sensing--
I have danced to it until I was out of breath,
and my own beating heart surprised me.

There are stars unburned
in a blank black sky--
I have seen them in the interstices of dreams
until my eyes, gone full, awakened me.

Now,
there is only dark Russian loaf
fresh butter
and blackberry jam,
all of them sweeter to me than they have ever been before.

Outside,
the branches are bare,
they can't hold the wind;
my dog, gone blind, can't find the stick,
but he looks back at me with love
as he has always done and always will.

Still,
I have begun to hear a tune that I can't shut out,
though I try.
There is a burning that wasn't there before,
and so if you find me here in tears and ask me why,

I can only say how I'll miss it all,
how I wasn't ready,
but nonetheless
I can feel it coming...
without affect
and relentlessly.

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!

Farm Five

it's christmas time at farm five.
ho ho ho.
it's state-controlled.

in the window,
a candle.
an egg.
behind the pane,
a touch of plague.

come to farm five, just down the lane.
the ostler is mad, the butler insane.

it's christmas time at farm five.
religion is dead.
obedience alive.

on the door,
a wreath.
a cross.
behind it, more
untimely loss.

come to farm five, for mandatory yule.
with last year's host's head
skewered on the newel.

_____

Well Fete Me And Feed Me Fish Heads...

...I got an award from Sara! (That's not Sara in the picture.)

You know Sara. She does the Sharing Connection blog! She gave me this 7 x 7 Award, which means I have to do this list of 7 "mosts" and then pass it on to 7 victims. This latter I cannot do. I don't know 7 people who will let me close enough to tag them. Pepper spray might be involved. So, I say no. Just no. 

But, I will do the "mosts"! Here they are. Read them. I'll know it if you don't. For your reading convenience, each link opens in a new window. I think of everything!  I should get an award! Oh wait, I did. Back to that. Back to the "mosts". 

Most Beautiful Post. I'm going to say "For Scorpio", which I just wrote less than a week ago. I almost didn't even post it. I got shy to say "I love you" so defenselessly.

Most Popular Post. "Le Printemps." The Spring. It was linked to both Magpies and One Shot Wednesday, and got 65 comments, making it my most popular, evah. Blogger lists my most viewed posts in my stats, but all of them are viewed mainly for the pictures that went with them, not for the posts themselves. So I am going by most comments instead.

Most Controversial Post. Well, I know which one that would be, but I'm going to let that particular sleeping dog lie. Let's go with my story "Blackbirds" which first appeared here at Word Garden, but since has moved over to my story blog Night Blooms. It is about a doubly forbidden love, murder, and...well, you'll just have to read it.

Most Helpful Post. Who else but my ever-helpful alter ego Babs St. Argent over at Objets D'art could have written anything so helpful as "How To Talk To Your Man"?

Most Surprisingly Successful Post. That has to be "The Hungry Pussycat", which was nothing but a bit of doggerel (catterel?) about an extraordinarily hungry feline who eats several states. It got 52 comments!

Most Underrated Post. Hands down, that has to be "The Hill Is Closer To Heaven", a short simple love poem that I have always thought was one of my best. It languishes with 5 comments.

And finally, Most Pride-Worthy Post: "Strippers." For all sorts of reasons.


Thank you, Sara, for thinking of me. Anyone who would like this award and its attendant labors, may pluck it! And thank you, readers.

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.
_______

 

Lineage

A baby was born and born on fire.
They said, "Here is your burning baby.
Here is your infant in flames."
They dropped it into its mother's arms
Like a crying comet without a name.

"Shhh," mama crooned,
Her arms gone to cinders
Right down to the bone.
"Leave us, you assholes," she said to the doctors.
"Leave us to smolder.
Leave us alone."

The child was a girl, of course.
A little star,
And though to cradle her was to roast on a spit,
The mother held her,
And damn any do-gooder,
To hell with any child welfare fuck
Who tried to interfere.

There are kinds of love.
Some warm,
Some reward,
Some scorch.
In time, the mother was nothing but ash,
But by then the girl was grown and rose
Five hundred feet into the sky
Like a mushroom cloud sharp
And bright enough to blind.

Look at the doctors, how they fumble;
The ministers, too, with their useless bibles.
Now comes the day for an infant in flames,
A baby born and born on fire.
"Look," says the new mother,
"How red-orange limns
My doubled and darling
Yellow-white twins."
_______