Saturday, May 15, 2010

seven scenes from a vase of jasper, moistened by a salty dew

i. High cheek bones show two ells but here is one

The return of a portrait nude of a graying male slightly torn,
jagged with a careless letter in a distant studio by a raven pupil,
closed an oily circle that began with an initial smudge on a ocher flank
and ended with a volley of correspondence that slowly grew electric.

ii. A cough designed to catch your eye

The now pudgy former gamine bends over trashcans
in a discount housecoat of red velour with sporty stripes
near the place you met the smudged mascara that night
cycling home from school with the tears that made you cry.

iii. The uneasy disappointment of no longer feeling murderous

Spooked with calm tears in the bedroom morning after
committing the unnatural crime of square-toed shoes
near a table with blood red wheels; the smudged curtains
wisp a chiffon of meaning that perfectly freezes alarm.

iv. Chrome is no substitute for a welcome reflection

A vigorous smoke exhausted by the smudged fanning blades
pauses to snatch a callipygous view of hiked yellow hips,
as she bends over a linoleum counter in a short striped robe,
attempting to kiss the tearful lips of a spread white rose.

v. Etching over a careen that has no finish

Hoping for a curious little job by calligraphic hand
that will turn the aqueous face of smudged glass
into the smoky hues of sweet sticky forgetfulness;
the perfumey residue of nicotine on lips and lungs
releases gray memories of other hidden tears.

vi. Taxonomies go up and down

Of the thirty-seven ways of hiding tears,
the best use hallways three through nine,
to feather the short vortex of raven hair:
it was just another kind of smudge of death
and another mark of a prickly birthright.

vii. Again the curtains are revealing a creep

birch thin bones in a leathery box covered
by the tricky cloud that played the moon
in a vein pumping peripheral drama
played on a stage of rocks and scrub:

ever see a yellow finch of smudged green
lashed by raven wings and the sting of salt?
that is the mold that dually breaks the mold
both tearfully true and crazily easy to behold.

17 comments:

  1. Wild and excellent! What a ride!

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  2. Lieber Gerry,

    Das liest Sich gut, so bildhaft vorstellbar ..

    Herzlichst, Rachel

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  3. How absolutly stupendous! I enjoyed it very much :)

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  4. Thouroughly enjoyed this, Gerry, particularly the 'titles'!

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  5. very exciting as always friend :)

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  6. @Kass: Considering the ticket price, I hope you think you got a pretty good deal. ;-)

    @Rachel: Ja, Ich mag Dinge, die lebendig sind. Danke.

    @Autumn: Glad this worked for you.

    @Gordon: Yes, I have a weird affinity for titles. I don't know why. Thanks for reading.

    @william: Cheers, faithful reader. :-)

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  7. I must say the first one is my favorite. Brilliant.

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  8. @willow: I'm happy that you have a favorite. It's always interesting to me to see which bits resonate with which readers. I think you picked a good one, too. But, shhh, don't tell anyone else. ;-)

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  9. Gerry,
    I really like your style. Always good value and content!
    Best wishes
    Eileen

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  10. Saucy plus impasto, i.e. of course I love it.

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  11. Gerry Gerry Gerry. What a way. What a way. Seems you create in me a desire to repeat, repeat, myself, the read, the words.

    "committing the unnatural crime of square-toed shoes" would be a visual misdemeanor. Stilettos would be a physical one.

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  12. @Eileen: At these prices, I like to give as much value as possible. :-)

    @Jenny: Believe or not, I had to look up "impasto". Sheesh. Great word. I originally conflated sauce and pasta and thought you were talking about spaghetti. Ha! Thanks.

    @WaW: "What a way" matches "Wine and Words" in a regular expression (geek out:[W*aW*]). Ha! Yes, shoes carry such import, don't they?

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  13. the headings felt like a poem inside a poem and the stanzas are such delicious morsels... I roll the words around and savor them, spoken for the sheer delight of hearing them and then, thoughtfully, carefully read ( and re-read).

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  14. @Harlequin: Thanks, re-reads are my favorite reactions to hear. Especially because I sometimes worry that I ask too much of the reader. Much obliged.

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  15. This line drives me the most, I think, "The uneasy disappointment of no longer feeling murderous". And I laugh for our own lunacy, to be driven by a passion so deep that it destroys us, and yet we want it. Huh. Not so smart, we humans.

    Too, Gerry, the meeting of those thunderous wings of the yellow finch and raven pupil. At times, in life, I do believe they interchange.

    Nice write.
    xo
    erin

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  16. @WIAW: If we were smart enough to transcend our emotions we might no longer be human. I do not know if that would be a good thing or a bad thing or what's the next step in our individual and collective evolution as a species. All the interesting work happens on the inside, right?

    Sure Erin, it's all connected in ways that we can sometimes fathom (the occasional flash of insight) and most times tend to just remain mysterious and delicious for that. There's a great quote from some physicist (Feynman?): "Not only is the universe stranger than we imagine, it's stranger than we CAN imagine". Ha! Thanks for stopping by. xo

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  17. No, no, we need to be human, all lumpy and fucked up. I concede. I even like it.

    I hope that is really true, that it is stranger than we CAN imagine. Holy frig. I do hope that is true.

    xo
    erin

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Yes?