Tuesday, June 9, 2009

there was a sign ascendant, I do not know its name

i. the walking way of suburban demise is saved by memory

the beige rhythm of a bonnet dirge
celebrates, in geriatric cadence,
the unseemly end of a graying sun:

the incandescent price of a velvet gouge
elbowed through the misty ropes
was the in we wanted long ago.

now a circular trek no longer seems to matter,
but buoys the stylish blossom of a flowered hat
and the rainbow scratching of a groove worn flat:

if only it were so fetching as it premiered in silver
when the mirror preened its dominance.

it starts now and ends now
at the wonderfully static doorstep
and the knitted cat that stops the draft.

there was nothing about a rock, but

ah! the fragrance of meaning is honeysuckle joy,
and this is how a love continues.

it is so good to own a visor.

ii. weather can be so fickle in the spring of memory

something on the humid wind
that hints of salty pleasures,
something from the musky south-

a breezy treat that might arouse
the trade winds long kept hidden:

what can you do in a day?

a lifting of the lace that shows
that lips are made for kissing-

the rhythm of a mossy gait
is a calling card for frisson.

iii. dark myths shackle the dining public

cue the caterwaul into the valley of chrome,
set the salt and pepper to stunning gleam-
here comes the curvy creamer, at last,
with her lascivious dance of awkward patterns
and the calico china of cryptic grief:

a checkered board in nine dimensions
where the purple valley is forever lost
and the shallow knife is far too keen
for the cut you need to make.

we only wanted to feed the hungry
and, see, what a mess we've made:

in the hidden canyon of jailed desire,
the magician always removes the cloth
in one efficient seamy wink,
inserts a joke about congealed dessert-
the barmy always mention pudding.

is it just a bored quip of the coverlet
or the Pan that comes from wanting?

the raincoats of a lesser god
sell moonbeams from a jar.

14 comments:

  1. I swear I'm on the cusp of meaning. I swear it. It's rolling about in my mouth. I see things and even if they aren't the right things, I'm seeing them.

    Does it bother you that I struggle so? I hope not.

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  2. WIAW: I am becoming transparent, no? Smile.

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  3. Very nice style of writing. Your poetry pulls me along, an interesting puzzle of enjoyment.

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  4. Wow! Reading this was a treat. It is musky, musty and poignant. My favourite:

    "in the hidden canyon of jailed desire,
    the magician always removes the cloth
    in one efficient seamy wink"

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  5. ah! the fragrance of meaning is honeysuckle joy, and this is how a love continues.

    I just love this line. Just love it.

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  6. A pleasure to read your poetry! You really create vivid imagery with your poetry. I read this piece many times and it gave me many different images each time.

    /Ande

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  7. A sincere thanks to all. Happy you can wander in this little garden of words and find a tiny shoot of pleasure.

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  8. Wander???**@@@%%$$$!!!!!!!!! It's like wading through a jungle! Oh my!
    But like old Mister Eliot well worth spending the time with such.
    'it is just a bored quip of the coverlet
    or the Pan that comes from wanting?' Now tell me, explain to me and my poor brain why? I would have thought 'is it just a bored quip of coverlet or the pan that comes from wanting?' Because of that question mark on the end. No? Ok tell me why not, so I can learn from you.
    I do like how you write, Mister Boyd. I like how I can take each part separately and they become a whole inside of my brain *dance*

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  9. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pan_(mythology)

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  10. Thanks to SarahA for pointing out the grammatical error in that line. Shame on me. Thirteen lashes with a wet noodle.

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  11. i often ask myself that question...what can i do in a day?

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  12. Laughing my ass off at Sarah wading! Hey Sarah, throw me a rope!

    (But we come and come and come and revel in your words.)

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  13. nice one for june 5. it was really great

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Yes?