Saturday, August 22, 2009

even enigmas deserve farewells

i. this was a journey I never intended

after the weeping bride was ushered from dust,
she came and returned,
through the bad hair infinities of catholic statues:

creepy, creepy, creepy.

and, then, she wrapped a lacquered box of ashen remains
into a lengthy scarf of lacy bone and fussy linen,

speaking that funny breath which only lives on widows-

I held my brotherly weep
through the ceremony of silly hats and silk,
through the chanting of a veil,
but released it gladly
for the scarlet processional
of black turned white:

but only
but only

because ten was ten on sale just now beneath keyser avenue
in an extraordinary discount on red hot sausages,

that barked surreal on that ordinary august day-

they were offered in scarlet hand on sidereal cardboard:

I could not suggest out loud while sweltering
through the summer sweat of tiny purple falcons
that esoteric naming was an unnatural act for me,
reserved so I thought, for that moment of grace,
when the pale monsignor and his swarthy minion

made the basilica of st. anne smoky fresh with myrrh.

having heard about this anne,
I decided to make a K-turn.

ii. every body comes from somewhere

a grave observance of boneyard maintenance,
was softly trumped by blades sharpened but barely used
on the majestic green carpet so prophetically deaf
to a funereal gurgle that prospered on rhythmic hills:

she said lock, I said open-

this was the world before fire.

iii. the pressing reception of endless sorry

by you, I held a hand of scarlet,

rusty graves forming the flushed push of red parapets:

this is where our choices narrow into marshy deltas,

into the thin promise of a gaunt and yellowed family tree
and thirsty purple pistils with a perky greeting card font-

snookered by the scenic overlook that takes me hoom [sic].

this sweet low lumbering beneath a city of unexpected
charcoal cave-ins and the moaning black of carbondale.

the relish-drenched offering of discount dogs,

offered like anything else in life,
an end at the start and a start at the end.

I especially liked the corner cabinet of sacred oils
with its endless neon flashing:

save me is just so beatifying.


  1. Gerry,

    So beautiful and lovely this! The scenes come to life through rich imagery and moves along with the elegantly structured lines and the poignant tone.

    Thanks your sharing. Your writing is really unique.

  2. Your poems sometimes remind me of time-lapse photography, you know the kind where a bud opens and opens into a huge, brilliant face of a flower? Not sure why exactly, but I love the way you make this happen with your words.

    This is particularly stunning:

    "and, then, she wrapped a lacquered box of ashen remains
    into a lengthy scarf of lacy bone and fussy linen,

    speaking that funny breath which only lives on widows-"

  3. WOW! Missed this feeling for a while and thanks for rejuvenating it again..:)
    Where were you for so many days, I missed on learning so many words...;)
    Like Megan states, yeah, your verses always paint a stroke of reality depicted in colours, black and white!!
    Beautiful was this one too, loved it, the feel, essence, and the flow with rhythm..
    You know to strike a balance in your poetry!!
    Keep going on, with more!

  4. Excellent poem! Your use of imagery and the way you evoked that nostalgic, haunting and eerily melancholic atmosphere through your splendid and brilliant play of words is truly striking. It is not every day that we get to read poetry this intense and beautiful.

  5. yes, as others have said, powerful and vivid images.
    I was also taken with the rhythms of several lines: bad hair infinitudes
    and an end at the start and a start at the end....

    the image and rhythm were a nice pairing

  6. "bad hair infinities of catholic statues"--a personal peeve. :) As kids we called them the make-up statues.

  7. The scene is so immediate, so vivid... you take me there... a nostalgic quality... and, oh - I do love the way you weave words... the repetition, the imagery... great stuff :)

  8. Its like strolling through a dream you are part of yet left outside to watch

  9. thx all. been away for awhile driving to california and back. so silence became the golden bear. yuk, yuk.

  10. I have now read such with new eyes and a new understanding. Clouds lifting in the journey, that your words always take me on.

  11. I really enjoyed this poem. Nicely done.

  12. very relaxing read and vivid imagery,
    Glad to see you in the rally.


  13. @Gooseberry: It's an oldie but I still like it.

  14. the details made the piece!!!! nice work!

  15. I love this--it appeals to the catholic little girls in me and the skeptic in me--

  16. Hello.
    This is quite the mesmerizing poem.
    Vivid imagery.
    Thanks for sharing & visiting. I appreciate the follow too. I always try to return the kindness & have become your newest follower.

    I hope you'll stop by again soon.

    Cry Not For Me