Protected: poem two in a series, or: hello muse, how’ve you been?

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NaPoWriMo #1

The A to Zs of Marriage

As the bride took wing and ascended the altar, the congregation licked
amens from astonished lips–
……….(bride being a relative term for bored with the way things became).

Crows gathered on the court house steps, the males spreading
charcoal wings to their full length.
……….(Dearly beloved).

Ease into the gown one wing at a time.
Fire of pine boughs in a crumbling fireplace: your honeymoon.
……….(Gather dirt and needles to douse the flames on your own time).

However the fire burns hottest, mark your time, then jump into the blues.
Inflorescence being the one trick your magician never taught you,
……….June bugs are sure to invade your dark body.

Kitchen utensils on a rope around your neck: (check).
Lost, leftover, you wander from tree to tree, looking for a way past the trunk.
……….Maybe you might to read it in the crotch of branches, the spider web of your fate.

Not fond of mowing, one wife grew her grass in cursive love notes (never sent).
Only the postman knows the address
……….(pretend you are wearing clothes when you open the door
……….politely tell him he has the wrong house, wrong woman, wrong package).

Queen for a day and not a crown in sight.
Ringmaster, Ringmaster, lend me your top hat
……….(send the clowns after the curtains are closed).

To discover why you want what you want, walk the aisles of the supermarket until
truth (or your lover’s name) floats off soup cans like skywriting.
……….(Understanding the how-to of why you is not as easy as you might think).

Visions of skin-tight vines wrapping his throat will help you sleep.
Why the bald eagle mates for life is a mystery to scientists, a secret the wife will never reveal.
……….Xylophones are the only wedding present a bride really needs. At least three.

Yellow forsythia on the door knob is a sign: blooming in progress. Do not enter.
Zinnias tangled in your hair are a whole other matter
……….(and when you choose to begin again, remember to ask your flesh how the

bones of the dress dug into your sides).
blood and bone, the flesh support structures–that’s what is missing.
……….Corsets, in the end, only fit comfortably on women of leisure. You move, wife, you lose.

 

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These are the 30 lines from my FaBoStaMe 30-status updates in 30 minutes exercise.  I edited a bit and played with form. 

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Patchwork Poem #1 ala Anne Sexton

Since You Ask, Most Days I Can Not Remember

P
I was wrapped in black
my hair rising like smoke from the car window
and I beat down the psalms
………………….(notice how he has numbered the blue veins)
and I undid the buttons
………………….(like carpenters they want to know which tools)
and the love, whatever it was, an infection.

p
And then you called me princess.

p

Climb her like a monument, step after step
…………………..(he is bulding a city, a city of flesh)
then the almost unnameable lust returns
leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss.

p

This is not an experiment. She is all harmony.

p

And then you crowned me–
fireworks in the dull middle of February–
face flushed with a song and their little sleep,
and as real as a cast-iron pot–
the bones, the confusions.

p
You undid me and then
I stood up in my gold skin.

…………………..((From the glory of boards he has built me up).
As for me, I am a watercolor,
have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy,
and the love, whatever it was, an infection.

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So this is a patchwork poem for the “Fall in Love With a Poet” mini-challenge at Read Write Poem.  The lines are taken from four Anne Sexton poems: Mr. Mine;  Us;  Wanting to Die; and For My Lover, Returning to His Wife.

There is a theme here in these poems, as well as in the lines I have chosen.  I just need to figure out what it is, spend some more time with Anne…

Protected: Back to the bones: Section #3-The Spine

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Protected: The bones…still speaking

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Protected: Cup your ear, listen to my bones

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Halloween Skeleton (Poem)

Today is a shred of fallen bark. The birds today are slow winged and thick-boned, prone to worm wringing on lawns or stealing seed pods to pad infested nests. For this reason, after rising take a feather pillow to offer the roosting pigeons who will want to harmonize in their thanks. This way you will be able to hollow a bone with precision. Feathers have little reason to do good deeds. Pinfeathers may need to sharpen dull edges with knife blades. This afternoon there is migration of exotics to observe record or join with wings of fallen travelers. Enjoy carving the hollows you could have in all the chasms you think must be filled to love. Use an awl and channel an owl of the type barns might have. This is a spell to cast and change lives.

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This is a skeleton poem* (see skeleton below), a poem created mad-libs style from a horoscope with its meatiest words chopped out. I saw this on Mutating the Signature. Nathan had pasted a link on his facebook page and I borrowed it! Since I’ve been fighting the valient flu fight (my poor children!) all week, I haven’t written a thing! Nothing! This sparked something, and for that I am grateful!

Today is a ____ of ______ _______. The ________ today are _____ _____ and ___ __ __________ to ___ _______ on _________ or _____ __ ___________ to _______ ____ ______. For this reason, ____ _____ take a ______ ____ to ______ the ____ ____ ___ will want to ____ in ____ ______. This way ___ will be able to ______ a _______ with __________. ____ have __ ___________ to do ____ ___. ___ may need to ___________ ____ ____ ____ ________ _______. This afternoon there is ____ of ___________ to _______ _______ or _______ _______ ____ of ____ _______. Enjoy _______ the ___________ ___ could have in all the _______ ___ think ___ _____ ____ to _____. Use a(n) _____ and ____ ____ ____ of the _____ ___ might have. This is a ____ to _____ and ____ ________.

Body Poem #6 (You knew the cats were coming, right?)

The Wife Breaks Her Appointment at the Day Spa

 

The black cat shadows me.
Of my own free will, I watch
the breath lift his fur, replace.

I draw a ragged breath
imagine legions of black hairs
stroking my lungs.

He sleeps with his head
soft world
on my wrist–gentle restraint. Who is waving?

I curse my dense bones
dream my diaphragm a knife
thrusting claws through my fingertips.

The air hums with his sleep (little death)
my ribs ache from vibration
fluttering inside. We are wreathed in birds.

A sparrow knocks
against the window (one gold eye open)
it’s feathers stick to my tongue

like snowflakes, melt into breakfast.

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Notes:  This is not nearly as dark as I would prefer.  Much like the kitten picture doesn’t reflect his size today.  I think the title is wrong.  Definitely a first draft.

Protected: Body Poem #5 (with poem #4 on the editing block)

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Protected: Body Poem #3 (with poem #2 reposing in my journal)

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