What becomes of the prey,
silk in the seams of the harlequin's gown,
as though the angel might be induced to smile
they become scarce
emeralds into broaches
the accompaniment of bird
song,
the clown tumbling in a mauve landscape.
II.
Likkered up he ain’t no poem,
is: the hawk distended fells
the sparrow in open air
ordination in the village
with high song
continues
fraught with the Widow’s final rites
some years hence;
the boy’s gray hair sparse and disheveled
in the wind-
the low orbit of the hawk
will carry him screaming over the earth.
III.
Set against the wall of the angel
it must void itself,
mark the trail of the sparrow flailing
leave its worth in unsaying
particular or worse
in the shoals where the rocks are sharp
and blood is dispersed.
had the angel spoken
leisure would be at hand-
the sparrow safe upon the widow’s shoulder
a word
to shatter ill-kept stars
shuddering to an end
a calliope no longer shouldering the wind;
the owned word listless with praise
broken
sun raised
a blood salt
ungiven to pain
the harlequin tumbles in plain sight
soundless
in the eye of the hawk.
IV.
Set against silence
the eye world does not blink
turbulence shears the blood
the pink foam laughing
seeds the sea,
The leaf falls
lovers seat themselves in coves
the beaten flesh endures
coveting words,
the widow’s web
a bridge to soar upon
while the hawk weaves
between the threads
his wings outspread.
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
-
i, too, roman numeral some of my work. i'm not sure what it is about it, but it gives it an air of completion...somehow.
i'm noticing that your work is composed of fantastic parts: emeralds to broaches, in the shoals where the rocks are sharp, ill-kept stars, a calliope no longer shouldering the wind...
i like reading your work. it keeps my eye busy, scanning for the gems embedded. -
Excellent
Ah, 'tis a fine romantic write, indeed. You've expressed your thoughts quite well. Thanks for sharing this one. -
I was just thinking about this pome. I don't know why.
-
the low orbit of the hawk
will carry him screaming over the earth.
WOW. This is really spectacular and your imagery is gorgeous and perfectly relevant. The rhyming scheme is also very well done and avoids being awkward. : ) Thanks for sharing. -
The Harlequin always wears a mask as if to remain so anonymous in life to appear happy when often sad, like a clown. This reminds me more of a tarot even though a harlequin is not a part of it, it has the mystery of the tarot within the words. Imagery as always is amazingly done but I always expect that from you.
C
-
"Set against silence
the eye world does not blink
turbulence shears the blood
the pink foam laughing
seeds the sea..."
Great work. The imagery is startling!
-
To be honest I use to work at a library. And one of the most common books checked out was the harliquens. To be honest I always hated those books. The stories were all the same. Love lost loved. More sex than story.
However, in your poem you've done very well. You have used imagery wonderfully. Great job here.
-
-
-
This is very profound and deep with an endless stream of vivid imagery i love words the way they feel on my toungue and in my heart, these words leap around like salmoln in my soul, and drip like an endless tap from my toungue this is a very fine piece of writing a real delight to read hanks for sharing littlefishone
-
it is the circus
where loud lights
shout colored smiles
on corduroy faces painted black&white
but all blindfolded hawks remember
the memory behind the clouds
purple - the color of deep skies
while mauve
only the outfit of clowns
-
this is chock full of fine poetical phrasings through out. My only suggestion might be to make part I a bit more explicit and coherent, as the images are very difficult for my dense mind to thread together... fine...
-
Quite Huge.
I'm swamped at work this very moment but wanted you to know I've been here. Read it several times (the sounds are absolutely lulling and good, I think that happens so naturally in your poems it is easy to overlook and I'm sorry I say it so often) but reading this outloud:
Set against the wall of the angel
it must void itself,
mark the trail of the sparrow flailing
leave its worth in unsaying
particular or worse
in the shoals where the rocks are sharp
and blood is dispersed.
just a small snippet of how your gift works, naturally, it seems.
The Harlequin always reminds me of Picasso. I've never been quite sure who the Harlequin is in Picasso's paintings and maybe that is the way he wanted it. I sense the separation here -- between the angel and the harlequin and yet also the desire for connection. Maybe the Harlequin is us.
I like this too for its strong images left to uncover meaning.
a word
to shatter ill-kept stars
shuddering to an end
a calliope no longer shouldering the wind;
the owned word listless with praise
broken
sun raised
a blood salt
ungiven to pain
the harlequin tumbles in plain sight
soundless
in the eye of the hawk.
I always think of the greater Poetry when reading your work the Poetry that is Mankind.
I'm sure I'll be back with a more thorough discourse...
I am grateful for your posting this.
Lisa xo
Adding your comment:
1 - 12 of 12
