It is a foul spirit
Full of rancor.
Angry at Romeo
who failed to call
a long time ago.
Now the flesh sweats
carry moonbeams home in a jar,
lisa warbles
her lipstick Polynesian this year
her nails Gauguin
sitting in her chair
swinging on a stare
fixing me with a smile
from every side
even though Mother’s gone.
a fairly standard reaction
to regret
though we are fashioned
to forget
it is never so.
At that, her spirit sighs.
-----
Author notes
Written May 22nd, 2004
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It is also that Lute is funny and all Lutey that the women love him. lol
And that he writes with originality and talent. Yes yes.
As with most of your stuff, the reader has failed you if they have only read it once - more importantly, they fail themselves.
Like sins of the father that fall to the son, Romeo never calls but lames all the Romeo's that follow. And Lisa wears kisses the colour of tropical sunsets, and her elephant heart remembers every last line.
I'll be back. Tis too good not to return.
~sighs~
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I, of course, only get bits of this. Small bits. But what I do get, I really like. A halfassed comment if there ever was one, but that's the way it goes, 'eh?
I see you, as well, haven't been writing much... Methinks I may traipse back into your older poems, to get my Lute fix that I've been missing.
Jade -
what the hell are you talking about
iche heise super fantashich ich trinke champas with lachficsh
(that's a lyric you should know it and i bet you dont but i suppose you know certain lyrics by certain people) -
Hey hey: the Clurwin lifts up the murky festering sod and stares - not once but twice. The Fine Art of Repetition. She was recently accused - so was I - of using redundant repetition, yes yes.
Appropriate, I think, to the poet who writes two critiques on same wormy drivel instead of reviewing different ones, before knocking out yet another Lisa pome.
Except this one is blacker, and before she was swinging on a tire, and now she is only swinging on a stare.
A smile from every side: I was thinking more of the bright green lurid Dora Maar portraits that Picasso did, with smiles coming at you from every side, and the lunacy of loss.
Also:
Allein und abgetrennt
Von aller Freude,
Seh ich ans Firmament
Nach jener Seite.
Ach! der mich liebt und kennt,
Ist in der Weite.
(No no Stone, it is not because he fawns and drools that the Ladies love him, it is because he writes such fine poetry, the like of which I would write if I ever grew up.)
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It pisses me off when people pretend they've forgotten something important and you know they havn't because people just aren't that weird and frightening and they don't forget important stuff and they shouldn't either because it's not fair but you can't tell them that you know they're just lying about forgetting because that's bloody embarrassing isn't it - except Harold from Neighbours, he forgot because he nearly drowned and got the Amnesia - lucky boy - but mostly people just don't do these things. I hate it when people pretend they forgot to call, it's pathetic looking at a phone for more than five seconds and when people force you to, it's not fair it's so cruel it makes me sad I think.
O yes. Lots of s's. Hmmm. That's always meant to mean things and I never know what. Sounds quite peaceful. Shushy. Softness.
Blah. Lovely poem.
Sounds all protective, somebody else instead of "Mother" - comfy and hugging and things.
Have you joined the circus where are you. Lion tamers are cruel dont do that it's not right. -
It pisses me off when people pretend they've forgotten something important and you know they havn't because people just aren't that weird and frightening and they don't forget important stuff and they shouldn't either because it's not fair but you can't tell them that you know they're just lying about forgetting because that's bloody embarrassing isn't it - except Harold from Neighbours, he forgot because he nearly drowned and got the Amnesia - lucky boy - but mostly people just don't do these things. I hate it when people pretend they forgot to call, it's pathetic looking at a phone for more than five seconds and when people force you to, it's not fair it's so cruel it makes me sad I think.
O yes. Lots of s's. Hmmm. That's always meant to mean things and I never know what. Sounds quite peaceful. Shushy. Softness.
Blah. Lovely poem.
Sounds all protective, somebody else instead of "Mother" - comfy and hugging and things.
Have you joined the circus where are you. Lion tamers are cruel dont do that it's not right. -
I wouldn't know about that. Have never been out glittered or out crazied by Ma or anybody else and when Romeo fails to call, I just immortalize him in a Save It poem. No sweat.
Desiree
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Never to forget but yet
he didn't call
regret.
Like above back with scalpel
lisa lisa sad lisa lisa she hangs her head and cries on my shirt
she must be hurt very badly...Cat Stevens
Jules. Yes I am here again. -
I can’t imagine what the pressure must be like when people look at you always thinking about your mother who out-glittered your star and out-crazied your mad antics. poor liza. no wonder you go her so gently. Lute is always charmingly kind to women. that’s why they all love him.
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You have uncanted Lisa from her tinted bottle to amaze us. Such characterization! Such vivid images!
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Geeze. I never dissect poems on the first reading, rather run around them for a bit and then come back...and still don't always "tie them to a chair and beat the meaning out of them with a rubber hose" as Billy Collins wrote in his stupendous poem Intro to Poetry...but I do come back time and time again to poems that call me back .. as most Lute stuff does..
and i'll refrain from any other commenting on this rather keep it to myself.
Edited on May 24, 10:04 p.m. because ''. -
Okay, now I'm going to have that song stuck in my head for the rest of the day. Oh well.
REally like:
a fairly standard reaction
to regret
though we are fashioned
to forget
it is never so.
Muchly is the sadness department. So I leave flowers.
Must say I missed you...
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Extra-ordi-naire
... but she is not swinging on a chair (ed) or swinging from a star (cvillelisa), but ... oh but, oh BUT: swinging on a STARE ... And that, that, that is a BIG difference.
Mother, always Mother. Sigh.
Regret, Forget, Be blessed, Poet.
How familiar that Madwoman is ...
Myra -
Not a mule, not a pig, MAYBE a fish if it was of the mermaid type - but who wouldn't want to swing from a star and bring home a trinket as such? Especially in this odd sad dark world ... -
lisa warbles
her lipstick Polynesian this year
her nails Gauguin
...hm. Those lines make me think of red things.. and bring an artistry to the daily rituals women perform in front of the mirror.
This must be a quiet madness, only visible to those close to her.
~Scarlet
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first, the Gaugin/gouging of the nails is an excellent and titilating play on those words and meanings, especially in their context. also, swinging in a chair is an interesting fulcrum across which a poem may teeter.
secondly...this poem as a whole is really tender, handled by a master's touch. I really enjoy your writing, and the restraint you employ while really getting dirty. great poem
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