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Open Poetry #47
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B L U E P R I N T for a Strawhouse
| Open Poetry #47 |
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B L U E P R I N T for a Strawhouse |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631
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 Everything strewn, out of place, torpor, amid a bevy of indecision, at the median, Figure 2. there’s the maidenhead, an ornate slit to traverse and adorn with bruised red fruit crushed underfoot, you must have unbelievable faith in water and in the fluent lull of the Harpsichord to grow stalks of fire, you must begin the New Year with your hands tied behind your back, worship dark totems weighed down with nightbirds, you must know what’s behind the shadow of a treadmill, its window, the moon’s reflection, its silent season reaching into red anthills that bloom in me, intolerably, there’s a hard science to building walls that sway with Summer storms, and the catastrophic burgeoning of ginkoes, beneath the 42 pinions of these wings, tie the proper knot, slow now, tie it, lock the arms to an open frame of oak rooted to ancient earth, hope for harvest. for soil. for the bird’s relentless song, the door’s built last, just wide enough for two lovers to enter on hands and knees. Figure 5 is the lullaby of a blind gelding caught in a burning corral, inchoate, and the night’s so heavy with imminent thunderstorms, at the temple, my hair is sweetened by golden cassia, and night-blooming jasmine, to calm the blood in its awful rush toward a blue black god, gather our grains in brimming cups, leave detritus strewn in florid patterns across the pungent grass, there’s a story amid the burrows of my hand, my body, at the mercy of your 53 carat tethers, strung along such mismatched legs, this dutiful torture, I choose a body and make it, yours perched along our picked fence, 21 hummingbirds pant and draw breath in a field of basil, rain threatens to sing you to sleep, but I press my lips to your ear instead, and hope the terror in my heart stirs you from dream, Figure 8b is a waltz to the weavebird’s song that will mend sweetwater and light with straw, earth and mind upon a bright loom of patchwork grain, untortured by bushels of thorns.  |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
Blueprints can be very confusing. You can look at it from one angle and see this . . . "there’s the maidenhead, an ornate slit to traverse and adorn with bruised red fruit crushed underfoot," As you delve into the wonderment of this, you stand back to get a better feel for the blueprint and you come across this . . . "tie the proper knot, slow now, tie it," Trying to see the connection that is surely there you meander over to . . . "but I press my lips to your ear instead, and hope the terror in my heart stirs you from dream," Yesss! Of course. And now you understand the novelty of this engaging blueprint, and it was there . . . All the time . . . Within arms reach . . . So you open your arms and absorb it all . . . ~*~ If they give you lined paper, write sideways. ~*~ |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
Mr. Pat, That you make any sense of my ramblings at all is a wonderment to me! Thank you for being so receptive to my lunacy...and for taking your time with this... Xoxo |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
It takes a looney to understand lunacy. ~*~ If they give you lined paper, write sideways. ~*~ |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
Ha ha! To lunacy in 2012, then!!!!!! Xoxo |
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ebonygirl Member Elite
since 2011-07-14
Posts 2000California U.S.A |
Killer lines, enjoy your adventurous poems. Ms. E |
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JL Member Ascendant
since 2004-04-01
Posts 6128Texas, USA |
♦♣♠♥  ☺☺☺☺☺ Happy New Year!! I'm with Ms. E. Nice lines. JL  Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul,and with all your mind. Love your neighbor as yourself. |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
Ms. E. & JL Thanks so much for dropping in to read! |
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ice Member Elite
since 2003-05-17
Posts 3404Pennsylvania |
It doesn't matter that the organized stanzas make no sense, unless the reader is strong enough in imagination to make some out of them. What matters is the journey of words, and where they take me...like the mad hatter, I hurry toward a very important date...which is at the end of this poem...at its death. I arrive there panting, but don't know why I am tired...and like after sex resolution, I rest, and wait for the next sensual poem from Baby Girl to arouse me. Thank you Ms. Steampunk...:-) |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California |
I have yet to hear that weavebird’s song, though the image of a bright loom, untortured by bushels of thorns sounds of music to my ears. I do admit the lighter ending took me by surprise, but I won’t hold it against you… Your imagery is too perfect for such trivialities. A pleasure to read. Michael |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
My dearest mad hatter, You brought a giant smile to my face...thankfully you are one of those strong readers. And thankfully you have a good approach to reading poetry...or for what some of us pass off as poetry...that and a killer sense of humor....LOL Thanks again for your patience... Xoxo |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
Ha ha Michael, Thank you for your forbearance! Xoxo |
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