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Open Poetry #47
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The Rapunzel Syndrome
| Open Poetry #47 |
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The Rapunzel Syndrome |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631
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 your love is lampblack and blue ash, luminescent, nascent, a geography of gypsum, your kisses leave residue and tastes of cerulean, of sand, a sugar blue song quivering in the veins, your love is a poem, a fable, a myth, a Freudian slip, and in the end leaves nothing but a cautionary tale steeped in honey, where the girl leans near a window in a tall, tall tower, drenched in violet light falling like pearls, like rain, and lets her hair down, down, down to this day, the vowels in the poem swaddle the dusty sibilance of your name on my tongue, today, the sky is thick with whining blue jays. how odd to never hold the heft of you, knowing already your absence, like echo and snow, but to dwell on this is to sink into a subterranean landscape of crows and cusses permit me the traffic of a broken heart the blue slate of this day stains my dress but the storm’s veneer is beautiful, and contains the language of lost causes, there are rivers, they say, that spin rain into constellations, there are cicadas that decay into lace, Indian burns from girls in third grade, you're less lovely in the light but lovelier than last night, listen to the fricative sigh of fingers through tresses, over peaches that glow like vines in a tower of stone, who knows how it's done, see you there glistening in your god dam indecision, baby, this is how it's got to be. here. hold this. feel this. upon the shoulder where the cicatrix of a small pox shot identifies. blue skin. blue sky. to think, one shouldn't don black in summer... a mere conjuring trick, into which I shrink my spine, some nights are as black as belladonna, the darkness I gather in my mouth stings, an aria, rosewater, tympanic bone, a quieter poem, a bronze song, something undone, saliva, a crushed butterfly, its blood on a light bulb, the vermillion and solitary luminary shimmies and singes the feathers of the aviary, how do bodies turn into song? On Sundays I wear yellow, while violets leak from my eyes, for every fairy tale is tinged with soot, your love is cuttlebone, sugar cube, it's a fiction. a glass of milk, an eager sugar it revolts my love into Baudelaire’s concubine, a mere diary tax, a way of happening. a mouth, a drowsy landscape filled with peach trees. a song. an urn. an ashcan, a glass spittoon. a broken arm, the elegance of the letter f, birdsong is lament. say smear, rain, tears in the eye of a cockatoo, or a tourniquet, depending on the night's narrative, say wet, writhe, hydrangea, the despair of trees in February, the air has the consistency of indium. say death. say breathe. I am lonely, you concede, the myth of it is inescapable, for I am always burying something: cardinals with shattered wings, orange peels, the scent of my dress as it dries on the windowsill, your love is lampblack and red ash, a hieroglyph I've swallowed whole, now I am two parts water to one part salt, on Sundays, each granule begs a lesser atom in my soul and indulges all its hollow muscularity in hyperbole: and so our love is ash. at last.  |
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Lori Grosser Rhoden Member Patricius
since 2009-10-10
Posts 10202Fair to middlin' of nowhere |
Your style is so wonderfully unique...and I know I only glean a fraction if its full meaning. No matter...it is a joy to read. Lori |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
Lori~ Thanks so much... This one is dense...and even I'm not sure what it all means...in the end...it's just how I breathe... thanks for putting up with it ! LOL |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
I'm with Lori, I wandered as I was reading this, and was unable to reconnect a few times. Funny, though, although much escaped me I enjoyed the read. Go figure. ~ Some people are like a Slinky -- not really good for anything -- but you still can't help but smile when you shove them down the stairs. ~ |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
Jerry~ Thanks for taking the time to read through this one...it is one of my more murky ones, I know....much of it is an onslaught...it's kind of how it comes to me...I'm not a fan of revision, really (though this one has been through several evolutions)...LOL...sorry it's so thick...but glad you enjoyed getting lost in the mess of it ! |
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Dark Stranger Member Patricius
since 2001-03-19
Posts 13631West Coast |
I would lick the grout from between those stones as if it were your marrow.. and pull you by your hair down to drink the last breath from your marble lips you are chinese food and peanut butter little one...always leaving me hungry for more...but without room to swallow |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
oh damn..... ~*~*~I always get into trouble with you, Daddy~*~*~* ~~~fairytale hugs & kisses~~~ |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
Murky? Naw... I don't remember who said it of Jackson Pollack, but it was said that his work could only be properly appreciated as a transfer of energy. Something like that. I love stream of conscious freestyle. But then, of course I do.  You are a fine wine, Belle. |
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easy1 Senior Member
since 2010-05-22
Posts 1209Southeastern USA |
Well, this is a cautionary tale steeped in honey, the traffic of a broken heart, as you put it, and wanders with purpose like a river novel, only more succinctly and beautifully discrete. Lovely imagery is here, although some of it is lovely in the anthropological sense, akin to primitive masks meant to scare or to entice. Perfection in short doses, hopefully not too artificial or harmful in the aftermath... |
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graying1 Member
since 2011-02-09
Posts 53The Commonwealth of VA |
Quite a peice of writing so many images PS |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
serenity~*~*~ (((thank you))) for such a wonderful reply. xoxoxox |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
easy1~ thanks so much for stopping in to read~~this is utter pathos...LOL...I appreciate your tolerance~ |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
graying~~ thank you kindly~ |
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ethome Member Patricius
since 2000-05-14
Posts 11858New Brunswick Canada |
Nice pic Baby Girl. You just may be a John Milton recreation in a female poet. I love the vocabulary it's stimulating. You might be the queen of metaphors with just a dash of hyperbole as you mention. It's interesting to note that the average well educated person these days uses approx 4500 - 5000 words in their vocabulary yet Milton used over 8000 and Shakespeare used over 21,000 despite having a rudimentary education and signed both of his personal property deeds he strangely acquired in Stratford Upon Avon with an X or illegible mark. Such an enigma all of it. Wow! Are we getting smarter or what!? Bless you for your efforts as they are so commendable and try and brighten up those belladonna nights!........You must have more going for you...smile... Take care Eric in a relationship the me becomes we. |
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CastleGuard Senior Member
since 2003-04-30
Posts 760Alberta, Canada |
Murky, dense… Perhaps As a broth of secret ingredients To be tasted with both the heart and the soul Deciphered? need not know all To be savored and enjoyed Well done, bel1e,loved it. CG |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
ethome! LOL thanks, love~ |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
CG~ you are very kind~ thank you~ |
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