Wednesday, February 14, 2007
valentine's day offerings
i wrote something today, that i'm not actually all that fond of. i am posting it here in the comments section. it is a heptina, which i think i may have made up. i accidentally wrote seven lines for the first stanza of a sestina, and just decided to go with it. i had to crack the nearly indecipherable numerical pattern upon which the sestina is built, and change it -- a monumental and historic achievement, i'm sure you'll agree. anyways. that was what i wrote today. and like i said, i'm not entirely fond of the product. i need a break from poetry and go back to prose. it will be nice to say what i actually mean, and do so with emphasis. anyways. check the comments, if you're interested in the other stuff....
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2 comments:
i am not even really sure what this means
today the snow comes down in clotted ash
a pompeiian winter blockades the streets
thought is like a net of snow, a white sail
that brings me to the dock of your porch
up to the burning hearth of your porchlight
for a sip of scotch beneath a blanket
a respite from the inundated world
through inundation, or conflagration
the sin-clotted world is newly refined
at the hearth the Olde Worlde buried their dead
together we are a crime in the street
in the porch, bones of our families roll
our fingers cling together in a net
blanketed by an ailing world of snow
beneath our blanket, i nip at my scotch
and i say "so this is inundation
before my very eyes, on your front porch..."
from the love-clotted heart, the mouth, it speaks
and the backholding eyes look to the street
the mind seeks out the hearths of her body
but hands settle down in the net of her hair,
frustrated white fish in a black seanet
i am grabbing blanketfuls of blanket
on this street, the world is going to end
through inundation, conflagration, both
i try to think through my flesh clotted thoughts
but clearly on your front porch we have reached
thresholds of an hearth of critical mass,
destroying mass, and hearth, and threshold all
the net of "you and me" is tightly drawn
and i spit out a few more clotted words
rattling ice-cubes under the blanket
inundate, imbibe, and the mind arrives
"if i die on your street, bury me please
under your porch and never move away"
winter; a white sail drawn across my porch
a vestal, cold burning hearth where i hope
the inundated souls of my family
buoy me up and out of the net of death,
blanket the ark of my heart in blessings
clot its decks with doves and olive branches
and dance for me on heaven's golden streets
today i am thinking of your street
and the dock of your porch and its porchlight,
of trading out my sails with that blanket
where, to the ossuary of your hearth
i may send my father into death's net,
inundate my own flesh with world's decay
and bring your clotted love to follow me
clotting the afterliving streets with life
throwing our net over your porch's side
catching, cooking in our blanket hearth our
inundated bodies, our snowcrushed souls.
"i try to think through my flesh clotted thoughts"
--------------------
a keeper
if nothing else
<3
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