Day 18....#language is a virus, cut up

The fencers


past year, an animal got

in- candy bodies blood
upon goat herd,
jills-
resegregate can't understand

past year, an
animal got
in -
cannot do the grass
have to
kick
the
hotheads
under the mean
bridges,
row fences like a
put up job

past year, an
animal got
in -
so gravely
rabbit-tail -
just slap
corollary
blood
to
gravelling clouds

Willi, the
hot,
Jonas the other-
husbanding

past year, an
animal got
in -
this year in words
straying
skins of
us ate leaves, were chatting
clouds like rabbit tails

past year, an
animal got
in -
anonymous, full tangled,
eyes moved, not looking,
honey smoky,
the stakes
want stranger shadows

last year, an animal
got in-
they planted woods,
a sunny
day
risen
blood ring clouds,
Folks ate candy

This year,
an animal got in -
the children were delighted,
a concrete winter poem.
Now, we have proud fences,
yes,
they were designed
like this

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Day 7...Fib....

 Fib Day 7... feeling uninspired, but using, from Napowrimo site, the 'Fib' form: 1/1/2/3/5/8, inspired by the Fibonacci sequence, apparently.  We   lie  because  each sleeper   wants to conjure up   unreal, protective magic   pinned with ribbons like a war map,   a cat's cradle song:   these limits   cannot   show   us,   raw,   just what  we've cooked up-  like the trick with gold-  just keep it there, under your tongue   till  you're ready for invention   metaphysical-   swallowing   words dry,  like  pills
Read more

Day 5 -#PoetryPrompt Dream Imagery

  5th #PoetryPrompt was to go to Google Image Search and type in "dream imagery". Pick a picture. I did, then went off at a tangent - reading the article the picture came from...and thinking about when I suffered from sleep paralysis “When we fall asleep, where do we go?”    asks Billie #2,  asks Billie Eyelash (children’s nickname) Billie of the sleep Billie quoted in the dream enquiry or   I could show you, garish, clichéweird, the art of someone else’s dream  or   I could tell you of phosphorescence, the city in the sea that had no side and bled rooms over cliffs and here we lived recurring, and it wasn’t bad, even with the birds  or   I can tell you where I like to go, out of myself but standing to the left, slight phase jump echoes, leaves a jellyfish or traces, smidge of me atomic across blur, across the hours while, I the dreamer, aren’t there but here in my dream job, in my dream house the more ...
Read more

Day 9..Walk

  "Once I dreamt of a form of poetry created by the sound of feet walking in the grass."-    Cecilia Vicuna 1. ..by the sound of feet on grass, if I could find it, my feet on paving, sound of ground and breath . Yes, I can find my feet, I can hear my tread - imagine grass beneath and when I reach it, shed my city shoes, careless, the electric happens- nerve and blade and fuse connect alive and make a beaten track, wild through the woods back home. Yes, green grass and sound and I know music 2 . This is how we walk now, the seeds of grass are buried eight feet deep under the concrete- cracks appear. My bones ache ancient from all this hobbled walking- heel toe heel toe heel, so I and my chiropodist collide, we disagree on methods: why do you walk like you're dancing? She asks, now she's a choreographer, Feuillet marks on Hobart paving, glass teeth means en pointe; it ends up crippling. Ancestors ghost my muscles,  like relics of old saints, and we step side to ...
Read more