SULPHUR’S LAMENT
“Butterflies and moths remember their
former lives as caterpillars”
Rout of the blue false indigo
was a good day
I miss my ten-pack abs—
muscular curls
from lantana leafworlds
Hydraulic hum
quake-hair navigation
ants achivvied:
I was my use, uniformed vert
For this— I thought— I’d come
Spinning simple shade tent:
then twisted, swallowed, lysed
White light gauzy—
insubstantial, oddly gaudy—
I must be dead
What god replaces jaws,
taunts nectar
at wind’s ill whim
No duty, wamble-weary
Who must I flutter for mercy?
HERR KEPLER'S NOTEBOOK
Time is the bully anchor of the opposing tug-rope team.
The person with a happy home life tracks glitter through the world; the solitary person leaves snowprints.
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"The grasshopper warbler's song comes up out of the earth just as you think the day is quietening down. It has no prelude or warm-up: it starts midperformance, as if switched on by the dark, as it if has been singing like this beneath the earth until it was dark enough to come to the surface. As if, though we hardly hear it, this singing never stops."
A Year on the Wing (Tim Dee)
All writing and cartoons on this site copyright 2008-2010 Julia Martin, unless otherwise credited.
The person with a happy home life tracks glitter through the world; the solitary person leaves snowprints.
-------------------------------------
"The grasshopper warbler's song comes up out of the earth just as you think the day is quietening down. It has no prelude or warm-up: it starts midperformance, as if switched on by the dark, as it if has been singing like this beneath the earth until it was dark enough to come to the surface. As if, though we hardly hear it, this singing never stops."
A Year on the Wing (Tim Dee)
All writing and cartoons on this site copyright 2008-2010 Julia Martin, unless otherwise credited.
Who must I flutter for mercy indeed. Wow. You are an elusive critter. I like it. I really like it. I reply.
ReplyDeleteThe Winged Grail
A question arose
Became a life work, seeking
Across the wide world
Into all the dark nooks,
The crannies where they told me
You might be hiding.
The chrysalis shell
Left behind leads me to ask
Who must I flutter
Now that you have flown?
Who will give me the drink now?
I thirst for mercy.
Christopher: V. daunting of you to comment in poem form, considering how I struggle to post! I'm afraid that I intended flutter to carry a somewhat rude subtext. I've obviously overdone this season's shoveling (and swearing).
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