A Pantoum...

A PANTOUM is a poetic form that first appeared in the 15th century, in Malayan literature.  The Western version is a poem of indefinite length, made up of stanzas of four lines repeated in a pattern:  lines 2 and 4 are repeated as lines 1 and 3 of the next stanza, and on and on.

The final stanza has a twist: the 1st and 3rd lines are repeated as usual from the stanza above, the 2nd and 4th lines are the same as the 3rd and 1st lines of the 1st stanza.  Confusing enough?  I have to practically use a road map to get it straight.  But I do like the rhythm that starts to appear, and the results that couldn't happen unless the form was followed.  I find a ghostly theme to fit this form quite well.


LIMITATION

Ghosts are more limited than we are.
You may think the opposite is true,
and consider walking through walls
to be a higher gift than dancing.

You may think the opposite is true,
that eternity adrift is a prize,
to be a higher gift than dancing,
as you float along a chilly wall.

That eternity adrift is a prize,
a bit of mischief and nothing more.
As you float along a chilly wall,
it seems a skill like the tango.

A bit of mischief and nothing more.
Hips swaying on the dance floor,
it seems a skill like the tango,
the illusion of walking on air.

Hips swaying on the dance floor,
they say to follow the light,
the illusion of walking on air,
tapping floors to send out a shiver.

They say to follow the light.
An itinerant gliding back,
tapping floors to send out a shiver.
Floating like grey silk up the mortal coil.

An itinerant gliding back,
and consider walking through walls,
floating like grey silk up the mortal coil.
Ghosts are more limited than we are.


@copyright/all rights reserved/ 2010


http://www.minblu.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/lynxny

Poem in My Pocket..

WHAT A WHIRLWIND OF A MONTH IT'S BEEN.  THE PARADES FOR NatPoMo are winding down, and here we are at the end of a joyous celebration!  Poems have been gathered in bouquets, and everyone became a poet for the month!  Alas, here it is, Poem in My Pocket Day.  I hope you all have one to tuck away, carry with you if you run into a poetry drought.  I have mine, right here, just in case I have to administer a poetry transfusion.

POEM IN MY POCKET

I'll have a word,
that one there,
the one floating through the air.

Disregarding obvious rhymes,
I refuse to pander
to poetic banter.

Offering a place to land
I try to gather a word
that seems as soft as feathers.

I cup my hands and catch,
not a word
but a hummingbird.

I fit it into my pocket
feeding it a nourishing whisper
and hope it bears within,
a poem.
I let it fly away and circle me,
its wings tick-tocking
some doggerel.

It's absolute bliss,
walking through another day
as a poet,
with one new idea
that's landed in my pocket.


c copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2010

http://www.minblu.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/lynxny

Eyes

FOR A LONG TIME I SAW THE WORLD AS A MOSAIC.
NOT IN A POETIC OR POLITICAL WAY, BUT IN AN
EVER DETERIORATING WAY, WHERE OBJECTS
TOOK ON THE SHADE OF OATMEAL, NO BLUES
existed in my spectrum, only greens and yellows,
blending into a fog. Even my green eyes seemed
an odd, shadowy color. Which I just attributed to...
well, I'm getting older, aren't I?
x
I continued to "do" my art, collages still had their
texture and balance, exploration and originality
were never denied. But, aha, I'm also a makeup
artist and I persued that, as usual. I know where
your mouth is, those two orbs are your eyes.
Up close and personal, my style! Everyone
became as gorgeous as could be. From habit.
x
But I was failing. Walking down a long flight
of stairs, someone actually approached me
and asked if they could help me. Startled,
I thanked them and declined, stubborn within
my realization that the moment had come
to get real.
x
I've completed two successful surgeries recently,
and the amazing result immediately was seeing
the color blue again. And the astonishing outlines
around people, they lost their amoebic shape.
Me...I didn't look as soft and flawless anymore.
What's that? Freckles? Lines? My own face, hidden
from me for so long, tucked away in my dream of
myself, revealed at last! So that's what I look like,
and no one's run away ?
x
In the next few weeks, more work to be done, just
to perfect the total reclamation of my vision. I, a
long time embracer of fear and doubt, have released
myself. That eye below, not only can I do it, but
I can be it, if the crazy occasion ever arises!

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