Tag Archive | poem

crow morphology (ice stone)

crowmorph_record

crowmorph_loss_txt

Groove 6: [audible]

here there are stones.  stones that were books that were songs that were warm hands warm from weeping.  black silk worn deep blue by years of weather, macabre tablecloth on a slab of stone.  sacrifice who?  it is done.  stones are not hungry nor do they thirst.  flesh nor blood.

where the stones are there was a forest.

the winds are harsh and the ground stays damp without roots to drink from it.

night is wholly visible, they say.

 

[silence]

 

Groove 7: [audible, hidden]

Fret:

 stone time a dream marvel impetuous f/light streaking across night sky

deploy fire icy dust because core changed very little and still in icy depths

the mission ends [

deep cease]

Intro to  Crow Morphology

Previous Groove.

crow morphology (depicted)

crowmorph_record nowhere comes close.  he steadies himself on a stone.

Groove 5: [inaudible]

ROOMS

in childhood recall reading books that seal fate.  Selections will be displayed in the MUSIC ROOM (above).

TAKING TEA

childhood simplicity: a lover of artifacts.

LOSS

Mourn the commonplace.  Stitch the embroideries (depicted ).  Hold

the black silk, unassuming, over the beloved.

crowmorph_rooms_crop

Intro to  Crow Morphology.

Previous Groove

why does the phoenix (6–tap tap beautiful)

  1. phoenix is a one-note bird.
  2. that note is on fire.
  3. bedside candle.
  4. no paper no pen.
  5. can’t write down dreams.
  6. owl listens, omni-ambient headphones around omni-acoustical eyes.
  7. odalisque your pillow is on fire.  lie down.  sleep.

 

 

taptapwhowillbe

tap tap, who will be beautiful, flesh sockets packed with black?

so beautiful, gnarled stick

the gods prize whose skin whose eye?

you’ll find time harsh because-of beauty

youth pulped, cored.

want seeds.  want soil.

[upper aside]: cracks melt smooth like wax

[lower aside]: blush flame, so beautiful.  balance ruin.

 

The phoenix burns billet-doux on my pillow.  Read the last one here.

find me

I work at a desk, taking scissors to centuries of imagery and pencils to pulped trunks of trees, to assemble in my scrapbook a story I am making from my life.

It was Owl’s idea to post my scrapbook in the world wide web.   Is my scrapbook a carcass cocooned?  Do I mildly festoon the near-invisible trap of an arachnoid collective consciousness?

Hawk scoffingly says the only world-wide-web is an opulent cosmic cloth in which I, not my scrapbook, am one of an infinitude of jewels, each reflecting every other jewel.

Owl asks what kind of jewel cat videos are.

I think Owl is being a wise guy.

Black Swan is right now two-stepping anxiously and flapping a wing.  Black Swan wants you to know that CATS ARE EVIL.  CATS WOULD TEAR NOBLE HEADS FROM LONG, LOVELY SWAN NECKS IN IDLE SPORT.  Black swan shivers.

I don’t have a cat.

What I wanted to share today is some of the word searches which have directed people to my scrapbook.  Owl brought it to me:

  • recursion girl
  • overwhelm falling on them
  • do odalisques still exist
  • love images of i will be no more
  • how to make a crumple tree
  • converse teapot
  • sharp handwriting
  • gloomy poetries
  • surrealistic crow
  • near ocean crypt
  • drowning in the sea
  • fashionable owls
  • sea woman portrait
  • picture of the word overwhelm
  • fantasy fashion doesnt know how to fashion
  • night light princess
  • deconstructing feminist art

I love this list.

Do odalisques still exist?  Yes, recursively, in a converse relationship with our teapots.  How do you make a crumple tree?:  picture the world overwhelm.  I will be no more a  love image.  I’m a night light princess in an ocean crypt.  I found myself a fashionable owl, a surrealistic crow (and some other winged friends), perfected the sharpness of my handwriting deconstructing gloomy poetry, and drowned, am drowning, in what wild and lovely sea?

I exist I exist I exist.

I am real.

–The Odalisque

 

cosmic dream radio (deer crash)

Sleepy Odalisque.

Hello.

Here is her dream:

A deer crashed through the window.

 

owl radio static

 

Listen to her previous dream here.

 

city dreams

owl_handwriting_owlagain

owl on sill

 

 

 

 

 

ODALISQUE DOES NOT SAY HELLO NO SHE DOES NOT.

I AM SORRY.

I AM TRYING TO RECORD HER DREAMS IT IS VERY HARD.

MAYBE I WILL SHARE ONE SOON.

I AM SORRY SHE HAS NOTHING TO SAY.

I HAVE THINGS TO SAY.

HELLO I AM OWL.

I SAY

in a dark and dated hotel room with the boy you tried to kiss his name the name of greek statues the ones that hold up temple porches

get ready.  before a plate glass mirror get ready

to fly north for an event.

planes to catch in metallic hangars it is so hard to get to these planes.

city streets treacherous they all drop down into round-a-bout  bottoms like the bottoms of bowls.  bowl bottom is stable equilibrium says math class.  no catching a plane in the bottom of a bowl without a dose of irrational energy.

intellectual inadequacy.

i fly.  afraid to lose the earth.  no worries.  boy and girl are bound to earth.  i bear them.

skateboard sky.

sidewalk man in suspenders makes chalk mandalas on the concrete very colorful they are.

maybe he is the one.

that girl has fantastic boots.  red cross-stitched.

maybe she is the one.

will the bicycle make it up the hill, out of the city, to that dark road running home?  see road slope and curve beneath o’erhanging trees shadow trees where insects sing.

OWL sings.

we / land / ground / earth on a paved plaza.

event hotel!  off-center lobby.  elevators to rooms where folded schedules are forgotten.  long brown halls.  stumble upon an intimate, semi-circular hall where businesspeople in frumpy suits karaoke made-up lyrics to classic rock songs.  in one room girl having an argument with staff about what she knows to be true.  time to go home.  surely the event is practically over time to catch another plane.  for vacation.  girl can’t find keys to room where her things are and can’t remember where her room is but

look a forest.  a cube of forest bounded by glass. stunning concept.  balanced with fore-thought / but wild.  red leaves / peacock blues of ever-greens.  deep deep ground forest sunk so to see into canopy

technicolor forest caged between glass viewing corridors of event hotel.

here was well thought-out.  here is worthy of contemplation.  here be still.

owl_handwriting_thankyousigningoff

 

 

 

everything is up to you

owl_handwriting_owlhereowl_handwriting_hellothisisowl

owl on sill

ODALISQUE HAS BEEN SILENT VERY SILENT.

I HOPE YOU STILL THINK OF HER NOW AND AGAIN.  NO. THINK OF HER MORE THAN THAT, PLEASE.  THINK OF HER NOW.  AND NOW.  AND NOW.  AGAIN.

I WILL WRITE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU HOW IT IS SINCE SHE WON’T MAKE A SCRAPBOOK PAGE.  I WILL TRY TO SAY IT SO YOU WILL UNDERSTAND O YOU OUT-THERE.

coffee house you sit /imagine/ with blank paper and pen

listen music streams from responsive algorithms

listen there are conversations at tables with all chairs empty but one

talk talk about marketing /cause app art jeans/ marketing is a way to talk about money that sounds like sharing or making friends

listen gnat clouds of attention ghosting the nether-now of elsewhere and who

mesmerizing all the fingers on hand-held palm stones, light glass leaves.  swift fingers single shuttle a miniature loom weave /bandage veil fate/

or idly scroll as if skimming skin of a dull but distracting lover, heart battery in cellophane sleeve sealed with mildly-toxic adhesive

re pe ti tive         /pause/

fresh faces bathed in lightpalm glow as if looking down into unempty hands equals looking up at face of

dawn as if sky is

discrete on/versus/off

look up blank page

here is the future

it is very productive

what do you say

odalisque do you have anything to say

to the future

 

I don’t have anything to say to the past.  The past was no good for an odalisque.   Kindness.  Gentleness.  All anyone needs.

In this place you describe my unbelonging is fantastic.

I don’t know what to say to anybody anywhere.  I don’t know what to offer that is worth the time my offering would require for its meaning to become apparent.

Maybe I should be somewhere else right now.

But I am always here

I don’t know what to do.

Something else is not happening.  Elsewhere now was home.

Owl_handwriting_odalisqueisawareowl_signature

 

 

transparent barI hope you think of me more than now and again.  Think of me now.  And now.  And now.  And now.  Again…

–The Odalisquetext_fingersthatskimdesire

spring is coming

Ah, Bacchanal!

Spring is coming!

There are no birds in this picture.  Saturn and his wise centaurs.  All a-flutter and creepy-crawly.  Floriferous, sword in scabbard and spear.

Rummaging through loose papers to find out where on earth/in space I found that face!  Faces are unusual in my scrapbook!  Here’s the only other one I can think of.  It’s from my favorite movie.

Are you bringing me flowers?  I like flowers.  Particularly the ones that open themselves so fully they fall apart.  Hearts do this, and the ego, yearning for transcendence.   So, too, the prismatic doors of glass, with no hinges and no handle.  You (yes you) must crash through.  Oh the light, smashing everywhere and glass shattering like a fist smashed into still water drops like glass throwing light.

My favorite flower, the petals dropleted with moisture, shatters on the sill.

Wait, just a little bit.  I will make you a bouquet.

–The Odalisque

jacket? tie?

I showed off my party dress.  So the birds are ready to dance.  They’ve brought out their best.

If I could only dance with one, which would I choose?

fashionable black swan (2)

I like that black swan brings me fetid flowers.  The book could be a gift or maybe black swan intends to read to me later.  I hope not.  There’s nothing worse than long phrases comparing odalisques to astronomical bodies, natural phenomena, or flowers.  How can you enjoy yourself when everything you do reminds someone of the moon?  I’ve been to the moon, and it’s nothing to throw garlands at.  Stop talking about the moon.  I am The Odalisque!  transparent bar

drastic / fire-fair/ one two three one two three/ we / combustible

Fetid flowers or… a dead branch?

The branch is for me to hold when we dance, so I don’t catch on fire.  That might be a trick, though, because Phoenix really wants me to burn.  At least if I dance with Phoenix, there is a window nearby.  I will need to stick my head out into that high, clear air, after a whirl in Phoenix’s flagrant embrace.transparent bar  fashionable crow-as-parrot

Crow-as-parrot offers to lead me through greener pastures.  Crow has a message but I’ve already opened it.  Or did Crow open it first and scramble the intended meaning?  Crow wears the fool’s hat.  Crow, where are we going?

transparent bar fashionable starlings (2)The starlings clothe themselves in the soft robes of nightfall.  It is the hour of murmuration.  Behind them, obscure.  If I allow myself to be taken in their arms I will be the space between earth and sky consecrated by their hushed, joyful swarm.  I will be the ever-evolving absence of thousands of birds.

transparent barfashionable hawk (2)

Hawk, discretely, but superbly dressed, waits beneath an ordinary chandelier. The silk dress is for changing into when Hawk tires of leading.

Hawk carries a scarlet fan for me: when I want everyone to go away I will hide my face like ostrich sticking its head in the sand.  Everyone knows: leave me alone.

Hawk is thoughtful in that way.

I will dance with Hawk.

Black Swan, aghast, is sputtering phrases from the book.  The phrases aren’t about me or the moon!   They’re all about Black Swan!  Typical.  Black Swan, do you remember how to call out, over the marsh, the wild, mute cry of your forebearers?  If so, I will dance with you.

Fashionable birds.  See how they first made their fashion fetish known here, or click the Fashion tag for that and more.

–The Odalisque

a tree is cut down and paper made. I then write on it.

handwriting if a tree is cut down

If a tree is cut down and paper or pencil made, and I then write with them?

If you were a tree

would you be my pencil?

my blank page?

my unblank page?

If you were a tree would you be the page preserved in an archive, its climate controlled with combustion, the burning of ferny compression we call fossil fuels?

Would you be my paper, my pencil, preserved?

handwriting a tree would prefer

A tree would prefer I crumple this page, throw pencil away.

Better yet, would I please bury both in dirt?

handwriting if you were a tree you would want

When I fall something shoot its pale cusp from the trunk that was me.

transparent barit begins

Come back wild moment from far before
I took up my sword call it pencil say paper or page.
Killing impulse, I took up pencil and page.
I ruined everything.

crow morphology

On New Year’s Day, crow became a parrot.

I asked him how he did this.  Here is our conversation:

Calling card--crow

simple.

disregard the moon and all arrangements of stars.

if stones stand be sure light nowhere specially shines.

do not go to the great tree in the forest, the one that is itself and all its ancestors.

slaughter nothing.

light no fire.

scatter no grain.

spill no milk no honey no blood.

do not mark yourself with stakes or nails or knives or thorns, the bones of dead creatures or the inks of poisonous flowers.

simple.

know who you are and choose

to behave differently.

i went to sleep on my usual branch.

it doesn’t matter what i dreamed.  the dream was of myself.

typical.

when i awoke, i cracked one eye like crow.  then i opened both eyes like parrot.  i flashed my wings like parrot.   i did not caw i squawked.

what is the difference between parrot and crow?

what do you know?  i choose how i act.

pretty parrot pirate ship.  squawking word mirror.

what do you know?  i know crow

stole you something shiny to rob you of your lustre.

is that a mirror?

where    where    going

you          are         you

are          you         are

going                     go

hello

(read the last conversation with the crow here.)

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