"giverny" poems
My blue tavern house in old Giverny,
with yellow bright daisies as a welcome.
We've swam on the wheat banks,
diving in absinthe and dealing in apathy.
Kissing the swirling midnight skies in secrecy.
Dark blue cascades the midnight hills,
I've spent another night in the open fields -
looking at hay bails like an old friend, and worst enemy.
I've met your sharp eyes at noon and known better,
with your white shirts, stained socks, and slick smiles.
I remember you told me of the women stealing jam,
east of La Seine near Clackaloze,
You said she reminded you of me,
good until gone, broken undeniably
and the way I say I could do it all quietly -
paint the shining night sky with ease and one brush.
But if I was what you wanted, I wouldn't be,
too stubborn, too jealous, and too mad, honestly.
So I may as well write you what I am - underneath.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:50 PM UTC
Often I awaken
into a world
different than
the one in which
I went to sleep.
It's nothing
dramatic, not
people with
green hair or
cats who speak
fluent Latin or
leaves that fall
upward in autumn.
It's only a
slight difference,
everything just
an inch or so
out of kilter:
like the first
moment of
consciousness
after an acid trip
45 years ago or
the memory of
a girl I should
have kissed,
but didn't or
a slight breeze
from the distant
wings of angels
or especially
like Monet's
endless *******
lily pads
floating at
Giverny
always seen,
but always
different,
simply
challenging
me to notice,
to wake up
to be alive
that most
important thing
of all:
just to
notice.
~mce
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC
Take me to the xylographs of Tunis
Where silken shades of colour
Dissolve and reassemble
Take me to the white veils of sand
Along with Elysia
To the oils of Giverny scented with
Climbing roses
( I want to touch them with my fingers)
Take me to the orange rows of Laos and
-further away- let me
Into the magic Australian Outback
( I want to count how many dots exploding
The picturesque of Aboriginals)
Take me to Berlin before the curtain on
The Night
To the peripheries of the world
( I want to look in the eye the eyes kept prisoner by Time)
Then let me into the remote echo of the invisible squares
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 9:00 AM UTC
Explain Krieg und Krise. Remember Nanjing. Hand twist nasturtium, trim Elijah in no other language but your own. Delicious, decked against scurvy despite punishing days world unwraps, made available to voracity, where would you build, on what day? Perfection unable to sit still comes towards ambush as peasant night squeaks to the border. Chanticleer in linear e phlox stammers discretely, hammers combination, blends tonality. Gravid as brook trout, orangerie cascades kanji. Bucolic spasm shimmering, weeping runes a la Giverny become Cycladic, veers off color’s lambent arsenal. Caustic repeats, Gatling interferes, hope bails, song recants. A Zebedee in Flemish hue cracks *** luck, lets out gurgle. But in good fortune, peaches to daisies, Abigail to titmouse, family is raised.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC