"mistle" poems
This brown buff speckled throstle of a bird sits in the higher most branches of a yet to be leafed poplar tree . . . and sings. Such a song in the April morning air it greets the day, celebrates the rising sun. Above a suburban street the bird’s song catches the reverberation of a double row of houses, their windows bouncing sonic reflections of unaccompanied melismata.
Olivier Messiaen loved this bird for its répétition égale. Walking the mountain woods around his summer home he would wonder that the grive musicienne could make so exactly repetition after repetition of a complex phrase. A proto-minimalist perhaps? The male mistle thrush appears in several ***** works but most prominently in Saint Francois d'Assis singing luminously on the clarinet.
Although this is the ungregarious male singing away on this spring morning his name carries a female designation Turdus Philomelos. Poor Philomel, whose name means one who loved song, she was a princess of Athens lusted after by King Tereus who took her to a cottage in distant woods and ***** her. Then, he cut out her tongue.
Vengeful Philomel alone in the woods, but a most resourceful and artistic young woman, she set about weaving a tapestry that told all.
*‘She set up a Tracian loom
And wove on a white fabric scarlet symbols
That told in detail what had happened to her*.’
She sent the finished piece to Tereus who promptly ordered Philomel's death and that of her sisters (one of whom he was married to). As the girls were about to be slain they were changed magically into three birds . .
Joanna Laurens play The Three Birds takes the only fragment we have of Sophocles telling of this strange tale. Laurens is both musician and linguist and the text is a marvel of strange sounds and rhythms as the sisters communicate with each other in their personal private language akin, it is said, to Jersiese, an ancient Breton dialect.
So thank you dear song thrush for this morning's wonder: a song sans pariel.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
There was a young lady called Gristle,
Who once cleaned her *** with a thistle,
It did not work well,
And left quite a smell,
Which left her alone under mistle -
toe.
Jun 16, 2010
Jun 16, 2010 at 12:38 AM UTC
Christmas Eve is in the air
smells like pine and i can hear
the reading of the lords prayer
though, no snow is upon the ground
it feels so joyous all around
with the scent of sugar cookies
and Winter Breaks game of Hooky
the presents lay under the tree
and the mistle toe hangs above you and me
love wraps us in a warm blanket
as the New Year approches in days, i can taste it
Tonight I shall hardly sleep
with the jidders of a childs feelings of Christmas Eve
the tiny belief of Santa Claus still dwindles
as the though of a fluffy man in a red suit kindles
as he will plop down my chimney with a bag
filled with hope and present swag
oh dear i can hardly wait
for the great Christmas that i anticipate
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC
Speckled breast,
Red berry clutched in your beak.
Mistle thrush on winter's frosty lawn.
I heard you sing two moons ago-
Storm thrush in a wind bowed tree top
In spring you came to the garden,
Fat, fluffed, child with your mother
Feasting then on hoards of leaf gorged caterpillars
Who'd rendered felty mullien leaves to shreds.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 12:19 PM UTC
Lecherous headdress snakeskin
**** whistle of a leer, tape thistles
To my beard, your breath is sweet
And heady but you never did
Like wine, twitch as if
You gave a **** about
That ambulance ride I took for you,
The scars taste of lilacs
And are still mine.
When they love you and they will,
Tell em all they’ll love in my shadow
Lest the kids not be alright
But they never are,
And you, you,
The most cowardly
Woman I’ve ever felled
Myself for, a mistle-toe
Oak ****** house
That you call home.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
Soothing pain
Driven this untamed heart
Like a beast trying to break free
From my pain that is
Trapped restrained in a str8
Jacket
In the shadows of dark
Please God unleash me
From feeling pain
But the damage has been
Done numerous times
It's feels good and so
My addiction is pain
Please go away
Scattered words pumping
In my veins
Dopamine euphoria
Rushing adrenaline
Loving this foolish
Heart that you played me
And I'm now caught up in
This blissful feeling where ever
I walk I'm under a tree
Of mistle toes
Becoming this strange
Upsetting obsession
I hate you
For you are the one
Giving me an undying
Love which soothes my pain.:(
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
Its good to see your tears are done,
Little kitten,
It hurts me when i see them run.
Ima little smitten,
By the way
Your eyes play
Throughout the day, All sleep, no pay.
Keep hidding behind my toes
(Trust me they'll keep you safe)
Keep bristling against my nose
Whiskers and bells and whistles.
Watching your heart fall like a mistle.
Wishing i put up with the gristle..
I hope you fly
And i hope you dont find out untill you try.
To be taken by surprise and see the world from the sky.
To look down from the clouds and see the sparkles in my eye
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
The Ham is Roasting, and Revelers are Toasting,
To New Years and Old, as the soft Music is Playing,
Party goers Adorned with Finery and Pressed Suits
Glide over the Dance floor to Violins, Cello's and Flutes
Soft Waltzes to Dance, Leads to Romance
Perfume Scent doing what its Meant...
Champagne toasts, Amid Soft Holiday lights
All Lead to Holiday Delights in the Night
Soft Lips so Red it Alarms, create Alluring Charms
The Mistle Toe Hung can't Be missed, When it leads to a Kiss
Soft Shoulders so Magic, as you glide across the Floor
A tender Kiss on her Neck, she's Breathless and Wanting more.
You feel so light on this Magical night, as you Grab her Wrap,
And hold the door, Snuggled up warm on the ride Home
And a soft and Tender Kiss at the Door...and, ends this Poem...
.....................................................................................JMF 12/24/14
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
an orange guitar
and a bottle
of cheap Merlot
is a Saturday night
a mistle-toe scented candle
burns:
its flame
moves, jives
to the vibrations
of
Stevie Ray Vaughn.
quiet fall
creeps in
through the
cracked window--
the smell of fields,
of north carolina
air
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 10:36 AM UTC
write a christmas poem mention lots of snow
children with there presents and there face a glow
mention mistle toe with lots of holly too
write about your family that will be there with you
put down lots of fun filled with lots of glee
not forgetting santa and the christmas tree
add these things things together to complete your rhyme
think about the happiness you get at christmas time
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
Young hearts
mold together under mistle arc
The beginning is always perfect
initial love always feels stark
As time progresses
and they lay in park
Just like the dogs around
they too begin to bark
To each other become weary
no longer holding that precious spark
They grow tired of each others company
and push their love into the dark
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
from your rage
take my words from your face
she pushed another baby today
ttthat poem tore off that childs ear
count my in the blood drops
hear as my teardrops echoe
rocks falling
closing
caves
she
is
my
mistle toed avalanche
in an dream she kisses me
in her thoughts she thinks
delete me
?
...
..
.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC
Was it a flock of starlings
or mistle thrushes
I saw murmuring for a moment
in the dark sky?
Realizing they were actually starlings
not mistle thrushes
I deleted them
from my mind
and watched as the starlings continued their orbit
to a warmer county
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 6:01 AM UTC
I drew a picture
of a tree in winter
cold black branches
criss-crossed the white page
It made me sad
so I put it away
and forgot
I’d ever drawn it
That Spring
while looking for a pencil
I found the drawing
and gasped in shock
The tree had grown
white blossom
where tiny bees
could feed
And a robin sang
from its topmost branch.
“Impossible!” I thought,
hiding it away again
The idea of the tree
grew through the season.
By summer
I desired another look
A riot of green
hid the cold black branches
and sunlight burst
through every leaf
This time I hid it
with a secret smile,
let weeks pass
as I felt the magic working
Autumn came
my picture changed
branches heavy
with bright red berries
Mistle thrushes,
waxwings, blackbirds
beyond my skill as an artist
flapped and chattered on every branch
To keep them safe
I hid the picture
one more time
my perfect, living tree
Winter came -
I showed my children.
The cold black branches
did not make them sad
They could see
the coming colour,
the light, the joy, the sweet berries
and they climbed into the branches, laughing.
Jan 16, 2020
Jan 16, 2020 at 7:32 AM UTC