There are No Words for This, But a Poet Has to Try

 

 

How can a jig
Encapsulate life?
Two measures tear me up,
Tighten my throat
Capsize my heart so it floats upside down in my chest,
Rudder aloft and sails under water.

It starts with the swallowtails, of course,
Dipping and diving for insects on the wing
Clamoring in caves
Wooing and brooding.

They fly through a park.
Diving kites mimic the birds, drawing my mind toward a
Flipped edge of skirt and its
Recipient, playing cool on a bench
Sending back a one-sided grin of
Paired hope and disdain.

Children nearby whose folks started
Parenting on nothing much more
Chatter and call through the playground
Already practicing their lives as they’ve been taught.

One chides, one hides and cries,
One bawls so much the others decide to ignore him,
Except the quiet girl who knows what it means to cry alone.
These other two girls juggle a soccer ball with their feet,
That boy tribe steals it and learn some girls aren’t afraid to hit.
One mom praises, the other derides.

A set of five, who will live and die at each other’s sides,
Dig cities in the moist sand, idly daydreaming,
Sharing a high mileage box of slightly gritty caramel corn.

Beneath them blades of grass bend,
Cells vigorous with
Life. Their roots extend into the earth, which
Teems with worms, beetles, mites, fungi,
Bacteria.

My mind tries to grasp each life,
Expanding into the trees, the creek, the air.
Each biome on every scale is a festival of entities,
Pulsing with lives grand and pitiable,
Lucky and cursed,
Long and bitterly short.

Twisting in this infinity,
My heart capsizes.
The Fiddler puts down her bow.

Invisible Woman,I….

Dearest Darling Being,

It’s been too long since last I laid eyes on thee

I need to see you. Hear your voice.

Watch that walk you walk so well.

Beautiful one, how was your day sweet beloved soul?

Hopefully, I’ll see you soon.

Mostly, in my dreams.

I want to gaze upon the face I have memorized.

The dialogue I have with pigment is insane

Yet very much from the heart

And no one hears.

How you fill me up.

Oh, the ecstasy.

Every line,crease, wrinkle, part, mark,

Whatever, time breeds on such a lovely spirit

Which is beauty to me.

I have memorized.

Hey sexy,

Smile that smile I yearn to see

you know how to

Make me

Moan

 

That Swallowtail Jig

There is a calling they say
All the night things must reply
The music of it all shall fill the night
A splendid sound it shall be

A story, a passage if you will
Of a joyous jubilant journey
Which must be fullfilled
This is the way of the night

An old sacred right not to be ignored
The rhythm and waves pour in
The journey becomes complete
As the music and night things become one

Any Given Theme

Sideways hug, all my children born out that ear now, once a year forever now because of that sidling hug. Well, digging a well to pop them down. And we’re so up, coming with a cup for the nightly piss and splish now. Sideways kiss, missing the cheek and into the hair let down to incorporate the lovers’ frown, in debt to bigger banks we once rolled down, collecting leaves like the wig not mine or yours but all the several ways to hug, which are not permitted now.

When A Nobody Speaks

It’s hard to say, when a Nobody speaks.

Cause when a Nobody speaks, a Nobody hears.

But a Nobody hears when a Somebody speaks.

A Somebody’s a Nobody with masterful techniques.

 

It’s not about his color, her gender or their sneaks.

It’s about remaining a student after everyone’s a grad.

When you’re a student, you’re protected; Ironclad

From your own illusions and beliefs.

 

A Nobody is Somebody when he masters his techniques.

Remember that when a Nobody speaks.

A Somebody starts with a Nobody,

So it’s hard to say, when a Nobody speaks.

 

 

 

In the Shadow of the Jig – Hour Eleven

A hand on the small of my back

A handsome lover gone off track

And what he had yet to understand

Was that all the while through the smallest crack

His heartbroken love waited to attack.

 

One night too many left alone,

She’d donned her cloak and left the home

Crept along by the brimey foam

Getting herself battered and blown

Down to the inn that she’d been shown.

 

His hand fell away from the place it had found,

As the handsome lover hit the ground,

Confused I had spun around,

My coy smiles turned to frowns

As without a single sound

His heartbroken love had served to confound.

 

It had all happened in the shadow of the jig,

She’d acted mean and smooth and quick

Oh, for it had taken grit

To end this heart-wrenching conflict

With a slice in the stomach, right to the pit.

 

Now never let it be said

That no tears were shed

When suddenly he bled

But not from his lover as she fled

Right back home to their marital bed

Still stained by the deed – bright and red.

Magic in the Garden

I haven't got the second stanza anywhere near right yet, but I like the idea in this poem, which would probably have a multitude of colourful butterflies dancing the jig.

Magic in the Garden

Splodges and blodges
a phantasmagoria of hues
decorate the toadstool caps
spider thread strands
hang from the eves
where raindrops dangle
captivated, scared to drop

A gentle breeze teases
tinkles from the bells of flowers
as glamourous butterfly Lady Lucile
demonstrates dancing

The Swallowtail Jig.