cherries

lost 24: cherries

extremely high resolution observations, a dinosaur with feathers. observe the holes in the substance of the brain, more or less filled with boots stockings comb towel ripe cherries shirts shoelaces a scanning electron micrograph JPEG of Cyclotella stelligera. out of this world asteroid mining by robots and/or the library robot that learns (how strongly did you co-operate, correlation zero) to spout the  X-rated repartee of a coarse-tongued flirt. don’t overthink it – press 9kim8jn love the metal the rusting commodore or falcon skin-thin tires chipped windscreens glistening curves of delicate peelshine. let’s make this about the cherries shall we? auxiliary telescopes in the atacama desert region of chile – these two are not the droids you’re looking for. a japanese friend out in my woods cutting up a fallen birch stories of fetching water for grandmother’s iron tub making fires under it for a bath. the map ballpointed in tiny characters, beaver pond, plan  for six cherry trees never sent

top photo: Shai Ben-Shalom, underneath photo from website of Steven Pressfield online

Yesterday was bath day for Desirée, my beautiful feathered tyrant:

which merits a few lines of a poem:

le Tub

 

impatient

she has grabbed each plastic toy from the bathwater

flung it away from

 

                                    le Tub

 

a contemplation of the calming waters

one last suspicious

head swivelling check that no one’s peeking

that her towel is to hand

 

then dainty as a Renoir or Degas nude she steps

into the shallow glass bowl

            now the other foot –

                        she lowers herself into the inch of water

                        shivers as her delicate parts

                        submerge

                                    leans forward to immerse

                                    breast

                                    feathers

                                    woman bathing…

 

I will read her this poem by Amy Lowell; obviously they are kindred souls

Bath

By Amy Lowell 1874–1925

The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air.
The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.
Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance, and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger sets them whirring, reeling. I move a foot and the planes of light in the water jar. I lie back and laugh, and let the green-white water, the sun-flawed beryl water, flow over me. The day is almost too bright to bear, the green water covers me from the too bright day. I will lie here awhile and play with the water and the sun spots. The sky is blue and high. A crow flaps by the window, and there is a whiff of tulips and narcissus in the air.

From About.com, Women’s History

http://womenshistory.about.com/library/etext/poem1/blp_lowell_amy_spring_day.htm

 

 

 

 

crow under the bridal veil

This morning, a mention of Mexico brought that night back:

                                  full moon/ a frigate bird/ circles over the resort

 

From the last poem to go into the current manuscript, a poem about Desiree

ancient profession

late afternoon she reads the slant of light falling through lace curtains
                                                                      length of shadows…
on grey days, notes the reduction in quality of light, her timing fixed
as any proper englishman for high tea…

From other blogs/websites

The last verse from Dark Fish & Other Infernos (Jack Pine Press, 2011). Joe Roseblatt with Catherine Owen, a poem called

And then the purring earth

And then the purring earth begins to move
extending a gentle paw for me to rest
while my eyelids close upon each wing.

A last excerpt, from Laura Broadbent’s OH THERE YOU ARE, I CAN’T SEE YOU, IS IT RAINING? which won the 2012 Robert Kroetsch Award for Innovative Poetry. Her artwork can be seen here: http://www.laurabroadbent.tumblr.com

Things Said In a Domestic Setting

She says that he says that she said something she didn’t say.
He says she says things when she means something else.
She says he says mean things

He says she says he says mean things
and he says he does not say mean things.
He says he says things that mean something
and he says she says things…
that don’t mean anything….

Shades of R. D. Laing’s Knots

I read another few pages of Silliman’s the Alphabet; again slow going, but interesting. Submitting a manuscript today…

and here’s another Holograph item from Tom Clausen, 1997:

You have to read around the edge, starting at the top edge…

 

As to that crow:

                    checking out the buds

                    crow

                    under the bridal veil spirea