Schmutzie's Schmoetry

138/365: Wood In the Belly

2013-05-19T04:31:04Z

Born picking,
eating slivers,
at six,
she swallowed small chunks of old wood.
It tasted of absence,
a thing that was not anymore.
Bits broke soft without a crack
between her back teeth.
She liked how it could go in grey
and came out the colour of coal.

When it pricked her finger,
her father painted its tip bright with Mercurochrome,
and she hid the dangerous last of her wood
in the middle of a juniper bush.
It became the remains of a star there,
fell to earth to gift her with powers,
and she turned in windy circles
on days when it might rain
to chant prayers to a lonely god
about the wood in her belly
and the star that made her strong.

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137/365: The Dry Cuckoo

2013-05-18T04:23:04Z

They drove into a land with wide swaths of trees,
ponds of water dotting rocky soil,
drier bark leaning into green wood
deep enough to fold into distant dark,
and she reckoned the accident of her birth.
She had flown too far,
overshot the stretch of hills and trees and water,
and landed in a flat space
mowed, ploughed, and dry,
fell to ground that ran off to an endless horizon
and sucked her out,
vacuumed her dry,
planting its cuckoo in her belly.

Within her chest
within the fast car,
she felt the green wood's sudden pulse
against what dust remained
and vowed survival.

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136/365: Ed Norton Fantasy Poem #11, Magic Giant Ivory Sea Canoe

2013-05-16T19:55:01Z

Ed told me that he has been taking lessons
so that he can build us a giant ivory sea canoe.
Clearly, he's mad, but I like to humour him,
because his improbable inventions make me happy.

He says that its large size is what would make his canoe sea-ready,
and its ivory exterior would ensure
both smooth sailing and the appearance of great wealth,
which is often predicated on ignorant destruction.
I can hardly argue with him.
Who doesn't want to look well off?

There will be a girl goat, Ed said,
because they're nicer than boy goats,
because the boat would be our home, and homes need pets,
and we would rig up an on-board water distillation system,
so that we could save space for other cargo,
like all the breakfast waffles we will need for our journey.

Ed refuses to pick a precise destination,
because, as he keeps telling me,
a giant ivory sea canoe can be nothing but magic,
by which he means
that we're just going to plunk ourselves down in the ocean
and let the Fates drag our sea canoe around the planet.
I am somewhat sceptical,
but Ed is an incurable romantic
and obviously a great believer in magic giant ivory sea canoes
with a goat that, he assures me,
can both mow and fertilize her own food patch.

I haven't yet asked what kind of lessons he is taking
to make our magic giant ivory sea canoe a reality,
but I have faith in Ed,
and, as long as his lessons aren't about
how to kill and dismember wild elephants for their tusks,
I am along for the ride.

Let the magic giant ivory sea canoe adventure commence!
Ed yells over the whine of a band saw.

His excitement must be contagious,
because the goat just unloaded
an impressive amount of fertilizer
on its patch of grass.

This may work out after all.

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135/365: To Be Loved and Seen and Held

2013-05-15T18:48:00Z

Who doesn't want this?
To be loved and seen and held
through all of their days?
I am so blessed to have you,
just one soul to hold my hand.

----------------------------

The above poem is based on the Japanese tanka. ]]>

134/365: Joy Is a Madness

2013-05-15T04:22:17Z

My heart is freed open to joy
with the bliss
of the pendulum's deep drop.

None of this matters,
because all things are erased into anonymity by death.
All of this matters,
because all things are erased into anonymity by death.
Both are true.

We hold it in the moment's sway
through all and nothing,
nothing and all,
all and nothing,
nothing and all,
all and nothing.

Joy is the madness
of both in one
hung in the unbound space
between left and right.

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133/365: Humid Hurry

2013-05-14T05:58:05Z

Asphalt,
softened still by old heat
late at night after a first hot day,
bends to the heel
that presses through
the slick of rainwater
inking the ground.
Thunder thrums heavy and low,
thickening the air with ozone
and the animal familiarity
of humid hurry.

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132/365: Tedium

2013-05-13T03:10:00Z

I eat to survive.
Later, I will defecate.
I'll inhale, exhale.
Some days, this is tedium,
and it devours my will.

----------------------------

The above poem is based on the Japanese tanka. ]]>

131/365: Goodness

2013-05-11T23:21:00Z

A breeze crossed my face,
soft through an open window,
and woke me from sleep.
Life's goodness often happens
quietly, invisibly.

----------------------------

The above poem is based on the Japanese tanka. ]]>

130/365: The Accountants

2013-05-11T05:59:26Z

Whenever I see
saturated video or photographs
of young people looking open and joyful,
I think
Oh no, they will be dead soon,
and also that it will be tragic,
spontaneous and unjustly violent,
their future history disappeared before them,
because that's how it happens:
we love too much,
we see too well,
our joy swells too high and bright,
and then the universe clacks the numbers out
on its machine and says,
Enough,
and the allotment's been spent.

This mourning of every young smile
and every light step
is melodramatic, sure,
but I am watching them go,
dying all the time,
and it is only right that they are known
before the accountants
take their due.

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129/365: A Solitary Unit of Stars' Aftermath

2013-05-10T05:24:28Z

It is the place of anesthesia,
gormless and indiscrete,
and the moments in the dark alone
when you look out into it
and know the whole, hollow weight
of being an only one,
a solitary unit of stars' aftermath
crucified under a blanket,
that leaves you wondering
who will roll the stone away for you.
When you have spent three decades
vigilant enough, but anxious,
leaning into the hope
that the story,
as it is usually told,
will offer you the same affection,
there is not much else to do
but wait it through.

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Schmutzie's Schmoetry

138/365: Wood In the Belly

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137/365: The Dry Cuckoo

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136/365: Ed Norton Fantasy Poem #11, Magic Giant Ivory Sea Canoe

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135/365: To Be Loved and Seen and Held

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134/365: Joy Is a Madness

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133/365: Humid Hurry

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132/365: Tedium

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131/365: Goodness

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130/365: The Accountants

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129/365: A Solitary Unit of Stars' Aftermath

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