A titmouse lands in the dead cherry tree, reaches into the cracked bark, pulls out a sunflower seed and taps it open, pausing twice to sing.
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Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow
Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow
A titmouse lands in the dead cherry tree, reaches into the cracked bark, pulls out a sunflower seed and taps it open, pausing twice to sing.
Comments are closed.
Matins
From under the cracked
bark of a dead cherry,
a titmouse fishes out
a sunflower seed. Sing twice,
small herald of mercy–
once for the husk
that housed the kernel,
and one more time
for the milky heart that blesses
your tongue and gut.
– Luisa A. Igloria
01 30 2011
Sent from my Blackberry
A.
What is A?
A is A.
It opens, non-
blurry mercy,
thricely.
And B.
B curls twice
into itself.
Small
mercies – it tucks
the corners into bed.
C?
I miss
you already;
should have kept
my arms closed.
D
isn’t D
prived of
another half.
Its smile is full,
its single string
is taut with D
light.
E, so regal
in upper case,
it’s easy to forget
how the commonest letters
can close their fists.
(I am over-thinking these!)
F
I combed
the seashells
out of my hair,
would my songs
change?
(Now that’s what I’m talking about! I can’t stop being metaphysical. See below.)
F: the first curse
must begin softly,
with your closest companion
E, then ef
it up.
G
Gravitas is
the gooseneck lamp
above the foldout desk,
the grizzled poet poring
over goldenrods or
geraniums.
H,
how I learned to hate
that chair in the hall!
I
stare
at my
paperwhite
reflection, my
starry
I
J
hides
in my I
and waits to be baited.
N
When
was the last
time I clambered
up a slide and
rode it, rapid
down– which
seemed
up?
L
begins with E—
like F, except
it keeps what F loses
and thus becomes
so much lovelier.
N:
as above, so below,
said the god with the head
of an ibis.
(Clearly, we each need to do an N!)
Again, a bright use of apostrophe. Luisa Igloria is establishing a record for “poetry on the run.” Excellent.
Bob and Luisa use ideography to stimulate an experience. I particularly like B tucking corners into bed.
These are digital art that builds on the tradition of architectonics on the page. They recall Apollinaire, Andre Breton, Jose Garcia Villa, and Ezra Pound.
Good eyes, good minds.
Kisses
go straight
to the
point.
That was for K –
I’m getting a little confuzzled about the reply streams, Dave!
L
Let me in, let me in.
I came in late at H,
so here’s my pitch,
and may I join the game?
H
Hold it, hold it, hold it—lest the bridge fall
Between the two I’s (of Head and Heart);
While linking they might yet break the wall
That divides them where they always part,
Where one thinks and the other feels:
Head: I think. Heart: Therefore, I love.
Finally they get it, as one to the other seals:
There is Hope still, so come hither, my dove.
M
Uh, oh. There goes the bridge
Down between the posts of M.
I am off the game.
M
primal letter MA
with her mountains
of milk.
N
The bridge is propped up,
becomes a slide from top
of left post to bottom right,
but off to Mass I go, and so good night.
Night, Luisa; night, Dave.
Until then on Morning’s Porch, save
the rhymes, save the reasons
why poetry is a game for all seasons.
Besides, I am too old for slides,
Luisa, can’t go down nor up besides.
Pardon the doggerel, Luisa and Dave.
I must hie to church and my soul save.
O
the moon
approves
all round
and endless
pleasures.
Thanks for playing, Albert! Unfortunately, I was off making supper for the family.
A little confession, Dave. In church, I could not concentrate on my Oremus. I had to get back to this.
Thank you, Luisa, and Bob (He started it!) for this chance at spontaneous levity.
I enjoyed it.
P
plays tennis
on the side.
Q
Shy,
left-
behind
one,
you make
a quiet
coda
to this
parade.
R
Half rebus,
half hieroglyph,
hoisting its one
good wing.
S
Slalom slopes
are one-way
downers, but
look how S
is truly up
and downers.
Like life.
T
Tell me
one
clear
thing:
I’d like
to hear
not two-
way signals
tilting in
the wind.
Love that. Hooray for the one good wing!
Meant to put this under R
T
Did they have to nail
those hands and feet
on that tree in Golgotha?
The pastor asked why?
Why not? I muttered.
After all, they are arms
outstretched to hold us all.
So Miss Kilmer sang to us
in Sunday school:
“I think I shall never see,
a poem as lovely as this tree.”
U
Upturned
like a mouth,
like a well
under the stars;
upended,
umbrella
deflecting
asterisks
and commas.
U
Like a streetcar
named desire,
it has its start,
its curb, its turn,
its way back.
I would not want
to get out there
anymore if I did
not have a guide,
a map, a way back
home like U.
S
We were both lost,
though heading in
opposite directions.
“Have you seen my white eye?”
“Have you seen my black?”
V
Verily:
it all
comes
down to
a point.
Too similar to your K. Let me do this one.
You have
a point.
V’s yours.
– – –
W
Window shaded
with accordion pleats–
wistful is the one
who leans out;
watercolors in the distance.
V
In the anatomy
of the ear, this is
the part called
the chantarelle.
Love “chantarelle”.
Hi Luisa,
A brief PS …
In Dutch, we have ‘cantharel’, which is a kind of mushroom, used in the better restaurants for mushroom soup. Am suddenly wondering if that part of the ear is shaped like one.
*banana grin*
Ella
Ella, it is precisely that mushroom I meant. In reality, there is no such organ in the ear — but there should be!
Chantarelle is such a lovely word. I thought of cochlia, but that would have been C rolled up in a spiral. So of course I had to google it . The description says the mushroom is funnel shaped (V) but when I looked at pictures it looks more like the outside of the ear. Either way it is lovely word that rolls so easily off the tongue, and thanks to you I learned something new today. : )
W
Tattoed on his bicep,
the “W” tells him:
Beware the roads you
take, or roads not taken.
The ups and downs of W
match those of living.
There is a final road to
glory, the last leg goes up
to one other V: Victory
over the bondage
of this body.
You have V and X, therefore.
– – –
Here’s Y.
– – –
Y
I yield
to you
as to warmer
wind– the two
top buttons
come undone.
X
The road to Erewhon,
“nowhere” to you, is
marked with an X:
Do not go there.
X
Whenever the numbers
go on strike,
here’s your scab:
four strong limbs
ready for any value.
No pesky head.
Z
We glide
from one axis
to another,
in order to
begin again,
defying
zero.
You hooligans have kept me so distracted (I’m mock complaining, natch!) from writing my conference paper. Back to the salt mines for me, argh! G’night :)
Z
I will leave the sandbox
for a while, porch friends,
and rest these weary haunches.
Am sure I need my
ZZZZZZZs
like you need yours,
lest I accelerate
to an ultimate zero.
The night is good
despite the snow,
so goodnight, too,
Luisa, Dave, and
Barbara. Do not
stay up too late.
Tomorrow is Monday.
V
A sea gull
(with two good wings)
guarding the sacred fire of dawn
like a vestal virgin
This was so entertaining I had to try one.
Hi Barbara!
Hi Dave ! Thnaks for telling me to check it out – I got some good chuckles from it. Now I want to write and paint both. In between making jewelry and sculpting clay. Somehow I think this winter is just not going to be long enough. : )
Open-mouth O!
What fun…
Now that seems like a Sunday parlor game rescued from the nineteenth century.
Porch, not parlor! But yeah.
very, very lovely little poems. an alphabet like a grown-up version of the ones in my toddler’s alphabet books.
I’m dazzled, and speechless.
Hey, I had no idea you were having so much fun over here on the porch!