A mannequin stands
in the neon of night
head slightly canted
harlequin-right
fashionably clothed
in the brand-names of youth
arms shiny rods
with no digits forsooth
if able I think
his thumb he would raise
and he’d give me a wink.
Harlequin is moody and sad
Columbine is acting crazy again
His behaviour was extremely bad
Readily accepting part of the blame.
Difficult Columbine plays hard to get
She's furious with his mad antics
Plotting revenge to make him regret
Before long she will have him frantic.
Harlequin decided he would make-up
He bought an expensive bouquet
Columbine looked and muttered yuck
She definitely has "feet of clay".
Harlequin skyline
is playing a joke on you;
Those tears won’t nourish.
Heed this warning, dear ladies,
Sage advice I would impart:
Don't waste your love on a man
With a harlequin heart.
He can never be trusted,
His words won't be sincere,
He will never be faithful,
And he won't shed a tear
When your dreams lie in tatters
And he's left you alone,
And he'll never endeavor
For his sins to atone.
For a while he'll beguile you,
But in the end you will find
You cannot caress a river,
You cannot embrace the wind.
He's here today and gone tomorrow,
He'll take his pleasure then depart,
And the sorrow you will treasure
Is all you'll have with which to measure
What it's like to love a man
With a harlequin heart.
Author's note: After reading Ann Peck's piece "A Seasonal Love", I once again dug into my archives and found this offering. I hope none...or not many...of you dear lady readers have experienced this kind of guy.
Gems, stones, pebbles and crystal
Are the only assets we gleefully haul
Harlequin wonders on the ground stealthily crawl
But monochrome human eyes rarely enthralled
Red, green, blue, orange and yellow
gems dance in the mid of the meadows
From the rainbows the colors they cling
Blend with sand and river and they do mixing
Some fly, some scramble, and some sleep
Some sing, some dance and some creep
Some make the silent night musical
Some paint the dull place colorful
Failing to fathom these nature's abundant treasures
We miss the chance to relish heavenly pleasures
A harlequin in Mississippi
His father a priest, his mother a hippy
He gives sermons for hours
While she waltzes through flowers
He finds them quite far out and trippy
1/17/22
harlequin
cotton clouds billow
feisty winds in frisky moods ~
thunder creeps closer
lightning bursts run wild
driving rain thrashes tree tops ~
leaves flash silver hues
harlequin sunbeams
spring stretches across calm skies ~
storm makes get away
4-19-21
Contest: Spring Haiku Chain
Sponsor: M. L. Kiser
"Hearing the Harlequin"
Mute
Blues and greens
Picasso spins his brush
on his canvas she appears
playing
a Mandolin
in his dreams
Felt
She is seen
through another's story
L’Oiseau bleu,
Captured Queen
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Felt Mountain" / Goldfrapp
https://youtu.be/qLySQ-zuULI
1.
Picasso
Girl with Mandolin
The Seated Harlequin
2.
Metzinger
L’Oiseau bleu
Pablo Picasso / Seated Harlequin - Self-Identity & Picasso's Harlequin
https://www.swarthmore.edu/writing/self-identity-and-picassos-harlequin
Pablo Picasso / Seated Harlequin 1901 / The Met
https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/489124
Pablo Picasso / Girl with Mandolin 1910/
http://www.pablopicasso.net/girl-with-a-mandolin/
Jean Metsinger/ L'Oiseau bleu
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L%27Oiseau_bleu_(Metzinger)
Jean Metsinger/Cubism
https://study.com/academy/lesson/jean-metzinger-paintings-cubism-biography.html
Marceau leans on air.
His ethereal stage, a muse.
Walls and limits come and go.
Rubber, his body
knowing what it wants.
His muscle’s tale born
in luster under polished light.
Each spectator becomes a believer,
each observer willingly accepts,
how hands make intangible dimensions,
how legs scale vaporous stairways.
You should never ask what they saw.
This myth maker made by
his allegory.
This illusion maker made by
his parable.
The converts so silent in
their seats.
The stage of rollick,
while viewers undergo the idyllic.
He ends
knowing each convert summoned their
symbolic order.
He ends
relying on collective unconsciousness.
He finishes
aware his act exists
only in the mind
of each beholder.
Damn me ...
Damn me straight to hell ...
All this time ... all these many miles ...
All the masks and tears and self-flagellation ...
All the changes and promises and lonely nights and dreams ...
All the YEARS that I haven't so much as heard your voice or seen your eyes ...
All the others that have come and gone and come again, admonishing ...
All the poems full of my essence and bitterness and confessions ...
All the songs written and sung and cursed to dirty silence ...
All the rattled screams to the gaping wound of heaven ...
All the cursed, forsaken ghosts drowned in my blood ...
All the phantoms sacrificed to hell for your sake ...
And I am still that silly heartsick boy ...
I. Am. Still. Your. Damned.
FOOL.
On clear nights, if you wish
to toast to the man in the moon
with a glass of fine wine,
you will find no smile on his face.
He laughs no more,
barely conceals his tears
beneath his chalk-white make-up.
For him, pain and ecstasy
were mere shadow puppets
of a sense of happiness
which took a long time dying.
After the magic and mystery,
love, like inspiration,
hurried to the end.
He wishes not that pain be his alone,
no longer his sole possession.
Each nerve of his that winces,
he bequeaths to every one.
the rest of his life
now perches up there,
turned harlequin.
for all the world to see.
(Glorified Pear Honey)
The lowly pear,
no zip, no burn.
Major juice, anemic flavor.
Add orange and lemon for bite.
Grind all to blend.
Add sugar for sweetness,
cook, covered, in 200 degree oven,
eight or more hours,
as you sleep.
Upon awakening,
add maraschino for color,
seal in sterilized jars,
store in pantry.
Pear Honey
on morning toast,
grants a baklava morning,
without the fat.
cfa© 10/4/2014
Turn your cheap tricks;
And we all turn our backs,
Nobody will laugh at a jester like that.
Your black and your white,
Now an unrighteous grey,
It seems there's no call for a joker today.
You can play to the devil
And the fallen kings too...
Who else would have time for a fool such as you?
Gulpin’ kelp, keepin’ me trim…
Fill it to the rim!
Vagabond dope
Don’t do dope
Thriftydrift Frank
Never seen the bank
Sillypill Willy
Sportin’ shrunken lily
KellyJane Superbeg
Win the game, show the leg
Sandy Candy
Not too dandy
Beachnymph scrapeape
Frictionwitch lacergrate
Fishydish squishywish
Krabknish quitedelish
I put on my finest and set it in my mind, to
win your precious heart. I took great pain and
effort my best to you to impart. Then I came
before you, to laly my treasures at your
feet . I sang to you sweet love songs and
wrote your poetry. I bowed down before you on
bended knee. Alas you paid no notice, and from
my presence you did flee. Now at a distance I
behold you earnestly. Your beauty is so
radiant, your spirit strong and free. I gasp as
I glance at the revelation
I see. Now I've made a vow to myself and
burned it in my mind, to never give up, to
somehow get it right. I'll come to you at day
break, at mid-day there I'll be, I'll come to
you at midnight and sneak into your dreams.
I'll never wain or grow weary of seeking
after thee. Perhaps I'll never win you, this
might surely be, but I'll never give up. I'll
always be the fool in love with thee.
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