polysemy
protrudes, prodding power
letting chiasma
churn and curdle
ply poet-marriage:
an anankean lockless key—a dower
set upon a
dorseless tower
I eat my crow,
drowned in chowder
time sealed in
the wicking willow wood
—CODA—
I don’t want to
be solved
I want to be
inhabited
working in
dream-logic
surrealist
disjunctive fissures
places where
contradictions coexist
that is—
precisely
pointless
=======
In honor of St. Patrick's Day and for the Daniel Henry Rodgers' "Green To The Gills" Contest, I chose a poetry form to describe briefly at least seven of the most familiar of Irish creatures. I find the belief they must have once had in these myths to be fascinating. The poem form Debide is strange and a bit difficult, but I thought it worked well for what I wanted to show because each one is a little poem for the creature being described. See in notes above how to do the form.
The Banshee
delivers a death decree.
Her scream is horrid to hear
near.
A rabbit
could become Pooka’s habit.
With mischief he makes a swift
shift!
If maybe
a changeling were your baby,
that stand-in is not a mild
child!
In water,
the Selkie’s not an otter.
On land, is he still a real
seal?
The creature
*Dubh-Aos’ horrid feature:
Is he carrying a head
dead?
A fairy
is not Tinker-bell airy.
Leprechaun’s type is a tad
bad.
Of terror
Fear Darrig is a bearer.
Cause you nightmares? This Red Man
can!
*Doubh-Aos sounds like Doo-Ace and
with apostrophe is three syllables
Whenever I speak of you,
people think I am narrating a legend.
They don’t understand
that I am confessing a truth
too sacred for ordinary language.
In every story they hear,
I stand as Krishna,
and you rise as Radha —
a love so fierce
it survives separation,
distance,
time itself.
But Radha and Krishna
were written in longing.
Their love was divine,
yet unfinished in this world.
And I ache—
because I do not want a love
that lives only in memories and metaphors.
I want a story
that does not fade at dusk.
If destiny were merciful,
if the heavens chose completion over yearning,
then our names would not echo in separation.
They would be carved in permanence.
Then I would not be Krishna—
bound to distance—
I would be Shiva,
and you, my Parvati.
Not a love that waits.
Not a love that wonders.
But a love that meditates together,
burns together,
creates and destroys together—
two souls in divine union,
unshaken by time,
unbroken by fate.
Let the world call it a story.
I call it prayer.
I call it destiny
waiting to be fulfilled.
From now, until whenever,
She's just as clever
Divine and fine as wine
A dialect revived by queens and dutchesses
But a woman's heart is just as hard as a mason's arch
You are gonna need your library card
No more yielding to anything
Like my mythological lily or winged cupid
Distinguishing, but dreamy
Be gentle
Humble yourself to a mumble
But if we quarrel,
Do not reprehend.
If we break apart, I'll mend you!
I've got to be honest,
I need a tissue
I adore you
My mythological lily
"Phoenix Raine"
My fabulous firebird
You burn up with rage
And fall into a pile of hot ashes
Then your tears "Raine" down to put them out
You are renewed
Fresh and ready to share yourself again
During your moontimes
Hormones turn you into a dragon
Protecting your treasures
Your heart, spirit and emotions
With roaring and flames
But that passes too
And once again you share your treasure
With all who come near you
You are a fairy
Flitting around on wings of kindness
Helping everyone
Looking after babies to give mothers a break
Always there for everyone
Your smile lights the world
And your inner beauty shines in your face
You are my mythological child
And I love you
Were
the
poems
of Oisin
a translation or
Jamie Mac's imagination ?
Note:James Macpherson author in 1762 of Fingal(Finn mac cool) epic on the 'White Stranger'of Irish mythology and Giants Causeway legend.
Flinging, splattering,dripping drop..by..drop
Unaware of the present,random spontaneity
in liquid flowing paint.
Motion made visible,memories
arrested in space,the painting
lives a life of its own in pure
harmony of easy give and take.
Her garden is the one we love.
It's as if she knows we're here.
She has statues like us all around.
And flowers to bring us cheer.
At summer solstice it's party time.
Shaded by trees from bright sunshine.
We faries join the pixies.
The gnomes bring summer wine.
She has paths lit by candles.
to guide us home again.
Toadstools along the way,
should a drizzle spoil our play.
Surrounded by mature trees.
No prying eyes can see.
Us merrily dancing on our way.
Home to Tir na nOg go we.
Land of Youth is where we live.
Beneath her garden, out of sight.
The intoxicating scent of her roses,
sometimes bring us back at night.
when Eros marries
Eos you get a nuance
of love at daybreak.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.