”One does find elegance, sovereignty of soul, the discernment of thought, and unimaginable beauty in the oddest of places ... A Lady of The Royal Court ? A Courtesan of a wealthy Nobleman? No. One has only to open one's eyes and mind to know the possessor of such charms would take to such places of status as a snake takes to water.”
My first encounter with ” La Dame en Noir ” ... Open air poetry reading ... A beach at Trouville, Normandy ... Summer 1875 ... She would later publish under le nom de plume ” Anon ” which became a rebellion in itself for all women, whose works of prose and poetry would be repeatedly rejected by publishers if authored by a woman. Her best known work ” Philistine ” was published in the Autumn of 1879. She also went on to publish much of her work authored under the single letter ” J ” ... When queried by a local columnist what it stood for. She answered with a straight face, ”
Why it comes after, I”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The dragon lies in its burning remains~
a furnace of teeth snuffed out,
its igneous breath hardening
into black, sooty scales.
You stand where the pyre was,
your sword no longer shiny,
dulled by ash and effort,
a weapon that did its job
asking for no acknowledgement,
no revelry.
This is how victory sleeps:
not in banners or ballads,
but in the quiet settling of smoke,
in the way your hands shake
when they have nothing left to hold.
The villagers will come~
they always do
to poke at the carcass,
to marvel at the size of
the dragon’s claws.
But you know the truth:
dragons are not slain by heroes.
They are undone by the stubborn,
by those who refuse
to become kindling.
And now,
with the monster’s heat
still radiating from the earth,
you feel the oddest thing~
the absence of its roar,
the space it leaves behind,
like a missing tooth
your tongue keeps finding.
you may read the accompanying memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/victory_over_the_fire-breathing_dragon_13612
Before nodding off in bed and on the cusp
of wide awake and fast asleep
when I can't keep my eyes open
while drifting down into darkness deep
the oddest thoughts cross my mind
without so much as a single warning
but even stranger still of it's own free will
it recalls them all come the morning
where they originate I can't say
as fleeting flybys quite romancy
they're not dreams or so it seems
but nightly random flights of fancy
People say the oddest things
not realizing their faux pas
Given the chance to self correct
they usually fail miserably
Is it malice or stupidity
~ unlikely we'll ever know
AP: 3rd place 2025
Salt a gin and tonic,
It’s too dry.
Assault my temple with sin,
Be honest,
You like the rye.
Look me in my honest eye,
Conversations with myself are the fondest,
Because no one understands me better when I rhyme.
Took a pen and across the paper it slides,
Scribble out the oddest lines.
Apply pressure to the page,
Trickle out ink until the pen has died.
Wet ink is promised to eventually dry,
But tomorrow isn’t promised,
For some reason I can’t help but question why?
After four portions of Moët fine wine,
I tend to think of life as if it’s all just a waste of time.
If tomorrow could be withdrawn then what’s the point of the “grand design”?
If tomorrow I wake up past dawn,
Should I consider myself only one step closer to dying?
Don’t overstep,
The temple has redrawn the walls and implores you to walk within the lines.
It’s not perfect,
But nothing’s wrong with second best.
When it stops hurting,
In comes walking Sudden Death.
We can’t always be our very best,
Attempting perfect,
It feels like burning,
The scars left behind showcase regret.
They said this strange man ate his squirrel:
such a lovely arboreal rodent, a creature that nibbles.
First he eats its legs, then its body,
but omits the heart. That is precious.
What? We do not eat a squirrel?
Boiled, broiled, roasted or raw? With sprinkles?
There are strange people who choose
certain creatures of fur. But never one that gnaws?
And those spirited, spunky sprinkles?
There are strange folk who resist a pitter-patter,
with or without a squirrel, whether it be boiled or broiled,
even roasted or raw - without those sprinkles
and, of course, those spatters.
There are funny folk.
They don’t eat an arboreal gnawer?
And do we think of Gnawer and his ark - with squirrels?
So odd how we ponder
on creatures of fur, with or without
those spirited, spunky sprinkles.
Brains do the oddest of things.
(20 Sep 2024)
Marquetta’s funeral
it is the oddest I have seen
held not in her hometown, but several hours away
in a place she has not lived for fifty years
most of her friends are in their nineties
they do not drive, cannot get to this place
even their children do not drive well,
for they are in their seventies
two of her children planned this fiasco
without telling their three siblings
it became the Julie show
Julie is the youngest, it has always been the Julie show
Julie is the main speaker,
she speaks about herself
I, I, me,
Me, me, I
I am successful.
I am glorious.
I am great.
I am astounded.
When will Marquetta’s name be mentioned?
It is not mentioned at all.
I stare at Julie.
She has not changed. It is still the Julie show.
They say that the truth is a hard thing to take,
but maybe it’s time that we see
that we as a people are nothing but fake,
ensuring that’s how it will be.
We stand up demanding there’s tolerance,
doing so with our fists in the air.
It’s truly the oddest dance ever been danced,
hypocrisy beyond compare.
We claim we want peace but we seek the next fight
as we keep our guns close to the door.
Convincing ourselves that we stand for what’s right
when the truth is we’re actually just bored.
We say that we want to be free men,
while we ride our past into the ground.
We claim that we run from our demons,
but we really just keep them around.
And we live our lives waiting for the next offense,
needing others to kindle the flame.
We’re a common collective without common sense
like the scarecrow not having a brain.
So, let’s go on pretending we live for the truth
but the truth is we’re living a lie,
for each soul who actually lives for the truth…
we find a way to crucify.
Unexpectedly I grew old.
Yesterday I was seventeen
With all my hopes and silly dreams.
I was often told,
Do not grow old,
Old age is for the very brave.
But I didn’t listen, hadn’t a care,
Chose to ignore the odd grey hair,
Chose not to believe what harsh sunlight revealed,
Preferring candlelight and what it concealed.
Found ways to excuse the much slower pace,
Getting through life was never a race,
Found missing items in the oddest of places
And laughed off the memory lapses.
Then waking one night to silence and darkness
I knew it was time to confess,
I had wasted my life, had not taken chances
Had not taken part in life’s myriad dances,
Never seized the moment, never chose to dare,
Never waltzed through life with hardly a care.
And now I knew I could no longer ignore
What the rest of my life had in store:
A time to reflect,
A time of regret,
With only myself to blame.
Hidden Face Man of Des Moines was carrying his steed to Derby Town.
It’s the oddest sight, agreed a jokester, a monkey, a duck and a clown.
Onlookers wanted to take a peek, for it is not a matter of course
When you see a man in a turban carrying a brown upside down horse.
They are the oddest cats in church the toms agree
We secretly nicknamed them the fluffy high-haired three
Their hair is odd, cotton-candy fluffy, colored like spun sugar too
They stand around giving us come hither looks said Tom named Lou
I was highly interested in knowing which ones they were said Clem.
When I turned I instantly understood which ones were them.
They looked like they had cotton candy stuck all over their heads.
This guess was made by my outgoing cousin Fred who takes meds.
he was the oddest surveyor elf I had ever met
seemed weirdly familiar, strange too, and yet….
I was drawn to his ways, and watched him with pride.
As he measured and wrote down stuff he did hide.
what do you think? I asked him. Are they on my property?
That is for the computer to decide. We shall see, we shall see.
I could not wait for him to return, he was a funny little guy.
He mailed me the results, which nearly made me cry.
I had been drawn to him, and wanted to see him again and again.
What was it about him? asked my mother, father and twin.
Not sure, but I had been snoggersmacked by the likes of this elf.
I felt sad I would never see him again, confused by myself.
Would anybody again board a ship
In which he'd shaken hands with hardship
Luckily saved by God we worship
Nearly the sharks joined from a flag ship?
Would one for the sake of kinship
Try the riskier journey of Airship
For a life to whom goes ownership
Or might one forfeit one's clear headship?
For God's sake let's shun every vessel
That makes one with oddest life wrestle.
On men mounting the oddest pressure,
Little time for the truest leisure;
Many doctors neatly can measure
The losses from the things we treasure...
It's a breathless pursuit of treasures
And ceaseless the cases of seizures,
Many a chapter lent to rude closures
That's for us treasure and pressures...
Then, let us fail not the right measures
To romances reduce with seizures:
I would rather it came last Treasure
And, first, how to Safe Dangers measure.
My friend came in wearing the oddest expression.
I thought someone had died, my first impression.
She has a new job, pays as much as she makes here.
Will get more appreciation, that is abundantly clear.
I did not understand the tears, in no way did see….
“I will miss you, “she said. “You always avidly support me.”
Surely there are other people in her life who lift her up!
We will be friends forever, I tell her. I am your pup!
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