All around me, the ugliness and rays.
Those scrimshaw eyes, I’m dizzy with the haze.
My pulsepoint jumped, too cozy with our friend.
My arms and legs, in seesaw wave, betrays.
My husband grins with thoughtfulness and flounce.
With piquant sense, he’s unafraid of pounce.
It alarms me, the claustraphobic crowd -
The stingers rest - in whelm of sea they bounce.
I cannot bear flow’s untenable feast.
A turnabout…disconcerting…at least.
My lipshade sours, I back away, take pause,
As loving spouse does pet and kiss the beast.
I find that modern concentration camps
are now hygienically focused,
fully concentrated upon themselves.
There, every glass wall is a two-way mirror
for the neatly dressed minds of swamp dwellers,
thay who slave away
weaving truth and lies together.
Nevertheless, germaphobia feels dirty all the same.
The eye in the pyramid has gone blind.
Under Benjamine Franklin’s bed
the minted scrimshaw of crisp 100-dollar bills
is chewed down to a dry-mouthed pulp.
Upon the hilly fields of Gettysburg
blood has grown a greener grass,
and yet,
on moonless nights
armies still madly charge at each other.
Call back the horses!
Let the dead fight on.
if you find yourself within those wall-less places
think of the road-kills, whole families of them,
and all they have to wear now
are flea-ridden striped pajamas.
Sharks swim in their bones,
the little teeth of little fish
hollow whales away.
Shrimp and krill
scrimshaw a limitless hunger
upon the white crests
of dark waves.
On a basking beach,
apelike,
the first and last humans
scream at the sun.
When he talks
his tongue articulates
with his every joint
words grate upon his mind.
When he speaks
the house creaks.
He reclines
in a slow simmer of embers.
Fog rises where his thoughts
sleepwalk.
The sleepless scrimshaw their identity
on drifting thought-bones
least they forget to remember.
Insomnia man
stammers and slurs
his myopic visions,
his smudged descriptions.
He has prescriptions,
turgid drugs gurgle
in the cold kettle of his mind
where loosely floating parts of himself
swirl behind bulging
yet sewn-shut
eyes.
Trees turn their features inward.
Cool winds
wander in like stray cats.
A fiery death is in the air.
the party colors
are flame and ash.
Leafy campfires
burn the residue of mammoth bones
long since devolved
into the soot of charred mice.
Autumn is the charnel season,
its love is cruel, its farewells
a promise of relentless demise.
Dead poets scrimshaw its beauty
on last year’s death masks,
mice-tusks root up the sun
to warm the naked spaces.
If I knew how to carve a scrimshaw
I would carve the world’s prettiest scene
I would carve out a catfish jumping out of a lake
After I carved a frog sitting on a lily pad
I would carve one on a dinosaur’s bone
And the other on a whale’s tooth
If he would let me
The mellow chords of a cello draw tears
as its bow vibrates a combo of strings.
And as that sound found its way to my ears:
it pulled on my heartstrings and clipped my wings.
The sorrowful cry of a violin
imbues empathy, felt within its pitch.
And, the moan of a bass fiddle cut in,
emphasizing its power to bewitch.
French horns, like brass thorns, both piercing and sharp,
elevate each note, and I'm left reeling.
And the lingering soft bleat of a harp,
haunts and taunts, with a heavenly feeling.
A full orchestra leaves my soul in awe:
every chord bound to the conductor's will.
Pretentious, yet artistic, like scrimshaw,
a compilation of talent and skill.
Medicine Hat Appaloosa
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Remember free will too has been gifted,
with freedom allied to fate's fickle choice.
Tendered words uttered still..now uplifted,
God provides each one a life and a voice.
Ere life ebbs and scrimshaw scrolled hands beckon,
find strength in Medicine Hat horse's paint.
Flesh prized and spirit bold, yet to reckon,
respectful head bowed, pray it isn't too late.
Of sarcasm's sharp sword, one can ill afford,
cursed hubris' price which is never repaid.
The cost of soul's vows torn in broken chord,
word's sting or solemn praised tapestry made.
To cheat one's own heart with standard-less staff,
turned now to stone, to write lone epitaph.
Poet's note: The Medicine Hat Appaloosa is the poem.
Quoth TheRaven - 7 July 2019
Chair of Fire
My father's naughehyde
recliner was the dusky,
sudden pink of pale pigs.
Hair-oil halo
Scrimshaw headrest
He died in bed
My brother, Richard,
did not weep...
he hosed out the hulk
that had held
our father's
few possessions
My brother burned
that old recliner
in a greasy
reluctant fire
Gasoline hissing like snakes
took the place of tears
I starts me life as pirate,
A grommet before age twelve,
Not an ordinary bandit,
High sea adventures me delve.
With a Letter of Marque in me han’
And the Commodore for me pa!
I spends dogwatch near the helmsman,
Nerey missin’ me bonny ma.
Old salts tell their gory tales,
Aye, dogs hanging from the gallows.
Punishments for a man who fails
Floggings or keelhaul; blood bath follows.
Scrimshaw hangin’ ‘round me neck.
A privateer by trade,
Flaunting booty on the deck
We’s the scallywags brigade.
Pirateering is me heartthrob.
I dreams schemes in the crows nest.
‘bout takin’ swag from an unfortunate swab.
I sits watchin’ pa from the crest.
Long nines aimed and ready,
Jolly Roger on the mainmast,
Headway fast and steady,
The enemy’s fate forecast.
One for all and all for one!
Drinkin’ grog an’ eatin’ grub.
Werkin’ on the “Morning Sun”
Me father at the hub.
Davy Jone’s locker, me final plight!
Death drifting in me beloved sea –
Straightway from the dark of night
The pirate’s life for me!
© July 15, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
A crescent of geese sickles toward the forest.
No one will notice the hallelujah chorus
Singing claret and briar at evening's crest,
Changing to cherry wood in the West.
It is dark molasses time, the seasons run.
Air like frosted glass is melting toward the sun,
Swooping up barn swifts now ready for the sea;
Scrawled like scrolls, unfurling, rolling free--
Spilling to the hills now moving toward meerschaum,
Catching the clockwork of the snow so calm
In its conception; a storm of silver bees
Scratching season's scrimshaw on the milk glass sky with trees.
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