Phalanxes of plastic ducks: wizards, barbarians-- the occasional detective-- swirl in the giant conundrum. Plastic dolls (fashion dolls?), no judgement on brand or aisle or hair, especially now, hear the canard-verse via pathways laid down in heat, in formless transformations. They know the wars. They know the strategies. They know the tidal energies. Or so Mandy says, holding a damp doll by the hair, dripping on the carpet, sleepy as an oracle fresh from a hot spring [or a bath] prophesying plastic. It's been a week since The Sunday Muse. And I'm working on the Indie Summer Read/Writeathon (currently reading Rocket Science and enjoying the drama) and working on other projects...but I find that I'm missing my Sunday poetry. :) -- Chrissa
Luv that you challenge us to ponder with your opening Line.
ReplyDeleteHappy Sunda Chrissa. Thanks for dropping by my blog today
Much💛love
I choose to remain in this place of beauty ..... a lovely poem, Chrissa.
ReplyDeleteTo stay or to leave - you leave us an enticing choice.
ReplyDeleteOh. Chrissa this is absolutely gorgeous!! I love the invitation to make such a lovely choice!
ReplyDeleteThe cleansing light in the Chapel calls, nicely told, Chrissa.
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Why do you think the chapel is empty? That hits the reader immediately wondering why? If only light could cleanse this world of all the madness.
ReplyDeleteThat opening question doesn't let go of the reader, even past the last line. You give the challenge and the choice with such directness, it's inescapable, and inviting at the same time. Yeah, I'll choose the chapel.
ReplyDeleteYou caught me at that first line. Love "this cell of honey and umber".
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