Skip to main content

Stuck On A Theme

 Sharing with The Sunday Muse #242.



They will dress me in the tiles that fall
If they leave me dressed at all
They will say I was place apart
Where commerce deep-fried art
 Once, they called my children rats
They sneer past my collapse
They forget themselves in me
I took and sold their stories.

Jim, your post from last week really stuck in my head and inspired a short novella about a mannequin that decided she'd prefer apotheosis to recycling...which means malls and stores are still fermenting in the back of my head. 


Merlin has been suffering from seasonal allergies this past week, which meant he was at the vet yesterday and today is snoozing off his medicine (and all the salmon treats he's been given...bacon of the sea, bacon of the sea, swimming with the fishes so deliciously!) and enjoying the cool & not rainy weather. 

Sending good & cozy wishes!

-- Chrissa 

Comments

  1. I absolutely love your poem for that painting Chrissa! The opening line is wonderful with wonderful rhythm and the closing line is brilliant! I hope that Merlin is feeling better soon. 💙Cozy vibes headed your way too my friend! I hope to read your manaquin novela!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Poor Merlin, a lot of people don't think of their pets as capable of having allergies.
    Your poem, it sounds like she's a nosey and user of their troubles.
    For attorneys, they call this "Ambulance chasing."
    ..

    ReplyDelete
  3. Interesting poem Chrissa; luv that it rhymes. Hope Merlin feels better soon

    Good Sunday
    much❤love

    ReplyDelete
  4. That was an interesting route to take with the photo! I hope Merlin feels better soon!

    ReplyDelete
  5. "Where commerce deep-fried art" !!!!!

    ReplyDelete
  6. I especially love those two opening lines, Chrissa. Feel better quickly, Merlin!

    ReplyDelete
  7. Get better soon Merlin....very cute dog !

    ReplyDelete
  8. Feel better soon Merlin. "They will say I was place apart Where commerce deep-fried art" Love the whole poem, but that is a wow line for me!!

    ReplyDelete
  9. Good wishes for Merlin. My sister has a cat that has asthma. Love you take on this art.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Turn Away

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse , for #193. Turn away, like the moon, listening... Listening to the planet that rumbles with a hundred million slaps. All the feet, all the rockets, all the  pistons in the cars on the asphalt over the chasm where the veins run deep, blue in sunlight, black at night. Running over the chasm.  Once or twice they ran to you. Once or twice they ran by. Greetings and salutations. The sky is an entertaining shade of concrete yellow as the rain promised earlier in the week makes good on its arrival. It's a disturbing bright sallow sky, the kind of sky that puts you in mind of old movies and degraded film stock and the pops and crackles incidental to the main story.  Several years ago I made a resolution to journal more and last year I came across a video that suggested I actually re-read those journals, at least those of the previous year, at the beginning of each new year. Technically, I have kept the journal resolution, making daily notes in...

The Soul and The Spine

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #195 . Come and share! When it blew out the candle, It began to speak, voice low,  eyes dimmer than flame. Jenn believed, once upon a childhood (she's still there... but it's waning), it inhaled fire. Spines, tonight. Gears ladder bones and metal and plastic, all that lived, rungs to heaven. Heaven is a level of space where you can't breathe  so they used to send the dead. When the flame goes, it takes our memories with it. But not bot files. Maybe it believes  she'll sleep easier if bots go breathless, too. It continues murmuring and she pretends she's hearing a confession in a box Like the song her mother plays when the dark stretches  between signals We can handle shocks. She can handle the dark, the small  not-flame of its eyes. It's finally winter!! Which means bitmapped frost on the roofs, cold mornings, and a table full of succulents that are pretty much glaring at me because the kitchen window isn't the same as full su...

A Single (Terrible) Poem

 I did not buy the poetry book whose sample Was page after page of essay and praise. I'm not following the trumpets. Today I follow the ringers-- Huzzah and call out the streets! Lift your arm, swing the bell; Call out the quiet, call out the neat Call out the loud, call out the bold Call out the wrong, call out the wise We remember the bells We shiver the skies.    This isn't about...anything. It's not about nothing. It should go without saying that a poem shouldn't need an essay or a textbook to be what it is. And I'm not sure why, with a stack of poetry at hand to be read, one silly Kindle sample (and writer's block and anxiety and...) would push my buttons so badly. But seriously. Where is my parody book full of fake blurbs that runs for 50 pages and ends with a single (terrible) poem?  -- Chrissa