You think me a delicacy, braised and grilled with tangy sauce– raw, prepared as sushi– in a salad perhaps, tossed. You think my senses merely serve to aid in my survival– that my existence is secondary to what you deserve– a special meal without rival. And what of my disappearance?
My body is all potential, alien to your bones– my way of life, untranslatable as words or thought alone. I study you, your habits, both curious and sly– resisting my captivity, escaping from your limits– forcing you to abide with me if me you wish to study.
I am my own canvas, I paint colors with light and disguise– my form always in flux, I create patterns of magic, surprise. Once we were one, at home in the sea, the waters of birth– since opened by history, cleaved– now you claim land as your own, along with all creatures of earth– disenchanted inside your vast greed.
When I saw the NaPoWriMo prompt this morning, to write a poem that anthropomorphizes a kind of food, the first thing that came to mind was how I could never eat octopus again after reading Peter Godfrey Smith’s book about them, Other Minds. These paintings are from a previous post where I also used the voice of a cephalopod, though not from the point of view of being eaten.
I promised Muri I would attempt an Ode–just as difficult as I expected. And this one needs work. But the octopus is more than worthy as a subject for one
Feed your head they said—what does that really mean? How can any time be larger than now, more extreme than here, this cosmic habitat?
Microscopic, yet infinite– reflected, a mirrored convex lens—adjust, open, refocus your inner outer space—do you need to follow white rabbits to become unbounded—curious?
An espinela poem for Muri’s April Scavenger Hunt with vision as its subject, and following the NaPoWriMo prompt to write a poem that starts with a command. “Feed your head” was, somewhat strangely, the first command that popped into my mind (along with some Jefferson Airplane playing in the background), and fortuitously I had these cut up paintings from the Kick About prompt based on Marie Menken’s film “Lights”, which worked well with the words.
It’s all in context, perspective, how open your senses are to what surrounds you. What you notice. What notices you.
When you stand beside the ocean resonating with each wave, Shimmering beside the ocean ebbing flowing with each wave, It’s as if you’re moving with it spiraling and uncontained.
When the moon shines in your window and it wakes you with its light, Near full moon shines in your window wakes you up with silver light, Even shadows turn to magic and everything’s all right.
When the birds begin the morning fill the air up with their song, Robin cardinal and blue jay sing the sun up with their song, Even grey days seem to open make you feel like you belong.
If someone should think about you get in touch just say hello, An old friend is thinking of you gets in touch to let you know, All your worries are forgotten all those things that brought you low.
Then your mind distills and empties leaving room for what you’re not, All those thoughts retreat get quiet now there’s room for what you’re not, You can hear life’s heartbeat whisper you give thanks for what you’ve got.
For NaPoWriMo Day 18 where the prompt is to to write your own poem that provides five answers to the same question – without ever specifically identifying the question that is being answered. and Muri’s April Scavenger Hunt where one of the prompts is to write a blues poem.
and could I be mistaken for a bird?– whirled inside an everchanging sky, suspended ocean-bound in waves of air and carried clear, aloft, bestirred– a vast and overwhelming need to fly above the trees, beyond and anywhere
like rainbows cast unanchored toward the ground my thoughts unravel, specters drawn and spare– I try to hold my occult gravity, but find the words, my wings, have disappeared without a sound
…and so it begins with essence—unmeasured, all-seeing, untranslatable, present.
What is really there–here? Everywhere. It gathers nowhere, takes all in. Releases the vast emptiness of center. Unpredictable but never random. Jumping through and crossing over. Falling down down down into the other side of what was never, into the opposite of what is.
Only the light. The compass that points in all directions, overlapping and then merging into pure vibration. A conduit of currents, waves with wings, voices without identifiable form or name. Pinpoints glittering against the darkness, floating on the gasp of final breaths, forever on the verge.
Belonging neither to man nor to god nor to anything in between.
Immersed in song.
This prose poem is a revision of a revision of a revision (no doubt to be continued). The art, on the other hand, was an experiment that exceeded my expectations. And so it goes.
For NaPoWriMo Day 15, on the eve of the full moon, where the prompt is to “write a poem about something you have absolutely no interest in”. To put it plainly,
I have no interest in writing a poem about something I have no interest in
But I’m enjoying reading the rants of my fellow poets on the subject.
And why not I thought to myself, why not –Robert Creeley, “Like They Say”
in the beginning and also in the middle and the end I wonder why I am not someone or something else, why I am thinking this thought when there is so much else to consider in the universe that is not myself– so much waiting to be asked why and what and how—so much I am not
Is this the inside of my dream? These days I am cautious of everything—afraid of the future, the past, afraid even of my fear. But this is not the grey noir darkness of the usual tunnels my night journeys follow. There are no trains to miss, no staircases to nowhere. This passageway is alive, a cocoon of possibility opening into an illuminated aperture.
And do I see rabbits? I was born in the Year of the Rabbit. What will we find if we enter into that light?
happy end ings tucked away just in case—I whistle on the wind– birds echo the song
Mish at dVerse has introduced us to the art of Vika Muse:
“I wish I could have manta rays in the sky… instead of Russian bombs and military airplanes. I’ve noticed that my disturbing paintings didn’t make me happier. They cause even deeper depression. So I’ve tried to draw my future. It is bright and sunny. There are no bombs and war… Only beautiful landscapes and dreamlike sky. I hope I’ll meet such a future someday… P.S. Be empathetic with your relatives and value your lifestyle. It’s big happiness to have mundane life and safety and independence. So simple and so valuable.”
secretly you hold the cosmos as if it were a newborn child– you are overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude the latitude the longitude– seamless in its capacity to expand and carry your bones inside your body at the intersection of all dark, all light
The prompt for NaPoWriMo Day 11 is to write a poem about a very large thing. I’ve used the waltmarie form with the subject of healing, prompt 12 from Muri’s April Scavenger hunt. I love the way this form illuminates itself with its interior verse.