Fate and Destiny wrapped in obscurity
beneath such troubled stone
where wisdom once trod sure in maturity
they wrestle for the throne
In the well of dreams
there your dragons lie
Citations:
*Victorovich, Schekinov Alexey. “Vortigern meets Merlin.” World History Encyclopedia, 23 May 2017, https://www.worldhistory.org/image/6697/vortigern-meets-merlin/.
*https://ztevetevans.wordpress.com/2017/07/05/the-prophecy-of-merlin-the-two-dragons/
The Feminine Divine: A Love Letter to Laverne by Marianne Peel
-for Laverne Zabielski of Lexington, KY: fabric artist, poet, activist, feminist
She stands unhunched over her cauldron
at the chime of midnight.
Not a stewpot of eye of newt,
or tail of toad.
Hers is a brew
of dandelion wine
and blistered berries,
of bruised boysenberries
and salvaged milkweed.
A temptation of palettes
spun from the opening
of a restless umbrella.
She can see the rhododendrons
blossoming in your stomach,
the ficas tree fermenting in your esophagus,
the cabbages flowering in your cataracts.
She drapes livers and lungs
on the walls and rooftops.
The house as body.
The house as a place
where we hang our sweat-rimmed hats,
our dripping overcoats,
the slick skin of our flesh.
Hers is a laundry of elegance.
A clothesline of silks
waltzing between marigolds and gladiolas.
Here, slide into this pulp of oranges,
this pith of a shawl.
Come,
unveil your layered life,
this textured act of power
wrapped around your shoulders.
Listen,
and if your place your ear
atop the shimmering shibori dye
you will hear your own desires
bursting like a Kentucky harbinger of spring.
Let the not quiet
roar.
I saw upon the treacherous winter seas
the glint of manmade day from lonely tower.
Pillar of light that warns of treachery,
guide this, our ship, from natures vengeful power
I man the helm and point our lady straight,
the lighthouse carefully kept on starboard side.
No cargo on this ship, my only freight
my love, the dearest to my heart, my bride.
Her trusting gaze gives comfort to my heart
as thunderous waves come bearing salty death.
we are rebuffed, the run once more to start.
That glinting lighthouse beam alone soothes breath
The tower, a hope in which I place my trust
or else we’ll be as rotting wood and rust.
Space leans / Against the back of a store-bought sofa-
outside, my toes are ready to take a late-morning coffee lunch… bird whistles clash against the soaring of our Easter polka-dotted memories… with threaded iron and possum lace stitching vines against the exodus of ice-cube harmony in my Mason
jar glass… sweet, sweet cherry balm… Here, rest I in a wanting state, steeped soft
in the muddy water romper of my family’s tradition and KY shale mud.
Time starts / Rest in Peace. A moment of silence for Big Lots.
When cow pie cakes your boots,
and you stomp across our kitchen,
I am still here.
If the bottom riser on the back steps
comes loose again,
I am still here.
Though you put empty ice cube trays back in the freezer,
ignore uneven chair legs and again
forget to unclog the kitchen drain,
still I am here.
When mud puddles,
the baler breaks,
the John Deere stalls
and bottles of homebrew explode in the cellar,
indeed, I am still here.
I am here when Lafferty’s cows come through the fence again –
me, a white nightgown grabbing my ankles
as I chase them up the drive.
When Orion rises in the night sky,
and your furious voice rattles the teacups,
I will remain
as long as I can touch the scar on your chin,
the one I put there.
I have this theme in my latest dreams
where I lay in your arms,
un-possessive, but your heart is mine
as I drift to sleep, you morph
into my own insecurities;
transformed into a man
I once knew before I met you—
whose affections mixed with anger,
his tongue still lashing violence.
To awake, no longer yours,
left unheld, tending
to these inherent demons
that I cannot call mine.
summer afternoons
tend to feel like mornings
as spring classes wind down
and there’s a breath before fall
the dogs clobber around upstairs
making their voices known
the cats meow and beg
even after a big meal
the dollar store blanket
shields the sunlight
from peaking through
not yet ready to face the day
still tired from late night chatting
but cars rev up their engines
leaving for day jobs, errands,
only they know
and we just sit here talking
as the yellowed walls watch us
spots telling their own story
the floor has its own city
cluttered in trinkets
which we swear
we’ll clean this weekend
and here i sit
all cozy in my favorite blanket
ignoring holes that make my legs cold
on our thrifted couch
thrown out by the neighbor
guess that’s why trash can be treasure
we just talk for hours
forgetting about the world
and all its responsibilities
about the rent due in 3 days
the electricity due in 4
the apartment
that’s just falling apart
but who cares?
when this kind of safety
means everything to me
a kind of safety that I’ve never known.
her bittersweet sickness
curls in my chest
lingering.
she twists my mind
into a pile of inarticulate
gibberish.
i hate her.
her poison has no
physicality
it rests in fear
in dark places
my mind refuses to
linger.
i cannot rid myself of her
instead i bask in bitterness,
cling to sweetness
in fleeting spots of sunshine.
Once you were filled with living
The sounds of celebrations and laughter
Snores in the night, arguments and tears
Your walls holding those snuggling within
Adorned with pictures, children’s paintings
Mirrors reflecting passings from room to room
Kitchens let loose smells rising from wood stoves
Replaced by gas and electric ones as years rolled by
Stairs worn by many footfalls, some fast, some slow
Were sanded down, broken steps replaced, later carpeted
Now your roof is sagging, porches fallen, windows broken
Those who lived here as fractured and faded as their memories
You fall into lonely disrepair, no one left to care for you
As time slips into another era where everything is new and fast
And flashy that will ebb and disappear, receding into a distant past of
Lost manifestations to be forgotten when they are no longer of consequence
