Posts Tagged female speaker

ODOP: You Are Here

Arrived in this place for the pretext of dental work,
And you claim not to have known
Paradise is on the other side of this wall,
And they have even supplied a door,
Ill-disguised by dangling green,
Narrow enough for the soul that more desires
Happiness than humanity.

You go in first, while I go insane.

Copyright 2010 Jobey George


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ODOP: The Frank Lady to Her Handsome Naive Man-Friend

My first-line prompt turned out to be from Louise Gluck’s “The Untrustworthy Speaker.”

Don’t listen to me; my heart’s been broken
Twice too often, and, left with this bloody token
Of expired promises, I quite naturally leap
For the bloody solution, but keep
Your hands clean. Go home, make nice,
And kiss her. Let she who is free from vice
Chuck the first stone and all that rot—
And, why, that’s me. But you’d do better not
To gamble your soul and embitter your precious
Heart. To you alone her flesh is
Sancrosanct, but not to all us others—
This? Oh, no, it’s my dear dead mother’s.
My admirable ex-husband never bought me a ring,
Just this well well-sharpened sword that I took the liberty to bring.

Copyright 2010 Jobey George

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ODOP: What to Do with Emotions

I was inspired to renovate and refurbish this old poem after reading nochipa’s Emotional Trash Burning.” Go check it out; that blog is full of all sorts of goodies.

I’m a cautious person, but I read a lot, and intuited
The Modern Heroess is always moving, wild-wayed, uninhibited,
So when some loves chanced my way
I let them all loose one and the same day.
Out on the lawn I spurred them on –-
Horses forced to gallop in the heat,
Firecrackers set off the crack of the rainy Fourth!
They laid over on their side and fizzled;
They were gone.

And so again, when the replacement came,
I went back with the instincts as old as my name:
I bottled my love
(After a long process of refinery that took
Many a purple-stained finger).
I brought it down, victorious, to
Cellar, and stored it aside the ‘High Spirits’ of Grandpa,
Dead long ago. Left it a hundred years or so.
Came again after having long forgot it,
And found (should have known) that neglect had rot it.

I hadn’t much time left to learn
(And lucky I was in a poem
Living longer, deeper than we do in prose).
While waiting on my love’s sick ripening
I had read what the stuffy old sages’d had to say,
And upon a third heaven-sent chance
I treated my loves as tendered plants.
Occasionally a pretty whim I left to limb,
But mostly it was pruning. With each shear they grew bigger.
I had more than enough but not too much, and not one was tame, but each firm and true.
Don’t think I could no longer call my life mine;
While gardening I had plenty of time
To take my hatreds to the stables, fire off all my resentments,
And store all my miseries in cellared bottles.

Copyright 2010 Jobey George.

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ODOP: untitled

as a girl, growing gawky, tall
i dared to roam outside town wall

soon enough the pirates came
they cut my hair, my tongue, my name

but sweaty, bruised, I was me
and on their ship i see the sea

they sold me in northern land
(land of brutes with brutish hands)

in some trade i, lightweight, free,
smuggled in the sea with me

years go by, i can’t recall
birth name, parents, childhood doll

but never forget the shining and strange!
how could the sea not change, yet change?

i was passed from house to house
a slow, they said, but faithful mouse

countless children on my knee
grew up and said they’d visit me

and every cat with a tail-twitch —
i was called a harmless witch

sold the last time, too far
forever sundered from the mar

my last house, furthest north,
beat me to draw the devil forth

they gave up, we grew old
i served them my bones’ weight in gold

keeping drooly rex well fed
picking lice from Master’s head

i died happy as any wight
on a clear and temperate night

Copyright 2010 Jobey George

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ODOP: When Come To (The Half-Hour After)

By my side, lifelike death, crimson stripes the pale –
You with me, Ms. Candycane? – Yeah, it’s you I hail
Hey, don’t look like that, little-lost-eyes-pale
We can gingerly swim back to some avail
For my larynx is in pieces on the floor –
                                 Our breadcrumb trail!

Lean on me – step in sync – not in stink – breathe, brace!
Monstahs of our childhood are real, and giving chase
Me, I’ve already used my ineffective longnail-Mace;
We’ll feel through this urban warehouse/dead forest of a place –
Man! Queens on Carta Mundi playing cards got
                                 Nothin on your face!

Heh heh! Ugga wugga Boogeydude!
Yo! Here’s a bit of human flesh, slightly chewed,
But still no more’n half-unfit for ugga wugga food!
Little-lost-eyes-paler, you ask me of my mood?
Dunno – here I am, the sensible, laughing, no –
                                 Howling in the nude

Yes, I like writing about females going insane. What’s your point? Copyright 2010 Jobey George.

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ODOP: Too Much Time On My Hands Blues

Wrote this poem after getting learned from the post “American Folklore and the Blues Cat Bone” over at the blog Boles Blues. This is likely to make a lot more sense if you read it too. The upshot of it, however, is that the Black Cat Bone, obtained by boiling a black cat until the meat falls from its bones, will give you the power of invisibility and necromancy. The primary use of which, judging from the blues tradition, is stalking and harassing your lover. Sounds like my kind of magic.

My baby’s gone away and left me for the night
I know he’ll be back but he’s in Memphistown tonight
I stand at my lonely window and I know it ain’t right

I was thinking I sprinkle some powder on the floor
Some of Mama’s powder I ain’t ever used before
I said no I got to trust the baby I adore

But my man’s out rambling and burning some train oil
He’s out there rambling and he’s left our love to spoil
I’m looking at my black cat, and wondering how he’d boil.

Copyright 2010 Jobey George

Picture copyright Jonathan Shahn and Da Capo Press 2003. I’m a little bit in love with Shahn’s illustrations of bluesmen, and you can find much better ones in the book The Blues Line, a lyrics anthology. While I’m shamelessly trolling books, the best Everyman’s Pocket Edition ever made was its Blues Poems. This collection is fabulous and will make you an addict of blues-based poetry, I promise you.

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Removed for contest entry.

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