Distant Dance.01

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Dances of Apocalypse

Capypso Calypso

water running freely

I am your river bed,

set sail upon my body;

let me rain upon you

while a day dry spot remains.

<>

if there is mystery

hire a detective

perhaps he can follow

deep into the forests

twisting, turning, rising

up mountain, down valley

finding oceans between.

<>

I am blind alley lost

if that’s how you find me,

tossing off whatever lines

crawling baited with words;

let me pull you to land,

let my star-hook catch you

as your revelations

become Apocalypse

for this poor fisherman.

<>

Square Set

gorilla sunshine

Sunday promenade

my African lady

prayful ravager

graces without virtue

the hungry textures

of her orchid flesh

<>

freeze the scene 

mute clean forever

mood maiden’s gestation

crying zebra infant

born upon straw

as aphrodesiac

<>

crossword writer

heralds by cannon

newly confused issues

of fragments strewn

humble jumble

sequential sparkling

against the rhythm

beating in suspicion

that I am fear

<>

lackadasical stairs

leading expertly

to doorless walls;

how do I get in?

why do I want out

of walls with no doors?

stairs with no wells?

illnesses with no cures

<>

Fox Trot

the meaning 

of spirals

escapes me

just now,

eyes closed

doodling 

fireside circles

<>

burn the expression clean

turn the precious key

in my head or somewhere

found huddling between

taking myself back in

  or

giving myself all out

<>

walking tall

and straight

isn’t really

important

when

in the end

you’re lucky

to walk

at all

<>

Tarantellas

entertain only collapsible thoughts

before the unattainable is revealed

before you cannot see beyond frustration;

marginal mirrors, crafty devices,

reflect only the background so clearly;

you, the foreground, become so indistinct

that all I can see are your misted eyes

peering out from the vivid evergreens

showing me the path beyond the seasons:

destroy the constant bordering distance

so the final sun rises and sets on me

being everything without horizon.

<>

turkey-face readies for waltzes in the straw

while I search out her magnetic north poles,

spread-legged in the marble arch of change

baring my timid flesh to trumpet scorn

sugary jazz swayed up through the ceiling

into a vision of sexual vagrants

trotting, hastily candid, all night, naked

except for clothing their apple-bruised eyes.

<>

Hong Kong recognition for the humbler

peace by piece constructing a gilded loom

foaming with potentially sleepy songs

to the intently triangular sobs

of mystics clinging to the morning post;

I’m another one, I know all to well,

who can barely repeat, but fabricates

so much that this ash-peace in purity

falls short when autumn tress blaze brightly

without any hints of skin searing heat

rolling huge Douglas-pine-legged day-dreams

across an ultra-submarine-filled notion.

The books starts with a suite of short poems each named after a dance style. One reviewer remarked on the subtle way each reflects its title. But that reflection was coincidental & the titles came after the pieces had been written at various time & without attempt to make them relate to one another or to dance either. The title Calypso was suggested by the sea & water imagery in the piece. Square Set & Fox Trot were suggested by the short lines & clearly Tarantellas by the wordy lines. 

I’ve left the typos in this first piece & marked them but have removed, corrected them without indication where they showed up in the other poems. I was tempted to include them in brackets but that disrupted the flow too much. Maybe I’ll do an addendum for the typos only.

Calypso open the book with an invitation to set sail into this world of my imagery, warning about blind alleys that can be dead ends or escape routes to other mazes. Calypso lured men into her caves. The readers understandings can be so different from the writer’s intent that the writer’s intent is humbled. 

Square Set is full of alliteration, surreal imagery, with a slightly sexual undertow. The influence of Dylan Thomas is so clear to me with phrases like ‘gorilla sunshine’ ‘orchid flesh’ – warm moist images that jump into ‘freeze’ – a humble jumble of words & sensations that don’t really lead to a way to get in & ends up boxing itself shut.

Fox Trot is a dance where the couples moves in small circles, the lines in the piece are short & the in the end it wraps around itself 🙂 I sense that I was looking for a way to unlock the future, to open myself up & possibly open the closet I was trapped in. 

Tarantellas has lines that sprawl, with images about searching mirrors for clarity, looking for direction, a path – an echo of uncertain that runs through the the previous pieces. I find traces of poets I hadn’t even read i.e. Ginsburg in ‘sugary jazz swayed.’ I was a Bob Dylan fan & Ginsburg was a clear influence on him with thusly influenced me. There’s also a nod to Canadiana with Douglas pine & barn dance straw. 

I do have a limited number of the original Distant Music chapbook for sale for $25.00 each (includes surface mail postage). Send via the paypal above along with where to send it.
paypal.me/TOpoet 

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