“Choose Beauty” – the poem made during the Printers Row Literary Festival

Exquisite Corpse is a collaborative poetry game that traces its roots to the Parisian Surrealist Movement. ~ Academy of American Poets. For the full text, click here.

The surreal – and dare we say, eerie in a lovely way – poem below was written June 7-8, 2014, at the RHINO Poetry table at Printers Row Literary Fest.

 

It was her birthday and

the rain had ceased for a few minutes.

and then the clapping of thunder

and then the distant rattling of chains

confronted the turgid trailing troglodytes

small droplets on lily pads & misted eyes

swell with each surge, each passing storm

each wave of blue and sad surf

for when it abates you will know you’re alone

and you have to go live your life alone

In a balloon in Paris.

Or a mouse in London.

As people wander listlessly in circles

through the desert of grief.

He held the horizon.

 

I like the sun when

plays peekaboo with the clouds…

warming my soul and illuminating my path

until everyone tells me to stop:”stop”.

Stop thinking sooooo much. “Be” “Just be” be

Climb sheep live yellow.

As the wind blows through the trees

The yellow leaves rustle & drop.

October on the calendar stops.

Woo! Pig Suie!

The chicken nods knowingly.

The building towers above me.

Silver and reflecting the sky.

The Silver Towers were a block

down from the Everleigh Sisters.

I lost my husband.

I know this should be sad, but

there isa poetry in decay – see ex. 1 of the peach.

 

Listen: a school of birds presenting

half-rippled hearts.

Their song is no ordinary song.

For musicians are a poet’s heart surgeon

Working hard we speedily purge on

pursuing the scent of strawberries and ocean

working my way to the lakefront.

Across the city people are rising like stars on a summer night

with staggering hooves;

Imagine the moon stretched across the the

belly, sprawled across the pavement.

There’s math in listening to stars. The light

of there and theirs of light.

But, as Boethius says, “Music is

math made audible,” so starlight

must mini slices of inner thoughts.

And I shall dance the night away

under the moonlight sky.

 

Choose beauty

She says, flipping the switch and casting

strange shadows

And the shadows wave back, copy

cats and acrobats.

She was alert and solid not like

the sand beneath my feet.

animals make more sense than

humans and angels don’t exist.

until they do – then even stones

learn to be silent.

`

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