Gearing up for National Poetry Month in April (NaPoWriMo), I thought it fitting to do a feature pairing poetry and visual art. I selected poems that had been posted just this year, and were speculative in nature. Speculative poetry (more definitions on my blog onewritersmind.blogspot.com/20… ) is highly imaginative, and uses themes from fantasy, science fiction, and horror. I also tried to choose poems that had not (yet) received a DD or such. Then I paired them to a piece of visual art that seemed appropriate, to me, anyway. Enjoy!
Frozen StarlightSolid starlight beam,
Photon Congo line.
Each born of fusion,
To squirm through desolate space,
Die in my retina.
*Not Icarus*Wings frozen solid
Stratosphere so very cold
Your BonesSaltpan white,
Grained with innocence that runs in years
Like the tree rings we counted as children.
Your bones are beautiful, she murmurs to the pale jigsaw.
They hold no regret.
They hold no memories
Except of falling off roofs
And the places we should not have been.
There is a softness that underlies cold rigidity:
A boy who spoke without smiling,
A God who remained unseen.
Quiet skeletons lie down serenely while the rest of us washes away,
Awaiting some change in the weather.
The clavicle curves aside,
Cresting like an ocean wave,
The sternum shielded your soul.
She used to love pressing her fingertips against your acromion
As it yearned towards the vertebrae of your spine.
Reaching for something.
Your gentle bones with their secret, whispered names
Olecranon, ilium, femur
They hurt her now.
You never let her see your grace.
Shes left with just the framework.
When I die, she traces metacarpi,
faithful and quietly distanti was given a belly of rocks;
each stone asks, "plant me," so i do.
each spring blesses me with the same stony seeds,
and i thank the god of my childhood
for his faithfulness -
i continue to dig up what i've buried,
but i wonder,
what of the blood from labor-worn fingers
and the sweat
and the lust that i've spilled each season -
where is my return on that?
the god of my adulthood stays silently distant
while i groan along with the pebbles,
and i dig,
and i dig.
the rocks cry and i join them,
begging the dirt for kindness and the heavens
for answers the earth has swallowed and
yet to spit-up.
A Fraternity of Jackalswe invited him into our home—
a ripe almond jackal with blackened eyes,
orange by the glow of fire,
starving but for a maw of scrapwood
that bloodied his gums and
spat a red poison he coughed
onto our rug, begging
for crisped pork fat to lessen
the cut of his ribs.
we boiled our parsnips and ginger
until the steam rose his fur
to the coat of a tyrant,
clam-dyed and gilded by the light
of a sunset who sunk
into the churning slick of his digestion,
pearl teeth gleaming when we asked
if he needed anything else
besides the throne he wove of our bedsheets
and dog skins.
in the night,
he stole our daughter and left
her dress at the door,
I Have Loved the Stars Too FondlyThese vast expanses broader than the skies
And deeper than the ocean, just as blue
Are unobtainable from where the view
Is struck by light and hidden from my eyes.
Oh marvels of the farthest-reaching space,
Oh nebulae, oh planets, ancient stars,
Already naked eyes have fought such wars
To glimpse beyond the darkness to your face.
And light which grows with centuries has bled
Still higher in the night and drowned you out.
My city home has left my eyes in doubt
That worlds of breathless beauty I have read
Exist, nor are they found where'er I look:
All space confined in pages of a book.
thrallyou were two parts of the same thing,
two stars of the same system:
binary, temporal, constrained.
like a sun courting a planet,
you cycled through your phases,
tethered to her by the strength
of a solar flare,
you are still ultraviolet and pristine,
your cold, clean light—
but the sparkle has left your surface.
you orbit around
an imaginary object,
a placeholder for her gravity.
A Lament for LaikaApollo stalked a river nymph
While Moscow looked with starry glimpse
And all that clemency of man
Showed no remorse after Japan.
Instead the dire marathon
Of bloodless states did dawn upon
A mournful Artemis in tears:
The glory of two thousand years.
Behind the curtains of despair
Treblinka, Dachau and the chair,
Onward stood then the next conquest
A giant leap for either chest.
Away, amidst an icy lane
Where stray and stricken do remain
He leashed the throat of nature's pride;
All of his virtues laid aside.
A warmer, yet lackluster cell,
A diet of insipid gel,
A life beneath the measured glare
Of pressured breath and pressured air.
Until at last his proctor's prize,
His Sputnik-2 ready to rise,
They let her spend her final day
With mankind's finest acts at play.
And Laika looked through steaming eyes
At His sliced land and shredded skies,
Before Armstrong's small step of ours,
She slept amid the weeping stars.
CarbonWe were graphite,
soft as dust as we unraveled
layers sliding over each other
leaving behind traces to be erased;
We were diamonds,
that nobody could tarnish
Now we are soot,
the leftovers of the orange flames
of incomplete combustion,
a sprinkling of reminders
to be swept away.
I'll be looking for more speculative poetry this April. My general poetry+art features from last year are in three parts, Part I jagrier.deviantart.com/journal… , Part II jagrier.deviantart.com/journal… and Part III jagrier.deviantart.com/journal… .