Blight camera, beside blue

Baroque III by Amellya

*Image found HERE

Blight camera, beside blue

In a room with three chairs
Sebastian bleeds baroque to puddles;
how we anticipate the drowning
and how we twitch in disappointment.
There is no vacancy here for us,
no fine cloth, no silverware,
no peas puree to sate the green fields,
no naked thorax treasure maps,
no hollow harbor.
Only smoke and just Saturday.
A cult of swaying hands
tangled in bacchanalia;
souls gnawed and never pried
to aether,
it wants to breathe life into clay
it wants to make the stone men cry –
and you amidst the tempest
like an Alder too vernal
to be cut into an ark,
white hair, curled like a treble clef,
ankles unseamed
you lust for chi,
sly, dry, homogenous creed,
you invite for tea;
but oh babydoll, you are so alive!
Not me.

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~ by Oloriel on January 21, 2015.

19 Responses to “Blight camera, beside blue”

  1. Ankles unseamed – that image will occupy my head all day. 💓

    • Thank you very much, Bianca!I love the motive of unseaming, and it is an image i often return too. To my surprise, Microsoft Word writing program lists it as grammaticaly incorrect! :/

  2. Do “pola” je kao neko zatisje i onda odatle, od “Only smoke and just Saturday” pa do kraja pesme ima neki zamajac, kakav izbor reci, a nije dugacka, mozda je to dobro.

  3. Била би ми потребна вечност да зароним у значење свих речи, преводиац се овде чини безнадежним. Ипак, нека бизарност наставља да ме прати, приказана предметност се утискује као жиг: глина, белина, крв, дим…

  4. Wonderfully intriguing. The images are dancing around in my heart.

  5. Your writing is so witty, whimsical, & absolutely magical!

  6. “There is no vacancy here for us,
    no fine cloth, no silverware,
    no peas puree to sate the green fields,
    no naked thorax treasure maps,
    no hollow harbor.”

    the brilliant poetic journey into uncertainty. a layered poem composed of perfectly lined folds of meaning, a lonely existence in the corner, so stable, eternal … a perfect poem composed of stationary parts…

  7. Not the original tittle!

  8. Tea is always a good pretext!~
    I love your poem and these verses in particular:
    “Only smoke and just Saturday.
    A cult of swaying hands
    tangled in bacchanalia;
    souls gnawed and never pried
    to aether”~
    All the best to you!. Aquileana 😀

    • I wholeheartedly agree! I would be inclined to trust anyone who invites me for tea, which is probubly why I would not survive in the arsenic times 🙂
      Thank you very much for reading, and sharing this on Twitter!I look forward to following your mythological cornucopisa there as well! 🙂

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