one word pas de deux: blizzard
tumblingfacefirstfish
the tarrying ways
tarrying west
then east
clamor
of fruitful
calamity
sensible disillusion
in the westering ways
sublime
intimacy yearning
for the casual
demise
frantic folly
chips down
chips on shoulder
chips double-dipped
in the melange
of me & you
fractal obsolescence
vital decay
passable smithing
exquisite recalcitrance
this volatile
day.
Labels: passionata
posted by murat11 at 10:42 PM
13 Comments:
I'm all for chips double-dipped, but you forgot chocolate chips and chips ahoy and all the other chips that you need to stock up on to make those Dairy Queen blizzard treats with candy in them.
Love the line "the melange of me & you/ fractal obsolescence." The fractal obsolescence just rolls off the tongue and spins cartwheels in my brain. "exquisite recalcitrance" is another great one.
But what happened to the cow? Did it die in the snowstorm and only now come to light?
This has definitely been a volatile day. Glad to end it with a Murat poem. (sent the beast off for review...)
Teresa: Congratulations on shipping the lunar beast. Speaking of, apparently the recumbent ruminant was symbolic of the collapsed bull market.
I don't always have this feeling, but I had the distinct feeling while writing that this was definitely someone else's poem.
So now the question to be answered is how many persons are inhabiting your fingers? Or were you channeling Marie Antoinette?
Appropriate blizzardy goodness. I am now home enjoying cheese soup and staring out at the ridiculous amount of snow in my back yard. I saw an awesome Marge from the Simpson's snow lady on the way home. Sensible disillusion is a prompt in itself.
Teresa: Uncountable numbers, no doubt. And that's just the fingers.
Dee: Oh so jealous of that snow, we is. My folks sent wondrously blizzardy pix from Jackson, Mississippi. Haven't seen that kind of southern wondermess since the big snow party on the New Orleans Mississippi River bridge about 20 years ago. Good heavens, that's a long drought for the snow-challenged.
Well, I won't ask about the attic in your head because we have already met a few of its inhabitants. And of course your toes twinkle, jive and do pas de deux (oh and how can we forget pirouettes across the kitchen--Barishnakov maybe?), so we know that you have at least three or four in each foot. Is your middle name Legion? (That's a good name for a rock band: The Murat Legions.)
Today I am particularly chipper because the editor of the Journal of Asian Studies replied yesterday. The beast has a review number, and I will know something in six months. I was not rejected out of hand!! Your twinkle toes can do the pirouette for my because I have bad knees...
Teresa: I like the band name: a good name, too, for another blog - or this one, should the name Murat11 become tattered and worn. (Permission asked and attribution made, of course.)
Congratulations on the editor news. Rejection out of hand? I should think not. Looking forward to publication.
Who needs permission asked and attribution made among family? Besides the name Murat11 already suggests the legions. I was merely expounding on what you already have, a foot note or side bar if you will.
Thanks for the good wishes. My professors say it is publishable; it's just a matter of finding the right editor in the proper mood for kung fu novels and the construction of contemporary Chinese identity.
Teresa: What's not to like in that promo? Only an ethics board would turn down your article. An awesome topic.
Especially an ethics board that had just finished eating institutionally cooked green peas (like the ones served in the Senate Dining Room), and especially if there was no honey to keep them on the knife.
Teresa: Your honey/knife comment put me in mind of Tina's and my shortest collaborative poem entitled "Honey Has Its Own Knife":
honey has its own knife -
spread it around
Really? I was quoting a grandfather who used to always recite this poem whenever we had peas for dinner: "I eat my peas with honey; / I've done it all my life. / It makes the peas taste funny, / but it keeps them on my knife."
I guess you may have been channeling Grandpa R.
Stranger things have happened...
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