Random Poetry Found While Packing -- 11

Chorus

Red Sky Sun won't shine
Blue sky follow me

Verses

Girl, girl where are you
My life seems so bleak

Girl, girl come back home
I wanna hear your voice

Girl, Girl where have you left
you've been gone an age and a half

Girl, girl I drempt 'bout you
you sang sweet words to me

Girl, girl the rains came again
Blue sky won't shine on me

Girl, girl life ain't the same
Are you ever coming back to me

A slow blues chant found in a note book dated to November 2007.

What Elephants Are For & Spring Trimetrics

 
 

                      Spring Trimetric

March:

        the Door to Spring putting away the

                Ghosts and all of the

                        Enchantment of the burgeoning blossoms came.

The Door swung open to the hint of warmth and

        the Ghosts of Winter were laid to rest, while

                the Enchantment of the flowers overtook

                        the muck and mire that had come with the latest rain.

---Purple Mark 11/26/11a

 
 
 

                      What’s The Elephant For?

“What’s the Elephant for?” he inquires as he sees her pendant.

        “Memory and perception. Though Ganesha is primarily

                the remover of Obstacles,” she answers.

The sounds of Billie Holiday drift out through the doors

        of the House of Richard Hugo while

                his dark hair shines in pale porch-light.

Casually, like she was calling over a waiter,

        Alice summoned a tiny songbird to her wrist.

                Now that he was here, it would be all right.

He inhales the wild, salty scent of the sea.

        and discovers Lovecraft, marveling at his propensity

                to use big words like Eldritch and Cyclopean.

“I come out here every night.” Alice said breaking the quiet,

        He wished that he could just stand here

                a little longer and look at the pale light on the dew.

---Purple Mark 11/16/11b

 
 
 

Purple Mark's Prompts: The books                                                                         

1. The name of Alice is exchanged for that of Julie in this passage for continuity. Lev Grossman. The Magicians. (New York: Viking/Penguin, 2009). pages 67, 288, 319.
2. The Preview. Lev Grossman. The Magician King. (New York: Viking/Penguin, published August 10, 2011). Page 4.
3. The crucial title passage refuses to be pinned to any page along with the next passage about Ganesh. Anjali Banerjee. Haunting Jasmine. (Berkley Trade, 2011). pages ?,?, 116, 203.

 
 
 
 

Machine Language (A Video Poem)

The poem Machine Language was published in Hoarse, Issue #4: Field day. It's available for sale at the University Book Store in Seattle.

A Feast Of Words At The Seattle Public Library

 

A Body's Feast

        The lecture had been a feast for the senses. One wonders if the presenters really understood all the information they were providing the public.

        I was gazing at the great central elevator shaft of the Seattle Public Library building sipping on dark chocolate and raspberry cocoa. I had just come from one of their free lectures and was enjoying all the images and sensations it had brought. A little curly-headed blonde tyke had her nose pressed to the coffee bar's fridge and was demanding to know what a pile of plastic wrapped cheese logs were. She was just to scrumptious for words. A whole meal in herself.

        Seattle was sure different from the South where I grew up. I hadn't once been asked if I'd been saved and there seemed to be different churches here, not just different Baptist denominations. It had got a little uncomfortable down there, people had started to ask questions, so I decided to try new fields and Seattle had such an excellent reputation in certain circles for the quality of its serial killers.

        The lecture on forensics had given me goosebumps. I wasn't interested in anything like that. It was great the popularity of the CSI programs kept generating so much information.

        Feasts. Things to feast on. Dahmer liked liver, but until today I'd never thought of the succulent delights of your basic big toes.

 

---By Carla Blaschka 11/19/11

     Written alongside Purple Mark & Philip Bernier-Smith at the Seattle Public Library.
     Our only prompt was "feasts."

 
 
 
 

The Feast by Purple Mark

 

“We’re not going down that, are we?” Carolyn asked.

The slope of the street was quite severe

and the black ice potential was quite high:

the snow could be hiding nearly anything.

“Yes, here we go!” and like a bobsled run

the vehicle began its descent down Columbia.

There were few other vehicles out on the roads today

and we made it down to the Viaduct safely.

The snow was enough to discourage the locals,

but for us mountain state dwellers it was easy.

The trick was not to go too crazy with turning

and to be light-footed on the brake and the pedal.

Another half hour found us at the house I had a room in

with dinner preparations going ahead at full tilt:

the kitchen had four cooks in contention to use

all the available space in a flavorful symphony of scents.

Two of my housemates were in the Chef programs at South Seattle

so we were in essence a household of Cooks Versus Chefs here.

PJ put his efforts into the mashed potatoes and I assembled an oyster stuffing

for a Northwest twist and we left the rest to the almost Pros of the household.

I also made my first try at a chocolate blackberry pie on the dining room table

for want of prep space. Meanwhile, the other three cooks took turns chopping,

adding, stirring, and checking on their dishes in the kitchen. While PJ did his hosting

duties for a dinner that was estimated at twenty eight celebrants.

Thus the food preparations were truly on the order of a huge feast

and from just what we were preparing a whole platoon could be fed.

As the hour approached, so too our guests. The food cooking reached

its peak and the whole house was full of people and an super abundance

of anything one could want in a Horn of Plenty-themed Thanksgiving dinner:

two types of Turkey, Ham, Salmon, 3 types of stuffing, mashed and sweet potatoes, steamed

vegetables, a relish tray, cranberry sauce, rolls, bread, two types of gravy, beer and wine.

A loud and merry time was held by all:

Chefs, Drag Queens, Bears, Leather-Men and Leather-Women, People in Transition,

Carolyn who had moved here after me from Montana and myself

in my very early color changes and purple lightning bolt Cellophaned hair.

It was quite the crowd that had assembled for this Harvest Feasting

and all twenty eight had made it here despite the winter weather.

Toasts were made and soon our bellies were filled to bursting

with a dinner that afterwards people were moaning in appreciation of

if not a little overindulgence laying on all available horizontal surfaces

as all that gluttony made itself felt: the carbs plus the tryptophan kicked in,

but that wasn’t the end of our grand feast. No, we had still more to eat.

To Carolyn, I said, “I hope that you saved room for the desserts.”

She and others groaned, because even though they had been present

everyone had forgotten about them. There was a brief siesta and after

naps and other diversions, it was finally time for our just desserts.

There were three other pies besides mine: Pumpkin, Pecan and Apple, Gianduja,

a Tort, something else delicious and then there was the Coffee Diablo:

Brandy-laced coffee ran along a clove-studded orange peel into coffee cups below

in a magic show of orange and blue flames as the cloves caught.

The whole feast had pushed people into areas of uncomfortableness

which hadn’t been thought possible before this, even if was all so divine.

There was a second resting up and then a gradual departing of celebrants

though some were still there when I returned from taking Carolyn home.

It had been a feast to remember and still remains the feast from which

I can compare all the others to and find them not quite in the running.

Purple Mark 111811 11:38 PM