Read Write Poem Wordle #118
In the handsome dark, we fumble for doubloons
lying dead on the pavement.
Little minted mirrors of gold, magenta, turquoise, emerald, and
polished purple riot like the wine soaking into the costumed madness
around us: this swirling, detonated rainbow
of beads, feathers, fire, and flesh. It is fringed, open-mouthed, and
dripping beautiful fermented stink from its lips.
My friend’s eyes are cups full of Bacchus. He is
tumbled down and tousled, a mess of chocolate hair
shaggier than the god on the silver coins. Lanky
and full of drunken wisdom, he dispenses
strands of shiny bead joy to women in every direction like
a pale, toothpick Buddha: mouth agape, piping laughter
out into the air. I wonder if William Blake knows that
somebody stole his piper and dumped him
onto this dirty, coin-strewn asphalt, into the veins
of this insane parade.
But I won’t tell him right now. This man
is a nonpareil, a child king,
too much universe six feet tall and rising inside
an unsteady eddy already shuddering, packed up tight and ready to
jettison its heart in pieces in all directions. And I
want him here. Fuck water. We are fire. We are
the last of Heaven’s belly emptied out onto silver streets
that spread out to dry up the drowning and the tears. Eat, drink,
and be merry: for tomorrow, we crucify.
Now, tonight is a heavy bank, soggy and gravid
with wonder. We’ll pull away from the colored arms of the riot,
steal down streets, pour magic down our throats
and into our bellies. In back alleys behind brick
full of junk, smoke, and wet, we’ll hear
strumpets being blown, listen furtively to fantastic queens on
four-inch glitter stilts giving up their frenzied music of orgasm
into the dark. I know that the mist will descend and drown our eyes,
and tomorrow, we will forget how we climbed
onto the back of blood and dug our nails in:
but I will read the dried red under my fingers
and know what delicious sins we committed in the name
of life. Eat, drink, and be merry. I hear tomorrow’s nails, teeth bared,
poised and ready above our palms.
Written 3/17/10
© 2010 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
———————————————————–
This poem was written for Read Write Poem Prompt #118: Digging. This was a wordle prompt, and I managed to use a good percentage of the words. I hope you enjoy reading this.
And BTW, I think you should try Wordle out yourself. It’s really awesome.
-Nicole
——————————————————————-
This is perfectly Dionysian. The imagery is terrific.
The opening’s wonderful. The bacchanal is not a lovely thing, is it? Ritual of excess and catharsis. But it can be grand.
Someday, I will get down there at the right time of year and see this spectacle for myself. Absolutely delicious description here.
Wow Nicole, extremely urgent and intense — very tactile, visceral, passionate… I liked it…
…rob
Image & Verse
Heavy images, or maybe the word is “rich”, yet done with a light touch of phrase. Light-hearted. I like that too. Thank you Nicole.
Quite a powerful poem with very strong images.
As always, such wonderful images to jump out at you…and I must say, I have an urge to run out and buy a pair of 4 inch glitter stilts
and yes, loved your words!
“what delicious sins we committed in the name
of life. Eat, drink, and be merry. ”
Ferocious passion, then be damned tomorrow. Sounds familiar. You write with so much power always Nicole. Must it always hurt?
The rich words and imagery pulled me right into the experience. I like how you keep hinting at the underbelly of all this and what tomorrow will take from the moment. I keep coming back to this line: “I wonder if William Blake knows that
somebody stole his piper and dumped him
onto this dirty, coin-strewn asphalt, into the veinsof this insane parade.”
Nicole,
I love what you did here. It feels gritty and nasty and oh so pleasant all rolled into one. Very, very good work!
Pamela
Too many good parts here to choose, but the whole piece is carnal and carnage, life and death. Excellent work.
Carnivale of life so aptly written in this fine piece!
Hi Nicole,
I love the opening stanza; the handsome darkness and little minted mirrors. This is one heady atmosphere.
Well, I finally found a back door into your site, and look what greets me…what a lush poem, filled with all the visuals that would satisfy me for the evening. Excuse me while I go gobble up this poem again…