Flamenca

“Torito Veloz” by Manuel Miranda, 2019 | hipstamatic iphone photo by author at Papi’s Pies, Round Rock

“torito veloz”

wild toro on the wall
bullish scimitar horns
a stab of the tail
charging colorful ground
fullish circular forms

“torito feliz”

little happy bull
hears the call of toro
sees the active cape
with wild and smiling eyes
fears no fall of morrow

torito, hooves will clip
the pointed horns will snip
blossoms in the ring
hot fired rush of breath
anointed, borne, they slip
estoque’s pointed grip

These poems represent the pleasant afternoon where I played around with the poetic form of Flamenca (read about it here). I was at one of my favorite places – Papi’s Pies – eating chocolate cream pie and drinking coffee, and as fate would have it, the walls were covered in the absolute perfect artwork for this form, so I made the instant jump to ekphrastic writing. The photo you see at the top is of a painting by Manuel Miranda. Take a look at his website and instagram. Thank you for reading!

Face

Self portrait | Medium format film Holga image by author

my face is riverstone
the bedrock smooth and sculpted
by eons of rushing water
and the dry season’s wind

ruts and valleys channeled in
by the laughter of a babbling brook,
pebbles deposited under the eyes
whose stillness are the pools
near the banks, where moss and
algae rest, green, sometimes blue,
with flecks of visiting dragonfly

the long line of my nose is
the giraffe who bends to drink
cautious, always vigilant

for listeners I have a nautilus
swirled and pearly, echoing oceans,
and a monkey, half leaping
into the air like some kind
of splendid joke

This is a recent poem, written in response to a prompt in the book I am using for inspiration (which is proving effective in getting me back into a writing habit, and which I would recommend if you’re looking for something similar). The prompt had to do with describing your face as if it were a landscape. . . . so here y’all go! I decided to pick a photo where my face is obscured, to let the words speak. It’s up to you to decide if any of it is successful; feedback is welcome! Thanks for reading!

Carnation | Orchid

iPhone photo by author (cyanotype supplies of fresh wildflowers)

Carnation

A coronation for a buttonhole
near a man’s impenetrable heart
cloves drift from the spot
tickling the nose, begging entry

A crown for the wrists
of beautiful youth bound
in a fancy dress for the prom
full of promises not yet broken

A tightly ruffled wreath
in the bundle from interflora
who outlasts the roses and other
less hearty blooms,
with its princely feet rooted
in the blood of cornerstones

Orchid

Inside the glass house was fragrance
and peace, an incubator
for the exotic nestled in the
mundane, shifting climates,
from zone to zone we wandered,
year on year, two lucky girls,
and then three – one small –
until one by one each was plucked
and packed and sent away
to nestle new and make her own
way, no longer incubated but set
free to bloom where she would
choose, far from the gardener’s
heavy fist

This post represents the last of the flower poems I wrote last year. Thank you, readers, for your time!

Chrysanthemum

iphone hipstamatic photo by author (not the right flower but whatever)

Lion headed autumn prizes
roaring outside the door
daring to show fresh faces in May
carefully preened manes
sparkling the early summer dew
daring the sun to be
quite as brilliant in his
yellow raptures

Once upon a time
my Grandmother planted
a host of these rampant kings
on a far forgotten side of the house
an offering to the neighbors
a place of pleasant pilgrimage
for us

Tomorrow I’ll share a two-fer with the last two flower poems. Thank you so much, readers, for joining me on this journey!

Narcissus

Not narcissus, not even a flower – but SWIRLY BOKEH!

A heart once pliable and soft
with the bloom of youth still
wafting sweetness into an open mind
now hard as flint, in self absorbed,
avoiding mirrors except to smash them
and revel in the shards
crushed sharply under the
boot of control
the picture in the attic
wears a knowing smirk
deaf to any echo but its own
neck deep in its own
enveloping paper white sea

Thanks, readers!

Gladiola

Pinhole photo by author (not a gladiola)

Mightier than the sword
these gorgeous stalks pierce
memory, arranged in cut
glass in the tiny London house
awaiting the return of
the bride and groom

Outlasting the tide of reality
they burst with myriad
fire upward through
a field of knives,
spiked-guardians in silent
observation with a stab
of passion at the sky

Thanks for reading!