Poetry Monday: The Hanged Pigeon

OMGYOUGUYS. Favourite day of the week. POETRY MONDAY. This will be the last one of 2015 and it couldn't be a better finish. It's so, so fitting for this year.

Then go and buy Jo Brandon's newest poetry collection because it will give you all the feels, with all the words, that build and make and do.

The Hanged Pigeon, by Jo Brandon

You are more stark even

than the tarot card I turned at fourteen:

the Hanged Man, macabre and ridiculous,

his strangled leg, ankle noose, freefall of hair,

the hard jewel colours I still associate with death

though the book said it represented rebirth –

I heard the elliptical Chorus whisper-sing

first-death, first-death.

I flipped your card walking through the park

on a day when the sky was too blue

to be anything other than an illusion;

you hung like a bauble on a tree, a faded Robin maybe

whose claws should fold easily over the branches, rigid as tradition,

but has slipped upside down – and now nothing looks right –

strung up with tangerine mesh you were an omen

of something.

You wished so hard to avoid the predictable

that your wings had started to come away,

and all the vinegar and glue and brown paper

salvaged from those park bins

couldn’t have put you back together again.

You might have appeared to me as Icarus or

a penny dreadful, but you struck me as the Hanged Man;

not so serene, not so willing to give yourself up as deeper meaning.

As I spoke to you, tried to soothe you up in your tree

I could have been in a fairy-tale asking boons

of any unbelievable creature; you might transform,

burst from your pigeon chrysalis or you might grow still

and provide a medieval spectacle for nine-to-fivers on lunch.

A comic strip of heroic deeds ran through my head; ladders,

broken branches, clambering, soft landing, gasps, free-flight

–  I left unsure of what I did and didn’t do to rescue you.

---------

Big hugs and lots of love,
Essss

Poetry Monday: Istanbul

OMGYOUGUYS. It's another Poetry Monday! I can't get enough of these. I don't want to sound like I'm mad bragging or anything, but I know some insanely talented people and their genius has got to rub off on me at some point so REMEMBER THIS FACE.

Today's work of art comes from the indomitable Claire, professional writer, cook, and karaokyer.

Istanbul, by Claire Bullen

We wake sucking on the milkfat mornings,

the hour in its last stage of night-bruise.

Like emperors, centuries ago,

who woke to find their jaguars and take 

them strolling through the rosebushes.

Now the city wakes with a riot of sheep

in the basement, a dusty football, and

taxis that speed up the uneven hill.

We breakfast like emperors: sucking on petals

in tea and cakes and smoke.

On a ferry over bright-dark Bosphorus,

we fly faster than emperors could dream, 

savouring the word like rose candy: Bosphorus, 

Bosphorus, Bosphorus, past the blooming

buses that drop their sweating cargo into Asia.

In the evenings, campfires spill across highways

and birds wheel, crazily, around the minarets.

Like emperors, we sharp-laugh into the night 

from the vantage of our temporary palaces.

First we are timeless. Then we are cargo.

-----

Big hugs and lots of love,

Essss

Poetry Monday: Dear Samuel

News has come of a dear friend suddenly, incomprehensibly no longer with us and in the gasping grief of it all, it seems fitting that today is Poetry Monday and this was the poem I had planned.

Know that you are loved.

DEAR SAMUEL, by Manuel Camacho, previously published in Yellow Chair Review

I will love you forever

Your brother saw you
Or did he see Death?
He stared into that dark empty
Room whimpering scared, scared

The next day they told us
Your heart had stopped
You were floating inside
Your mother, loose weed
In a fish bowl
Her cervix the dirt
Above your coffin

She and I held hands
Through a Hades of beige
Halls and white laser lights above
To watch you born
A floppy salamander
The clammy skin, the squishy chest
Startlingly hard bones
The bud of your penis, the open
Mouth, your little tongue

The placenta that failed
You picked apart, immortalized
In the literature, your mother as well
A curious case! 300 AFP!
And I’m another father
Of a child like you
Initiate to that grim fellowship

Where is God? God has a reason
That’s what people want to say
God was your mother
Wrapped with me in the shower
Her head at my back as I wept
Into the sink.

----

Love and strength,
Esss

So many reasons to love today

OMGYOUGUYS. I'm currently sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire, the washing machine is humming, all the dishes from yesterday's dinner party have been cleaned and put away, and on this cold, cold night, all things conspire toward lovely lovely loveliness. And on top of that, it's POETRY MONDAY!

Today's featured poet is a good friend of mine from back in my San Francisco days, Annelies Zijderveld. She has the gift of knowing the heart and soul of things, and time with her is always fulfilling and bountiful. She also happens to be the author of one of my favourite cookbooks:

It's this one, youguys.

Two of her main loves - food and poetry - come together often in her blog, which you should definitely check out - and also in today's poem. So without further ado...

To the Next Superfood, by Annelies Zijderveld

To whom it may concern
and who has ears to learn,
what passes the test one

day will fall out of favor.
Even now, I try and savor
my name in newsprint,

the widespread popularity,
my far-reaching availability,
and the rich talking points

that come with this gig each day:
high in iron! Vitamin C, A and K!
Carotenoids! Flavonoids! Iron!

I can’t shake that while it’s all true
why you buy me is because I’m “new.”
Ask acai or broccoli, salmon or spinach.

Every superhero has its moment
to be eclipsed by what’s current.
I will still be as valuable when I’m

no longer en vogue. Just look at
my role in the Middle Ages, what
a supplement I played in WW II.

So even when you say you’re through
with my curly green edges or you’ve
tired of crisping me into cheesy chips,

I will keep growing and begin to regale
because nothing not even turmeric
can take on brassica oleracea, the mighty kale! 

Isn't that terrific? The wit, the insight, the loving tribute! *happy sigh* She always makes me hungry.

Now I leave you with this photo taken earlier this afternoon at Leadenhall Market, which, like the rest of this glorious country, is in full Christmas Twinkle Delight. The magic, the way the heart skips this time of year in London. (It's probably what makes January such a miserable affair.)

Big hugs and lots of love,
Essss

Poetry Monday, Part One

OMGYOUGUYS. It's POETRY MONDAY!

For the next handful of Mondays, I am going to share a poem from a (be)loved one, and today I'm starting with Kyle of Okie in the City and Suck Vent NYC fame. Kyle is one of those lovely spirits full of gentleness and kindness, which is hilarious when you realise he's married to this girl who's recently been kissed by Bill Murray because she's an absolute powerhouse. They are gorgeous together.

I'm going to share Kyle's poem in its original hand-written form because it's too lovely not to. So without further ado: Maggie Reilly's.

Something I love as much as the work itself: the notebook, the lamplight, the page torn out.

Maggie Reilly’s

for Maggie and Toni

To forget all these trifling

worries causing me my pain,

I’m gonna play a little

guitar and walk to the train.

“You’re looking happy,” Maggie

says to me. My brother’s

recent wedding is keeping

my face clean. Although the sprites

hiding under this dark wood

feed upon my whiskey tears,

singing releases daemons

adept at smothering fear.

Trifling sprites rightly fear
bartendress Toni’s kind care.

Kyle has a new book coming out, which I am beyond thrilled about because of how awesome his first book was. I'm pretty much going to recreate this scene in its entirety, even if it means breaking into our old place and startling the tenants. Once I explain that I only stole in to take a selfie on the terrace, I'm sure they'll understand.

It's that good. He's that good.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Esss