Jon's Hillside Stronghold, Lit Up at Night With Misfit Sorcery

[Gabrielle]

Jon, I think I said it before, but I'll say it again: I'm loving your work. Such a multifaceted exploration.

Nude is excellent. The first three lines are a great set up. Returning back to the body after unconsciousness it makes sense to take stock. The moles stand out to me for some reason. Secret marks with no function, unlike other body parts. The 'absence of a cup lock shackle' is intriguing. Was this present in a dream or just a way to express freedom?

Braid is fascinating, the introduction of a magical/mystical element/connection that is snuffed out by the brute force of habit... or the habit of brute force.

Labrynth makes me think of Theseus and Ariadnes thread, but also a journey out of addiction. Dice bring in chance, games and gambling. Those two stanzas are the most sonically and rhythmically pleasing.
Writing Poems is excellent. 'It’s like pretending to have played a game before, on many occasions.' is a fave. And the last line is the pay off, literally.
Emerald is complex for being so small. How we see flaws... how they grow if focused upon... how they might be what make us unique/precious... how a flaw in a certain light 'glows'

[DeniseD]

Sorry I took so long to get here, Jon.

After I read that first poem, Gather The Light, I was hooked. I love the idea of catching light. Ganglions of light, broth of light, light-juice -- all these images work so well. And I really like the way you let the poem sort of wonder into the darkness.

The Mess We've Gotten Ourselves Into is very moving and I can relate to it. Love the invisible wires, the doves on the wrist, the roses "We'll miss each other until we don't", love that line. And that last line works so well.

I have much more to say but little time. I'll be back.

[Crashed_Pilot]

Thank you so much, Sarah, Gabrielle and Denise!

[Crashed_Pilot]

Another Labyrinth

The words that come, on entering the half-drowned church
and wading through the frogbit to the vestry door,
are oozy, fresh and fouled with other silkweed-words.

The words that come, on stopping by the flooded road
to watch the surface rolling like a grimy eye,
are fleeting, almost foamish. Hardly words at all.

The words that come when passing by the greenslick stones
of tumbled mill and dam wall where the current’s strong,
are rotten but relentless and forgotten fast.

The words that come when, diving to the mudlocked ring,
one momentarily misplaces up, or even down,
are clear as anything that’s ever been transcribed.

[Barbara Jean]

Lots to like in your thread. Love the coin dropping down the throat. Feels like person as slot machine. I like the kind of corny ending. Nice work in this thread.

Labyrinth is really, really good. Language is very fine. Last line is wonderful.

Find the word ‘coin’ in print, very round and cold.
Roll a digit across it, as if it were an inkpad.
Transfer its impression to your tongue-tip.

Swallow it. Listen to its drop,
its skittering journey along the lanes and chutes
that lace you up inside. Feel it sink from being.

This has summoned up the surgeon in you.
Go to the cabinet, cupboard or bookshelf,
and prod at the jostling organs there.

Now, in the words of Elizabeth Taylor:
“Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick,
and pull yourself together.”

[Crashed_Pilot]

Thank you, Barbara!

[Crashed_Pilot]

Rogue neurotoxin produced by a common red alga, traces of which find their way into food production lines (the fronds are easily mistaken for dulse). A favourite poison of sociologists and ethnographers due to its pronounced effect on interpersonal behaviours, and because those under its influence are given to outlining their impressions – in particular, their significantly altered expectations – in detail.

A typical episode involves a radical departure from the agreed-upon rules of interaction, accompanied by a furious, almost righteous belief by the sufferer in their own novel interpretation of those rules. They are likely to give and take offence in equal measure, and in some cases have been known to spontaneously describe a complex alternate moral system.

In other accounts, the sufferer becomes petrified, perceiving members of their group as functionaries in some secret society, governed by a law that is both ancient and malevolent.

[Dunc]

Jon

Blotched Emerald in the oak leaves, green as your darker ink and visibly mothy not butterfly-y, Thanks for the introduction!

Another Labyrinth ─ words, themselves and their character, fitted to and drawn from four water scenes, each with its own presence and power. 'grimy eye' is a fine evocation. The joke in S4 is exactly framed. Nice work all through.

Mere Sentiment Sarcasm and satire, light but relentless, all the way through. Highly entertaining, with that extra dimension of wit you bring to such things.

Lovely work.

Regards / Dunc

[Emily Bronte]

Jon,

I'm delighted to see you back here.

Always look forward to the dazzling variety of word play and form you produce, all the while having what appears to be great fun.

Will be back for more

Mari.

[Crashed_Pilot]

Thanks so much, Dunc and Mari!

[Crashed_Pilot]

Scrying Pool

A surface
which shows you
the still-to-come, the soon-to-be-gone.

What a frightful thought. And yet once you’ve learned
the delicate trick, any saucer of silty rain will do.
A plash of whisky. A spillage of juice.

You look into its gloom-eye.
You find its second,
aching depth.

As bright
and dumb as koi
are those future visions.

The pig of it is: how do you, then,
throw them back into the void?
They swim in every dark pane,
don’t they. In screens. In the blot
of your dear one’s pupil.
Even in the white of the page.
Yes, I too suffer it. I saw you
mount the train greyly.
Yes, I will ride
to the end of the line
if you need me to.

[Donner]

Hi, Jon,

I love your website, by the way.

"Another Labyrinth" - Words mean what they say until they mean something different. I thought it interesting that the words "come" as if they're forced to or expected to under trying circumstances - we "have" to say something to define events, even though they defy definition. Very good writing.

"Mere Sentiment" - A tale of the times, sarcastic and funny. (We're familiar here with posted red tide warnings..)

"Scrying Pool" - A crystal ball:

Yes, I will ride
to the end of the line
if you need me to.

Excellent.

Donna

[Crashed_Pilot]

Thank you, Donna! And thanks for checking out my site - some bits are still very much in progress, but it's getting there!

[Crashed_Pilot]

Flesh

It is known that the soldiers on one side
were worshippers of water, that they prayed to it,
while the soldiers on the other side
believed chiefly in its curative properties.

Their rituals were head baths, mineral soaks,
pummellings with jets. They wore their scoured skin
as a kind of mail, enraging their opponents,
for whom washing was an ecstatic anointment.

Here: a battalion in the presence of their god,
kissed by Him, His song hammering their ears.
There: a company freshly smithed,
eager to reforge themselves in sweat and spray.

[Dunc]

Jon

Scrying Pool (lovely words) and the beautifully loaded threat / kindness from the wizard. The tone is maintained truly all the way through, something you have mastery of.

Flesh where believers clash with that peculiar extra dimension of hate that opens for believers who believe they're offended. Clear, exact, honed wording.

Vive!

Regards / Dunc