Tag: Bonnie McClellan
In Vocation of the Muse II: by Bonnie McClellan
In my map of things you are confounded with
grey-green clouds
pressing against
bright ground,
like Shiva’s foot.
Creating – uncreating
spring.
Though properly your colours belong
to summer of golden
gulf-beach sand and
blazing,
hephaestian-hematite sweat
against the cuffs and
collar of
field, cotton white and
August sky or shallow
water running over
stones.
Implied subject || sottofondo: by Bonnie McClellan
It is the thing that lies under
under lies
below the foundation
like a time signature
signalling in silence:
there
there
there
there
we are.
È la cosa che sta sotto
sotto stante.
sotto il fondo.…….
come il tempo quaternario
segnalando in silenzio
ci……..
ci……..
ci……..
ci……..
siamo.
Memory of Water
Every stone bears the memory of water
within its mineral bones
time stamped with the fluid trace
of a flickering-blind magnetic north.
21 March 2020, Lombardia, Italia – by Bonnie McClellan
21 March 2020, Lombardia, Italia
everything stilled
the world has stopped
a spring
crowned with silence.
On the occasion of the municipality posting a letter asking people to pay their cemetery dues – by Bonnie McClellan
On the occasion of the municipality posting a letter asking people to pay their cemetery dues
Boxes of disremembered bones
expatriated into/out of locus
sad berth
the heartbreak of a January
blossoming cherry.
Paranoia by Bonnie McClellan
Paranoia
Her eyes slide to the side
like a Sienese saint
Painted by the brothers who died in the plague
back when there were 100 stories to tell
while bodies rotted,
left where they fell.
Escape into a place where
we can’t smell
we can’t feel
we can’t fear
But she’s convinced it’s coming:
selfie snapping
facial mapping
the lost weekend
the bottom
of the barrel.
A Belated Poem for International Women’s Day
Her hair is like a flag,
like an olive branch,
distinguished by its colour,
(unique but the same,
as so many others),
flapping in the wind
fruitlessly offering
peace.
Cloud Towers
Communion
This evening’s fresh clouds burst, Scattering across the asphalt a handful of rain’s unseasonable black confetti.
A jug of wine,
No loaf.
No thou.
I feed among the lilies of this resplendent sky.