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.
Tag: Bonnie McClellan
Cloud Towers
Thunder is grumbling down again,
Out of that un-ironed pile of forgotten clouds,
towering over the Alps.
Sweltering, breaking heat
A few 11 o’clock fireworks,
Even here.
.
.
.
.
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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.
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Mothers and Daughters: Communicating Vessels
One year when the awakened plane trees
find themselves struck yellow in the night,
there will be nothing left of me but
a memory in your hands as they pull
wet laundry from the spun drum or
open the window’s case –
inviting October’s last, warm breath
to communicate the dust
between one room
and another.
by Bonnie McClellan
This was first posted in May of 2013.
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The Mountains Are on Fire: by Bonnie McClellan
The mountains are on fire with clouds,
burning wet they billow up,
choking the spaces between the trees.
I hear the ticking of two clocks.
Furrowing through the valleys
fat white engulfs the state road,
levelling even the bell tower’s lopsided stones.
The crackling ash of rain stops.
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Horizon lines: by Bonnie McClellan
the world is dark.
shutters open.
the sky’s glacial pool opens.
three morning stars laugh
over the horizon line.
* * *
this copse of time
this stand of hours
………..between nows
becomes a minute
………..thicket
bristling towards the moon.
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STANDING POWER FIGURE (NKISI-NKONDI): by Bonnie McClellan
NKISI–NKONDI
The contract is only valid
when everyone believes
in the same magic.
MONEY
…..“With whom is the Courtesan’s contract made?”
She whose business is:
the manipulation of all parties
(including herself)
to her own best advantage.
Christlike she is
hero + victim of her own story.
……“The party of the second part is the Blacksmith.”
He whose hands are rough,
hard and dark as the hammer
he brings against the red point
of the witnessing nail.
NKISI–NKONDI
The contract is only valid
when everyone believes
in the same magic.
MONEY
LANGUAGE
A mantra to keep her head
above water : old words
– the end justifies the means
– one must hold power to create it
– an unalienable right to the pursuit of happiness
she reasons along the switch-back,
forked path,
the yellow wood;
…..worn thin by fine-shod feet of
…..courtesan,
…..consul,
…..cardinal,
……………..the prime minister
……………..the snake in the garden.
Things fall apart.
NKISI–NKONDI
The contract is only valid
when everyone believes
in the same magic.
MONEY
LANGUAGE
ETHICS
Forged of finer stuff
her slender circle glints around
the blacksmith’s rough hands
hard and dark as the hammer he rings
against the truth of the nail.
Iron wedges open wood’s yellow grain.
The courtesan’s ring corrupts his grip.
Yet, the nail is driven –
…..her gaze darts away from
…..open eyes || death’s mirror
He sees.
He sees.
Yet,
He believes.
The courtesan’s ring corrupts his grip
…………………………………corrupts the nail
…………………………………denies the magic
…………………………………of open eyes:
it’s all for sale.
To hear a reading of this poem, click on the player below:
To read more poems by this poet, click HERE.
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The Housewife’s Lament: Laundry – by Bonnie McClellan
The washing rustles its sorry story:
table stains and grey dust
leave off
hanging on
by a thread.
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The Housewife’s Lament: Guest – by Bonnie McClellan
Having left my eyes ajar,
night falls in:
drunk and tired as ever,
asking me to tend
the electric altar of his current stars.
It’s been days since
you packed up the suitcase
of your kiss.
I’m here with the night,
catching the anti-meridian in my arms.
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Sonnet on Descartes’ Vinyard / Sonetto sul Vigneto di Cartesio: by Bonnie McClellan
SONETTO SUL VIGNETO DI CARTESIO
Paesaggio trascrive in polvere il fantasma del tempo
Tratto manomesso; friabile, reticolo evidente.
Maledizione di Jahweh, o di Minerva fatidico dono
Nudo frutto d’Eden, nel lavoro ridefinito.
Asse cartesiana della mente ben ordita
Contro il caos verdeggiante; la ruota della ragione.
EGO SUM dell’uomo tirato in campo ardente
Morbida, intransigente linea infinita.
Cosa abbiamo perso in questo mondo ben composto,
Arato dalla nostra razza divisa e consapevole?
Beatitudine incolta, dura, senza nome;
Primo bacio selvaggio tra Adamo ed Eva d’ossa fine;
Frusciante betulla sbiancata, mai scritta;
Panno primale della lingua, tessuto ma ancora spiegato.
***** ***** *****
SONNET ON DESCARTES’ VINEYARD
Landscape writes out in dust the ghost of time
Well-fingered tract; friable, forceful grid.
Yahweh’s curse or Minerva’s fateful gift
Naked fruit of Eden, in labour, redefined.
Cartesian axle of the ordered mind
Brought against verdant chaos, reason’s wheel.
Man’s own I AM scratched out in burning field
Soft, intransigent infinity of line.
What have we lost in this well-structured world
Ploughed out by our sentient, divided kind?
A hard, unnamed, uncultivated bliss;
Adam and fine-boned Eve’s first savage kiss;
Clattering, chalky aspen undescribed;
Primal cloth of language, woven, yet unfurled.
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