Modern Sorcery by Charles Simic

Modern Sorcery

By Charles Simic

You could have been just another maggot

squirming over history's roadkill.
Instead a witch took pity on you, lucky fellow,

made you say abracadabra, and much else

you didn't understand

while you held on to the hem of her skirt.

You know neither the place nor the hour

of your transfiguration.

A kitten lapping a drop of milk

fallen from the Blessed Virgin's breast

in a church at dawn. That's how it felt:

the two of you kneeling there.

Outside, there was a flash of lightning

like a tongue passing over a bloody knife,

but you were safe.

Hexed once and for all in her open arms,

giddy and ticked pink with her sorcery.

*************

This poem is from one of my favorite anthologies, "Staying Alive, Real Poems for Unreal Times" edited by Neil Astley which I've mentioned several times before. It's loaded with great poetry---overflowing!! I know I posted this poem a while back, but I'm doing a rerun because I love it so much.


I love, love, love the imagery in this poem. It literally makes me wince every time I read it. Great stuff!


I'd like to ask everyone to pray for Renee, one of my dear blog friends, who lives in Canada. Her sister is battling inoperable brain cancer and her 25 year old nephew (same sister's son) is battling a rare stomach cancer. They were both diagnosed only recently. They need healing miracles and our loving thoughts.... I appreciate you all!!


Hugs, Love, & Blessings,


~*~Marion~*~


"I believe in prayer. It's the best way we have to draw strength from heaven." ~Josephine Baker


"If instead of a gem, or even a flower, we should cast the gift of a loving thought into the heart of a friend, that would be giving as the angels give." ~George MacDonald

Tear It Down by Jack Gilbert

Tear It Down
By Jack Gilbert

We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond
affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
But going back toward childhood will not help.
The village is not better than Pittsburgh.
Only Pittsburgh is more than Pittsburgh.
Rome is better than Rome in the same way the sound
of racoon tongues licking the inside walls
of the garbage tub is more than the stir
of them in the muck of the garbage. Love is not
enough. We die and are put into the earth forever.
We should insist while there is still time. We must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within the body.

*********************************************

Steve Vai Guitar Dual from 1986 Movie, "Crossroads" - AWESOME!!!

Moonlight's Dance, A Poem With Pictures

My majestic Moonflowers are ecstatic with our August weather: afternoon storms so they can open early in the cooler, cloudy false twilight and fabulous humidity for maximum blooming. They're vining like crazy---reaching toward the sky, tangled in the Morning Glories, choking the Elephant Ears and even crawling along the ground---it's as if they know they only have another month or so to flourish radiantly before Autumn arrives and magically transforms what was flowers into big, fat seed pods.

Me, I get melancholy in August. The flowers are starting to be all bloomed out, school starts, time is flying by like a runaway train, and I'm oh, so bone tired, body-weary and in daily pain with my pathetic bad back which is getting worse. I know, I'm whining, but I haven't whined all summer, so gimme a break! LOL!

I haven't been inspired, but I went outside anyway last night to photograph the full moon. (Oh, how she glowed in my windows, moonlight lying like ghostly carpet on my fake wood floors!!!) Boy, was I in for a wonderful surprise. I have a new camera, another Kodak EasyShare, but with more zoom and megapixels, so these are the first moon shots I've attempted. I put it on the Night Landscape setting and below are some of the crazybeautiful, stunning photographs.

It's like the Moonlady Herself knew I was down in the dumps and wanted to cheer me by playing with me on this hot, humid Summer night. There are many, many more amazing photos but I'm not posting them here because I don't want anyone to take them (I know, we all do it). I have no idea how I got these mind-blowing shots, but here they are with a little poem I eeked out with much sweating and effort. LOL! (I plan to work on it and add more to it when the Muse comes back. In the meantime, I'll be doing art to rest my brain.) I hope you enjoy them.

Blessings, Love & Peace---

~Marion~

Moonlight's Dance
By Marion L.


Went out last night to take
her picture, to capture her
in fullness of face.
She spun away in modesty,
saying she had no grace.




I snapped her as she
was turning---
She twisted her head to the right





All that appeared on my pictures
were trails of
her luminous, white light.


August 5, 2009, Full Moon

Dragonfly Love

Dragonfly Love


I don't know from where
this dragonfly love was birthed.
Memories come to me,
all the way back to 5 years old
playing with dragonflies,
chasing them,
standing as still as a statue,
little fingers outstretched
hoping they'd think me a tree,
or sitting in a lawn chair
my red-painted toes wiggling,
willing them to land.
They always do.
Can it be their predictability?
Maybe.
Or that they soar about the earth
yet are birthed in water.


See his tattered, fragile wings?
See his curious big turquoise eyes?
See how he trusts me?
He's a survivor, like me.
Maybe that's our bond.


~Marion

Sky Calligraphy by Buson

The wild geese write a verse against the glow

Over the hills; their seal---the moon below. ~BUSON

~Haiku from: "A Net of Fireflies", translated by Harold Stewart, page 82

Photograph by Marion, taken on 8/1/09

Your Heart Was My Home Until You Handed Me an Eviction Notice

Your Heart Was My Home Until You Handed Me An Eviction Notice

by Amanda Bower, Stacy, MN

from: TeenInk.com


I removed the layers of blankets from my aching bones

to excavate the secrets that were held together by saliva

in papier-mâché envelopes, only to chew on disappointments

and lie on shards of fragile stained glass that tampered with my flaws,

instead of putting me back together with multicolored duct tape

so gray was only found inside of my body.

I wrung the tears from your sweatshirt and decided it was time

to give it back to you, in exchange for my serpent heart

[barely beating,

barely breathing];

instead of curling inside your stomach and making you

nearly as ill as I had become, just by drinking venomous nectar

and digesting fireflies so a small portion of me would feel alive,

I climbed over your picket fence and let you recline my eyes

in another awkward position to the point where I only chain-smoked

the main exhibits of your aesthetic proportions and declined

every deficiency of the person you truly are,

i. blunt

*****************************

I found this poem in an old book yesterday, cut out from a newsprint publication. I don't know the date or where it really came from until I Googled it online and found the link listed above. The universe gave it to me.

I only know that it resonated deeply within my spirit's heart and poetsoul. Oh, the careless way we trust our beating, precious, only tender hearts to just anyone!!!

~Marion

Jason Bredle, Young Poet Extraordinaire

I discovered the incredible poetry of Jason Bredle several years ago online and fell in love with several lines of this particular poem. You can guess, knowing me, that the word 'dragonfly' is in most of my favorite lines. But I love the raw intensity of his writing and how he seems to reinvent language, yet not so in a way that's undecipherable as some poetry is nowadays.


I say this often, but we must buy poetry and support other poets. I read an article last week that said that most poets, even the award winning ones, must have other jobs to survive. It's a shame. We need poetry. It's food for the spirit. It's the lifeblood of language.


Poetry is my own personal lifeline and my very heartbeat. Poetry is what keeps me tied to this earth, but at the same time, gives me wings to escape it.


Enjoy.


Blessings and Love,


~*~Marion~*~





The Idiot's Guide to Faking Your Own Death and Moving to Mexico
By Jason Bredle


Every few seconds I check the Bible
to see what Jesus is saying about me. The answer
is always nothing. Sometimes
he's condemning me to eternal damnation,
but usually nothing. Tonight I am alone,
wearing my sex shorts, adrift amongst
the black suburban pools of eternal damnation.
No, I have not been in love. Yes,
I have been in love. I am speaking the language
in which no and yes mean the same, in which
apricot and goodbye mean the same.
I am remembering the kudzu of the awful season,
sitting with you beside the swamp for the last
time and neither of us knowing it was the last
time but yes the glass was hello and dragonfly.
Was it a blessing? They say so in this language.
Others say this language is dying, or already
dead. I speak it, nonetheless, while eating
apricots in the evening of eternal damnation
where you yell at the map and cut your wrist
and there is a darkness here that I have only shared
with my cat, like that guy in the movie who writes
graphic erotica and goes crazy. One says
pain near the black pool of everything,
my back is covered with wax. Every few
seconds I check the Bible to see what Jesus
is saying about me. The answer is always nothing,
aside from the time he lambasted the outfit I wore
to the People's Choice Awards. A green tuxedo.
Tonight, I am adrift in the suburb of the black sky,
I am speaking the language in which love
and apricot mean the same, in which pool
and death mean the same. I said goodbye
in a suburb like this, years ago. I said
goodbye in a suburb like this, years ago.
According to Hercules, if we make an angel
out of ourselves, that is what we are; if we make
a devil out of ourselves, that too is what
we are. See, this is what I am getting at.
It is the awful season and I am speaking
the language in which violence and God mean
the same, in which blood and dragonfly mean
the same. I am in the orchard of eternity
picking the goodbyes of damnation, I am licking
your dragonfly blood and speaking the language
in which pain means hello. A black pool,
a green sky. That is to say, each moment
without you is a vacant airport, each moment
without you is a glass apricot. Every few seconds
I check the Bible to see what Jesus is saying
about me. The answer is always nothing. Except
today, it's a bunch of weird stuff about how
I'm falling into a black pool in some suburb,
maybe Palatine or something, and just like that,
I've gone forever. I know! That's what I thought
too. This is the story, but in this language, this
is not the story. I am eating red ice,
harvesting a field of knives. I am speaking
the language in which heaven and earth mean
the same, in which sky and white mean the same.
O Lord, I made this dragonfly for you. Even
if you do not listen to it, just know, this
is how I have always felt about you. And I
am possessed. And I am a fatalist. Do you see
these bruises? Do you see these bruises?
They are a sad bouquet. They are a beautiful
scrapbook. I am floating. I am in love.
I am dead. On a perfect night, my back is covered
with wax. O Violence, but I did not want this hello.
O Lord, I made this dragonfly for you.
Even if You do not listen to it, just know, I made it
only for you.

maggie and millie and molly and may

maggie and milly and molly and may
by e. e. cummings

maggie and milly and molly and may

went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang

so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star

whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing

which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone

as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)

it's always ourselves we find in the sea.

************************************

This is one of my favorite summer poems and it just happens to be by one of my favorite poets, e.e. cummings, whose poems I often share here. I post it for those of you who haven't read it. It's lyrical and fun and just plain perfect.

I don't know anyone who doesn't love the sea. I've been to the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean, but I've never been to the West Coast to see the Pacific Ocean. I hope to one day before I die. There's just something healing about the sea and the beach, standing on the edge of the land and looking out into that vast body of water. For some reason it brings to mind the first few sentences in a fabulous book, "Their Eyes Were Watching God" by Zora Neale Hurston:

"Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. That is the life of men."

It's a fabulous book if you're looking for something good to read. LOL! See, life is just this big cross reference where one book or poem leads to another and on and on. I love it!!

It's been a nice, stormy day here in the swamps with lots of much needed rain. It's cooler, but the mosquitoes are doing tiny little happy dances because of all the water they now have to lay eggs in. It's always something, right?

I'm not complaining, though. I love the cooler weather. It's pretty sad when 90 degrees is a cool spell! Let me head back to my books. I hear them calling me---

Hugs, Love, & Blessings,

~*~Marion~*~

"The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea." ~Isak Dinesen

"The sea pronounces something, over and over, in a hoarse whisper; I cannot quite make it out. " ~Annie Dillard

Undiscovered Gyrl by Allison Burnett

I read "Undiscovered Gyrl" by Allison Burnett, earlier this week and really enjoyed it. It was different from any other book I've read and the plot was ingenious, riveting, and heartbreaking all at the same time. I'm recommending it because it's about blogging, a favorite subject of so many of us, no? It's written in the format of an 18 year old girl's anonymous blog. This line really hit me in the gut: "Only on the Internet can you have so many friends and be so lonely."

In the interest of honesty, I will say that I'm now a member of the Amazon Vine program where I get to review books before they come out. I get a reader's copy of the book for free (thank yaaa Jaayyysssuus!) BUT, I do get to choose from a variety of books to review and I picked this one because it looked so interesting. I'm in the top 1,000 of reviewers at Amazon and have only been reviewing books there for, oh, TEN YEARS! I will say, when I saw the invitation, I did do a teeny, little happy dance...I mean offering a bookaholic books is like putting an alcoholic to work stomping grapes with the benefit of all the free wine they can consume if you don't mind purple feet. But really, the book is amazing and I think many of you would enjoy reading it. It comes out August 11, 2009.

I won't go into the story because you can read my review at Amazon. I review as Marion with my 'dragonfly' hotmail address next to my name if you'd care to toss me some bones in the vote department. Don't worry, I won't be bugging the hell out of you with lots of book reviews, but this one really got to me and was an awesome read.

Blessings, Love & Peace,

~*~Marion~*~

"There are books so alive that you're always afraid that while you weren't reading, the book has gone and changed, has shifted like a river; while you went on living, it went on living too, and like a river moved on and moved away. No one has stepped twice into the same river. But did anyone ever step twice into the same book?" ~Marina Tsvetaeva