Five feathers at dawn
in company with
two coins in the paper cup
between a beggar’s knees.
Your shadow is more the apparition of a thought
than the feather left behind by hawks.
O, woman of stiletto heels,
shawled you walk
syncopating V8 engines and a kiss,
moist with white feathers.
Not much was said while
waiting for the tea to cool
and feathers falling in the pond.
The caged bird doesn’t need its
but still sings in broken tongue.
Lending to the feathers,
hues of sunlight
refracted on a peacock rainbow,
as a cockerel subdued.
The blackbird’s feather is
a tongue, a woman clad in lace
and this poem spilled from rain.
The window panes as brushed
by fingertips divide your
shore from winter’s sleet and
a feather stained with blood.
Today I host MTB at dVerse, where I try to link the ideas behind Wallace Steven’s poem, Thirteen ways of looking at the blackbird, to the Picasso’s and Bracque’s postulates for cubism. If this sounds complicated just follow this simple recipe:
1. Select an object to write about.
2. Write separate poem about it and vary the perspective.
3. Arrange the separate poems to create a new coherence by using contrasts.
September 28, 2016