Michelle Greenblatt & Sheila Murphy
three ghazals
**
48/
Plain foreground brings down backdrop as if
Small deaths in the supermarket reign
I try on the surface to remember more about
Diameters that sprawl across available space.
Pacific time indulges peaceful yellow roses
While Atlantic time indulges only ocean's tides
Wind bends left then right then left again in proximity
To objects vulnerable in wind, then shifting again.
Experience calls to mind the color of a robin's egg
While totality arranges for one last incomplete trade
How nimbly one illusion reminds us of another
Break with nurtured faith, enormous in toned ambivalence.
Swan glide across apparent stillness reveals
A darker stillness to be found around here.
Wind stirs up the dust of stored memory
As fast as sputtering defeats the rain.
Pinstriped angels fathom heresy awhile then sing
For the blessed Lord to bring forth all his other angels.
Of all the things immersed in forever, this was the last
Chrysanthemum left whole upon the landscape peacefully.
Stripes of sunfall gentles far above the root
Of complexities more foreign than local.
Ashen waves of history blow over the city
Where a rinse was, threading for awhile the salted thirst.
Dimes roll across the lawn, each coming to a small halt
Their posture at first upright, then they lay on the floor.
To those who have died, those who are not born yet are
Identical and not yet identical.
Shores attract what underwater singing cannot
A host of seashells scattered along the shoreline.
**
49/
The western light lingers, flashing in the sky
Some semitones as ripe as elderflurries.
Chimes go nimble in the thick of eminence
To their thicket form chimes have resemblance.
Facial structure can be a blessing or a curse
The brimming bones accommodate long spines loading.
Change rankles atmosphere within which soffits
Before the mutiny has a chance to pounce.
Spring and the warm things arrive slowly
While steam rinses what will be yet breathed.
Surrender formulates a shift in craft
That otherwise would be known as giving in.
Majesty's hand reaches for the rose without the thorns
Inplanted with the thought of being once prayed across.
Staplets of release endure transposed renditions
Of the empty lines filling with nonsense poetry.
In simpler days we were more direct with
Sampling theory; we could speak freely.
Doves landed on the slate roof already on a hilltop
Where other birds had rested, but none as beautiful as they.
My rivers have surround-sound, my forest
Has enclosed sets of persimmon place cards.
All lore retains a strand of the oblivion
To be told by mothers to their children at night,
Raw nerve endings are grated by the very sound of
Plush carpet during gradual fever to ear drums.
Sonoran Desert attracts dust when wind adjusts
To the changing temperatures of night and day.
Poor bare wind blows lonely through the leafy trees
And sand shifts while we notice the sand shifting.
**
51/
A vortex, a meeting place, a hole in the sky
Piercings to multiply a backdrop of drawn spores.
"Lengthen and widen" as a phrase beseeched
The girl who had no flexibility.
I hold the sinking river in my arms and pray
For any other element to thread needle.
Kinship washes spiritual overtones
With what is most desired in a friendship.
The stones erupt with light and sound contorted
In a myriad of striped ways, tipping white.
Centerfielded diffidence approximates root lore
When multitudes collide and bodies wash ashore.
Starshine ruptures into millions of tiny lights
Mosaic to the anchor axis placed in front.
Cymbidium divorced from touch remains estranged
From the same voluble fellow who knew once more.
Our light lacks absolute power to dissolve into
Young seeming syllables that lift early minds away.
It is a small thought, yearning, paced to calibrate
The times in between thinking and acting it out.
The advent of our search is upon us as we
Patch the glyphs with fever and intend the ciphers.
Warm winter leaves the plane of least descent
When spring waltzes in with a grand entrance.
Sky blackens as night brightens
Despite thick fog imparted.
Reverence may interfere with daily life
But stopping what you're doing leads to mishaps.
I crave indifference on days like these when
Sotto voce's not the rule, nor tenderness.
**
return to sawbuck 1.2
**
Michelle Greenblatt is the co-editor (along with David-Baptiste Chirot) of the upcoming magazine, The New Hallucinogen. Her first book brain :storm, went to press this January. Her second book, Ashes and Seeds is forthcoming from BlazeVOX. Michelle can be reached at michelle.greenblatt@gmail.com
Sheila Murphy is the author of numerous books of poetry, most recently Continuations, a collaboration with Douglas Barbour from The University of Alberta Press. Her home is in Phoenix, Arizona.
**
48/
Plain foreground brings down backdrop as if
Small deaths in the supermarket reign
I try on the surface to remember more about
Diameters that sprawl across available space.
Pacific time indulges peaceful yellow roses
While Atlantic time indulges only ocean's tides
Wind bends left then right then left again in proximity
To objects vulnerable in wind, then shifting again.
Experience calls to mind the color of a robin's egg
While totality arranges for one last incomplete trade
How nimbly one illusion reminds us of another
Break with nurtured faith, enormous in toned ambivalence.
Swan glide across apparent stillness reveals
A darker stillness to be found around here.
Wind stirs up the dust of stored memory
As fast as sputtering defeats the rain.
Pinstriped angels fathom heresy awhile then sing
For the blessed Lord to bring forth all his other angels.
Of all the things immersed in forever, this was the last
Chrysanthemum left whole upon the landscape peacefully.
Stripes of sunfall gentles far above the root
Of complexities more foreign than local.
Ashen waves of history blow over the city
Where a rinse was, threading for awhile the salted thirst.
Dimes roll across the lawn, each coming to a small halt
Their posture at first upright, then they lay on the floor.
To those who have died, those who are not born yet are
Identical and not yet identical.
Shores attract what underwater singing cannot
A host of seashells scattered along the shoreline.
**
49/
The western light lingers, flashing in the sky
Some semitones as ripe as elderflurries.
Chimes go nimble in the thick of eminence
To their thicket form chimes have resemblance.
Facial structure can be a blessing or a curse
The brimming bones accommodate long spines loading.
Change rankles atmosphere within which soffits
Before the mutiny has a chance to pounce.
Spring and the warm things arrive slowly
While steam rinses what will be yet breathed.
Surrender formulates a shift in craft
That otherwise would be known as giving in.
Majesty's hand reaches for the rose without the thorns
Inplanted with the thought of being once prayed across.
Staplets of release endure transposed renditions
Of the empty lines filling with nonsense poetry.
In simpler days we were more direct with
Sampling theory; we could speak freely.
Doves landed on the slate roof already on a hilltop
Where other birds had rested, but none as beautiful as they.
My rivers have surround-sound, my forest
Has enclosed sets of persimmon place cards.
All lore retains a strand of the oblivion
To be told by mothers to their children at night,
Raw nerve endings are grated by the very sound of
Plush carpet during gradual fever to ear drums.
Sonoran Desert attracts dust when wind adjusts
To the changing temperatures of night and day.
Poor bare wind blows lonely through the leafy trees
And sand shifts while we notice the sand shifting.
**
51/
A vortex, a meeting place, a hole in the sky
Piercings to multiply a backdrop of drawn spores.
"Lengthen and widen" as a phrase beseeched
The girl who had no flexibility.
I hold the sinking river in my arms and pray
For any other element to thread needle.
Kinship washes spiritual overtones
With what is most desired in a friendship.
The stones erupt with light and sound contorted
In a myriad of striped ways, tipping white.
Centerfielded diffidence approximates root lore
When multitudes collide and bodies wash ashore.
Starshine ruptures into millions of tiny lights
Mosaic to the anchor axis placed in front.
Cymbidium divorced from touch remains estranged
From the same voluble fellow who knew once more.
Our light lacks absolute power to dissolve into
Young seeming syllables that lift early minds away.
It is a small thought, yearning, paced to calibrate
The times in between thinking and acting it out.
The advent of our search is upon us as we
Patch the glyphs with fever and intend the ciphers.
Warm winter leaves the plane of least descent
When spring waltzes in with a grand entrance.
Sky blackens as night brightens
Despite thick fog imparted.
Reverence may interfere with daily life
But stopping what you're doing leads to mishaps.
I crave indifference on days like these when
Sotto voce's not the rule, nor tenderness.
**
return to sawbuck 1.2
**
Michelle Greenblatt is the co-editor (along with David-Baptiste Chirot) of the upcoming magazine, The New Hallucinogen. Her first book brain :storm, went to press this January. Her second book, Ashes and Seeds is forthcoming from BlazeVOX. Michelle can be reached at michelle.greenblatt@gmail.com
Sheila Murphy is the author of numerous books of poetry, most recently Continuations, a collaboration with Douglas Barbour from The University of Alberta Press. Her home is in Phoenix, Arizona.
