Mini-Challenge I--Resurrect, Part II

II.

I ONCE WAS A FAWN
WITHOUT A HOMELAND,
EXILED TO THE FORESTS
DARK AND BEYOND.

IF WE MET AGAIN, HE WOULD SEE IN MY EYES
THE SPIRIT OF THE DEER HE HUNTED.
HE WOULD RECALL THE FOOTFALL THAT STARTLED HIM,
THE GAZE THAT ENVELOPED HIS VOICE
WITH A SUDDEN SILENCE.

Mini-Challenge I-- Resurrect, Part 1

I.

WHEN LAST I WAS ALIVE,
I WAS A SWAN AMONGST SWANS, SINGING.

THE TIME BEFORE THAT,
A SMALL BUTTERFLY,
TEETERING ON THE RIM
OF A LOVER'S GLASS OF WINE...

BUT FIRST AND FOREMOST,
LONG AGO (SO LONG AGO)
A WOMAN.

Dictionary Poem

(STARTING WITH B AND WORKING THROUGH S. THIS COULD BE A CASE STUDY IN WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE ONLY REFERENCE BOOK ON ONE'S SHELF IS "BLACK'S LAW DICTIONARY")

THE DUEL:

YOU COULDN'T BORROW BETTER COMPANY
WITH WHOM TO SHARE THIS HEADY BREW,
COOLER STEEL ON WHICH TO TEST YOURSELF,
OR A WORTHIER COMBATANT.
BUT COULD YOU, IN AN ACT OF PURE DIPLOMACY,
DEIGN TO ENTERTAIN MY EMANCIPATION?
OR WILL PRIDE DEMAND YOU FILIBUSTER
TILL QUARTER PAST FOREVER?

WELL, IF WE MUST FIGHT ONE ANOTHER,
CALL ME BY MY FORMAL NAME, FRANCOIS,
AND NOT MY GIVEN ONE, GRATIS.
YOUR GAMES, YOU MAY ENJOY FREELY.
NOT SO MY HONOR OR MY HAND

IN TRUTH, I'VE BEEN EYEING YOU FOR A JOINT VENTURE
SINCE JUDGE AND JURY CAUGHT ME KISSING THE BOOK--
LOVER, ARE YOU LISTENING...?
I'M LISTLESS FROM THEIR LITTLE MOVES.
I LUST TO LIE IN LIVERY WITH YOU,

MY MAGISTRATE.

STILL, MY MODESTY IS NOTHING
IF NOT SO NOBLY HELD,
AND ONLY TOO OBSTINATE TO FEIGN OFFENSE
AT YOUR POSITING HOW I MOVED UP THE POSTS
TO PARLAY MY SKILLS INTO SUCH A PARTNERSHIP.

TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION--
A QUASI-OFFER OF A QUID PRO QUO,
QUARRELING WITH THESE QUIXOTIC FOOLS,
UNTIL, REEVE BY REEVE,
THE RALLIED, THEN RETIRED AT MY FEET.
THEY REMAIN THERE STILL,
SLAYED IN COLD BLOOD BY A SINGLE SIREN
WHO, TO THEM, SEEMED SO CHARMING,
SO SEDUCTIVE.

--SILENCE!
DRAW YOUR SWORD.

Word Poem 1: Sanguine

A CATALOGUE OF HARVESTS:
I.
THE SANGUINE PEACH--
HER FACE, A CANVAS EASILY BLUSHED,
HER HEART, TOO EASILY BRUISED.
SHE RIPENS SLOWLY
THEN, TOO SOON, FALLS
SICKENING SWEET
HER SPIRIT HEAVY WITH DISAPPOINTED HOPES.

II.
REMEMBER MALUS DOMESTICA,
THE ONE WHO WANTED TO LOVE YOU AND BEAR YOUR CHILDREN,
WHO SWEPT YOU UP IN HER SIREN SONG?
BUT THEN AGAIN,WHAT WAS SHE WITHOUT A LOVER?
(WHO COULD HAVE BEEN ANY MAN, AFTER OR BEFORE YOU).

III.
AND WHAT OF YOUR LITTLE COMMUNIST,
WHO NEVER COULD BE FAITHFUL TO YOU?
NOMADIC NIGHT WANDERINGS, TOO MANY YOU SPENT
PLAGUED BY A HEART YOU NEVER COULD TOUCH--
OR WAS IT EVER THERE?

IV.
BUT THEN YOUR EYES TRIPPED OVER HER
NESTLED AMONGST THE SEDUCTIVE BOUGHS OF ORANGES.
THERE YOU TOUCHED THE SKIN ROUGH WITH OLD REGRETS;
PRESSED YOUR LIPS TO THE FLOWERS,
THE LEAVES THAT NEVER BETRAYED HER FRAGRANCE,
THE BRANCHES THAT SOUGHT YOU FIRST
BECAUSE THEY KNEW YOU.
THOUGH SHE WAS NOT A TITLED FRUIT
SHE BORE HER NOBILITY PRESSED TO THE GROUND,
HER SPIRIT SCENTING YOU AND THE EARTH,
HER PROUD FACE CATCHING THE SUNLIGHT.

Homunculus

FISTS OF FURY BEAT THE STABLE WALLS--
IS THE VENGEANCE POURING FROM HER EYES
ENOUGH TO CHANGE THE CHEMISTRY
OF THE BOUNDARIES THAT SURROUND HER IN THIS PRISON?
THE FIRE RAGES, EXPLODING EVERY OBJECT NEAR TO HER
BUT NO ONE EVER COMES TO SET HER FREE.
SHE WATCHES THE SMOKE THAT COILS,
THE FLAME THAT GLOWS,
FEELS THE CHAOS COMING
THAT WOULD SUFFOCATE HER HEART,
THE HATE THAT SEARS HER ORGANS ONE BY ONE.

IF ONLY SHE COULD BE TRANSFORMED,
AWAKEN AS A HORSE OR SOME BETTER ANIMAL,
NOT HUMAN,
AND HAVE THE STRENGTH TO LEAVE THIS PLACE.
IF ONLY SHE COULD TURN HER GAZE SKYWARD
THAT THE ANGELS MIGHT ABSORB HER.

Off Site

THIS IS JUST AN EXPLANATION OF "RARE GENIUS"... I TRIED SEVERAL OTHER TITLES FIRST, REALLY I DID, BUT THEY WERE ALL TAKEN. I MEAN, I'M NOT THAT EGOTISTICAL. SLIGHTLY, YES. BUT NOT GROSSLY, AS THE TITLE MIGHT IMPLY. ACTUALLY I CHOSE IT BECAUSE IT'S THE NAME OF MY FANTASY ROCK BAND. I WOULD PLAY BASS GUITAR. ONE MIGHT ASSUME I WOULD BE LEAD SINGER, BUT...NO. THAT'S MY GIG IN REAL LIFE. BUT MY SECRET FANTASY IS TO PLAY BASS GUITAR. MICHAEL BALZARY IS ONE OF MY HEROES. I THINK THOSE GUYS, THE BASS GUITARISTS, THEY PERFORM THE LESS OBVIOUS MIRACLES.

Longing in a Surreal Landscape

NIGHT FALLS ON THE PEPPERMINT FOREST.

YOU MOVE BETWEEN THE ROWS OF TREES
AND DISTURB THE QUIET SNOW TO GET TO ME.
GIANT CANDY CANE SHADOWS FALL,
EMBRACING YOU WITH THEIR SWEETNESS,

BUT I CANNOT TASTE WHAT'S SWEET.
I CAN BE NOTHING BUT SADDENED
BY THE BLANK, WHITE DARKNESS.

FROM SOMEWHERE IN THE DISTANCE
YOUR MOTHER CALLS TO YOU.

ALONE AGAIN, I PLUNGE MY HANDS
INTO THE SIGHING LANDSCAPE,
FEELING FOR HEARTBEATS.

MY ARMS STUMBLE OVER A BERRY, BIG AND RED
IT IS STILL BEATING.
I CARRY IT, BLEEDING,
TO THE PLACE WHERE LAST YOU STOOD--
BUT YOU, AND EVEN YOUR FOOTPRINTS, HAVE GONE HOME.

Date With a Famous Person

DATE WITH LAWRENCE OF ARABIA:
DINNER, THEN.
WE'RE GOING DUTCH.
TEN SHOTS OF WHISKEY WON'T COST MUCH.
I'LL GET YOU DRUNK AND WALK YOU BACK.
AT HALF PAST TWELVE WE'LL HIT THE SACK.
I'LL BITE YOUR NECK,
(MERE MORTAL'S SKIN),
RELEASE THE GOD THAT LIES WITHIN,
THEN CRACK MY WHIP
OF TONGUE AND WIT--
IF YOU CAN STAND THE STING OF IT.