Song VIII from The Madness of Hora

An excerpt from The Book of Cyrus

This is a thousand more words
than I was looking for
close the door, I’m a nook in a cranny
bare my fanny, nanny

Tiny seed germinated into a laughing stock
red-flamed harlot, mooning the starlet
giving birth in my own time to
no twin sons of the seventh horizon

Ride on MacDuff, you fluff maker
of doll house wonder children
bored of their own tedium
drink the red rum of cerebrum

Pig Latin marvel of reflection
a jam donut of speculation, speculum
injectulunkin pumpkin spice
two moons rise over the second sun

Three castanets salute the coming dawn
sat on by silent trumpets
(played by strumpets)
with the gift of tongues

The oracle brushed the barnacles off
the sinking like a stone sack
of helium balloons in the night sky
a brief rumble in the distance

The clanking of my garden door
splanked on the floor waiting for you
son of Hahn, brother of Sammardine
a dream of mine, a daughter

To take my place, thunder-stealer
clone of the mote in my eye
try to take the sting out of it
my dirty chastity

Pure spirit, Hula Hoop of destiny
Lucky charm of Lepracaanum
You can hear ‘em, smear ‘em
where it hurts so good

Sticky flood of senseless tears
my punch drunk ears of sadness
seventy nine parrots wish they were
ravens, who nobody quoteth

My life can never endeth
the poet doth quote
a friendly raven
evermore

Author's Note

Hora has reached her final phase of lunacy

Reviews

[Twilight]

Well, sometimes we can all be driven a bit loony by WC; so why should Hora be any exception.? On a more serious note, there's some rather mischievous word play in this piece. And, it reads as if the writer has managed to go "in character"; to rant using words which Hora might be familiar with.? But, doughnut and leprechaun? Unless, she was particularly well travelled; or existed contemporarily? Anyway, I liked the last line; referencing Poe's famous phrase - from The Raven poem. And, some of the other lines too! Back to the choice of words, it did give me the impression; of a loony person's insane ranting. More specifically, that random choice of words and topics; which Hora managed to rave about. Well, perhaps she knew it would be going in a book (The Book Of Cyrus)? I concur with Ken's positive comments too, in his review. After all, poetry can be many different things; at the same time..!

[Anne Martin]

Actually, she starts in contemporary London and is trapped in an alternate universe. Several of her songs draw from contemporary images, and the "editors" of The Book of Cyrus are unable to explain them, and refer to them in their critical notes to the edition.

[Twilight]

Well, I should have known straightaway; about the setting being in contemporary London. And, that alternate universe angle. Who could miss spotting that? Every line and word, makes those aspects; loud and clear...?

[Anne Martin]

Well, The Book of Cyrus is a companion novella to a fantasy novel The Cult of Hahn. (https://thecultofanne.wordpress.com/category/prose/novels/the-cult-of-hahn/)

[Twilight]

OK. I have been inside The Cult Of Anne, but not read that novella. Of course, it would then put this lament from Hora in context for me.

[Ken Simm.]

Such images and poetry. I am fascinated with the use of words and descriptions here. Top class work of a surreal yet atmospheric nature.

[Vol]

Anne
Now, this is the REAL thing! Poetry of the highest degree! Stunning imagery, cleverest of word plays, every stanza a poem in itself and ending with ... hmmm a meaningful stand ...or lament?
Vol

[Anne Martin]

Yes, it is a lament. The narrator is a character from one of my novels, who finds herself in an alternative universe - a goddess - who is immortal there, trapped by her creation, and these mad songs lament the fact that she can't go back.

Thanks for having a look at my original poetry. When I was first experimenting with AI. I fed this one in to see what it would make of it, or from it. The first attempt somehow came up with all-rhyming poetry, but after some tweaking, it produced something actually quite good. It was still a parody, and it lacked the oblique cultural references. It began:

[1] In a whispering echo, shadows dance
with the phantom light of yesterday’s romance
close the gate, I’m a whisper in a hollow
bare my sorrow, tomorrow

When I chastised it for its parody, it came up with another poem that ended:

[18] The hinges of my mind creak
waiting for your return
child of mystery, kin of shadows
a vision of mine, a whisper

[19] To fill the silence, dream-chaser
reflection of the light in my eyes
try to calm the storm within
my fragile serenity

I've come to the conclusion that the AI will always be a little more conservative and less experimental than I am - and its made-up words aren't as funky - but it often gives me a platform that I can work with and extend into something - as you say - REAL. Most of my AI poetry/prose is restricted to one of my WordPress sites that clearly designates it as AI, and each still contains some human edits. I don't post it anywhere under my name unless it has significant human edits. That is my quality control.

[Vol]

Anne,
I was watching the movie "Rob Roy," and the phrase "moon-cast shadows" popped up... How could anyone not find some kind of beauty in those words? So Erato kissed me with a poem,.. Most of my inspiration comes like that, one tiny thing ignites a whole scene, idea, concept , mind-trek... and out pops a poem that sometimes goes down a road I never knew was there. But you obviously already know how that works. From your comments, it seems AI might inspire related lines that help create a larger picture...
I'm an old man, and stuck in my ways, so please forgive my discomfort. I mean, I don't just look at paintings, I watch MOVIES with special effects! and that's probably a valid analogy.
At any rate, thanks for chatting with me and helping to get my head on straight...
Vol

[Anne Martin]

Well, I'm probably not much younger, at the smoking butt of middle age, kissing the sagging jack-o-lantern of retirement myself. Inspiration comes from many places in many forms.

Interestingly, "moon-cast" popped up in one the AI's (I call her Jessica) poems a few days ago - actually it was "moon-liquid", which was oddly satisfying:

Crack the sky open
I am a shadow, forgotten thought
whisper slipped sideways
turn the moon—liquid, dread

[Vol]

Anne,
You have no idea how starved I am for conversations about poetry and literature... rare on even this site.
I moved to a little Texas ghost town seven years ago, my house was built in the 1920s and was here on Rt. 66 for the depression. Though it was the largest city in the county back then, only about 12 occupied homes survive today.
I moved from a thriving, Nashville poetry scene with several venues plus Vanderbilt, Belmont, and Lipscomb folks who were always around to brighten conversations everywhere. I miss everything about that time in my life...
All that to say, I'm happy to meet you...
Vol