this pantheon extending from the waist to the ankle.

 

 

 

I want to live on a farm, with horses.

And a corn field so long the furthest end

stops in China, and we can run it's entire

length searching for new forms of expression;

 

and I warned you in 1978 of this detailed archetype,

the sweet oil of conception that good dreams

depend on. And you will need chickens and

a dog to scatter their bones and a broom

 

with the heaviest bristles to sweep the stone

shapes and bird droppings from disintegrating

afternoons. And a well, with crumbling bricks

of course, that fall in the tender ground water

 

and makes a cool drink brown muchless narcissus.

And two holes in the hominid earth where

necklaces can be lost in, and swings will be

poised there to prove that, admittedly,

 

the air of all these pearls is poetic inspiration only.

And the unwinding string of the winged horse is

so easy now to understand .And I will need a pair,

no make that two pairs of size 34 long coveralls,

 

the pegged ones, wide at the top but narrow at the bottom

as the profuse, long, soft coat of a Mississippi lake, filled

with brim, to be cooked unscalled, with the heads on

so the eyes can wrap their jonquil vision  in the thin pancakes.

 

And molasses made of whatever molasses is made of.

I never caught a fish before. I came close once

but the weeds held the sinker down and I pulled and

pulled the long legs of boredom and fastened

 

my silver hooks together to make the outline of faces,

illustrated but still difficult to discern. And we will

need a kitchen with a stove to fry our fish, and a fan

to blow the stiff lard smoke from our veins. And hats,

 

and blue skies, and butterfly wallpaper, and pigs

with different color pelts and neighbors to pin us down and

glue those paper-cutter ducklings to us with electric pantomine.

And I almost forgot, those jars with the golden lids to

 

put our canned things in. (?) And something dry and that stays

that way, like a cat or an angel, or the collapsible slippers

in this dell'arte pantisoc;

and little children, or better yet

the posters of little children,

 

and a strong, mighty river to wash our prissy,

little city asses away.

Author's Note

pantisocracy has been shortened to pantisoc for effect.

Reviews

[Emily B]

mammaw used to take me fishin, she would bait my hook, until after lunch, she didn't know it was cause i didn't want to get my hands dirty before i ate my baloney sandwich, i have walked furrowed fields, of corn and tobacco, carried split wood, my heart is in the hills, it grows green like red dent

[Tree]

I've fallen in love with this world that you've created. It would be a place I would want to dwell in; full of earthy abstract inspirations in which to build poems, and gardens that grow weird vegetables and Tall people.... When I read this I thought about one of my favorite novels: 100 Years Of Solitude. If you have never read this I strongly recommend it. It's by a noble peace prize winner by the name of Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

This was a great poem, dana. Glad to have back tracked and discovered it.

DP

[Corset]

It's made from the brown of the sugar, this line more than any other made the poem for me, the thick brown uncrystallized bitter syrup obtained from sugar during refining,
that would be you my friend...you are molasses.

[caesarkreshen]

I think I drifted out of this poem a few times, but I may be tired. Coffee takes to long to kick in. I find myself (as with many poets) stopping in the middle of lines. I wonder, does that matter? I tend to think line breaks can be superfluous because we read in a way two words can't follow each other in succession, but is that true for everyone? For instance:

the sweet oil of conception that good dreams
depend on. And you will need chickens and
a dog to scatter their bones (implied comma here) and a broom

I wonder if I stop because that's what part matches up sonically, then it starts something new?

Then:

and makes a cool drink brown muchless narcissus.
And two holes in the hominid earth where
necklaces can be lost in, and swings will be
poised there to prove that, admittedly,

I'm very interested in muchless narcissus. That's a good thought. Implied comma before it. Then, you have words like "in" after lost which is there for no reason IMO. Where necklaces can be lost. IN starts a whole different thought and is flow obstructing.

I never caught a fish before. I came close once
but the weeds held the sinker down and I pulled and
pulled the long legs of boredom and fastened

This was my favorite part, unless I missed a favorite part when I was falling in and out of it like a dreamstate. The reason I like it is because how quickly it switched from image to image. The pulled and--- to the next line was an extremely good transition.

Pantisoc sounds very sexy.

I wonder sometimes where you get this poetry. Are you writing it now? Are you pulling it out of old notebooks? Did you publish this stuff before? I'm surprised if you haven't, honestly. I think that at some points it is rough around the edges, but I am pretty cut and dry. I don't think much is ever misplaced in terms of making a poem bad. It's more of an opinion thing.

Also, what about that (?) ?

peace

[Corset]

You had me at stanza one, what an opener, the whole thing went Norman Rockwell meets Green acres, meets the beet (haha that was better but I was thinking beets, and what NOT to put in the mason jars, lol) half of my childhood, Mason jars, and you put greenbeans in them if you're smart, or pickles, or bologna is you are really an experienced canner :) Dana I don't have the proper words to express how this one effects me, it grips my heart like barfly.

[Lemonhead]

I like you blend a feeling of realism (almost storytelling) with one of surrealism and metaphor, very interesting piece.