The Girl Who Brought Sage To The Uncelebration~

Columbus, can you hear me over white noise of your television set? Can you hear ghosts of drums approaching? ~ Sherman Alexie

My face does not reflect my mind

I pull it out

at the sundance

where I am wearing leather for skin

and Lame Deer in my black eyes

doing a heyoka shuffle

with eagle claws through the muscles of my back

remembering the feel of a horse

ripping grass upward

across Mongol plains

as the histories collide

culture intersects

Japan cerulean around my waist

a sash for weapons and ink

Eagle’s father singing to the onyx butterfly

on my shoulder;

he knew my mind

did not reflect my face

 

My body does not reflect my spirit

I pour it out through my pores

and give it rebel lead

through the streets

covering a hard worn woman no one will touch

in an alley on a cold night

dancing with ghosts on Chinook Trail

while the youth smoke dreams under the moon by the dam

working my mist between the locked doors

locked interludes through the halls

of the eurocentric senate

in chambers where justice is a joke

as I lay my covering in air

across the body of another innocent man behind glass

dying before an audience

of deadwood people

 

I am an old bitter man who left his bones in a tree

a warrior from the plains of the Huns

yakuza blood at my wrists

making hollows out of celebrations

justice out of the smoke

of the sage plant

leaving my curves

my face

as offerings

at this

yet another uncelebration

for the victims

of another nation’s victory

 

 

copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Author's Note

one nation's celebration is another nation's tears~
http://bibliosity.blogspot.com/2008/11/postcards-to-columbus.html
Postcards To Columbus~ Sherman Alexie

Reviews

[Scytheriax]

Loved the diction in this poem and the emotion was wonderful.
Favorite lines:
"I am an old bitter man who left his bones in a tree

a warrior from the plains of the Huns

yakuza blood at my wrists

making hollows out of celebrations

and justice out of the smoke

of sage

leaving my curves

and my face"
Beautifully written piece.

[*~*Butterfly Kisses*~*]

I admire the complexity of your writes, yet they are so easily understood when reading between the lines. Brilliant write. Loved this one.

[Reese38]

You have the most complex mind I've ever encountered, complex in the most enigmatic way possible.


My face does not reflect my mind

I pull it out

at the sundance

where I am wearing leather for skin

and Lame Deer in my black eyes

doing a heyoka shuffle

with eagle claws through the muscles of my back

remembering the feel of a horse

ripping grass upward

across Mongol plains

as the histories collide

culture intersects

Japan cerulean around my waist

a sash for weapons and ink

Eagle’s father singing to the onyx butterfly

on my shoulder;

he knew my mind

did not reflect my face

[Cafe Reader]

Beautiful, Selene. Your heart is in everything you write. You have such a clear understanding of the world, and present it in no uncertain terms, beautifully!


a warrior from the plains of the Huns

yakuza blood at my wrists

making hollows out of celebrations

justice out of the smoke

of the sage plant

leaving my curves

my face

as offerings

at this

yet another uncelebration

for the victims

of another nation’s victory




You pull no punches. Magnificent!

[Emily B]

you are brilliant

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

My body does not reflect my spirit
I pour it out through my pores
and give it rebel lead
through the streets

dang straight... we all go well beyond what we see on the surface... never be defined by what people label you and never allow yourself to live in a metaphorical box.

[SkinlessFrank]

Dark sage. It dyes skin, hair. I'd hide behind it too, but I can't know how.

[LilyT]

Yours is not just poetry, I doubt they'll ever invent a word beautiful enough to define what you yourself do with words. Your face has the classic lines of an unearthly beauty, and it does reflect your extraordinary mind. Your body does reflect your soul, in the manner which it presents itself, polished grace and giving lines. As a photographer I can see how your poetry is your mind, body, soul, beauty. And with lines like these, you are more than Helen of Troy, more than Eve, or today's exotic human doll on glossy pages.


My body does not reflect my spirit

I pour it out through my pores

and give it rebel lead

through the streets

covering a hard worn woman no one will touch

in an alley on a cold night

dancing with ghosts on Chinook Trail

while the youth smoke dreams under the moon by the dam

working my mist between the locked doors

locked interludes through the halls

of the eurocentric senate

in chambers where justice is a joke

as I lay my covering in air

across the body of another innocent man behind glass

dying before an audience

of deadwood people


If I were religious, hell, my lovely girl, I'd say YOU were the Holy Grail.
(;

[asdarkeyesclose]

'remembering the feel of a horse

ripping grass upward

across Mongol plains'

This has so many beautiful inflexions, sublime stratas, histories stretching, spirit, mind. This is so far beyond image and yet the images layer magnetically drawing the reader spellbound into the poetic vision and then the sadness of the ending. Your writing is quite breathtaking, ethereal and yet wonderfully defined.

[Ed Hart]

a sanguinary trail behind flying hooves, another of your one breath arrows penetrates the sad ether to the sad heart...always on target