Testament: last lines

for all those I have plundered (nothing I have is mine to give away)

I can’t decipher my stale devotion
it’s made up entirely of curse words
no condoms for the heart
will save you daily from three dozen blessings
pale orange branches, pale blue sky
there are always more
the mother’s slim hands vanishing into blurred velvet
her compound bird-span wings disguised as eyes
in twilight, curves as hard as nutshells
and beyond, the bright flying splinters of the stars
they shower onto the earth
to house its want
elusive green whorl
and I hid it like a mutant twin
unraveling the dark seam of winter
notch between hills
I am as empty as the mourning dove calling today –


In response to the Poetry Thursday challenge, “Write a poem to, for, or about a poet.” If you’re reading this on-site (as opposed to the RSS or email version) the poem may appear all or mostly blue on first reading, reflecting my mood early this morning before I started putting it together. But unrhymable orange is its proper color, I think. Therefore each reader must complete this on his/her own by clicking on all the lines, in any order.

You can find links to the other April 5th PT poems here.

17 Replies to “Testament: last lines”

  1. What a facinating take on the prompt – beautiful and brilliant. I love how the reader has “to finish the poem” by moving through it. Thanks!

  2. Hi, robin! I’m glad this one worked for you.

    Brent – I don’t know about “brilliant,” but let’s just say that we bloggers evolve ways to work around a general lack of inspiration. I’m sorry I didn’t link to you in my “NaPoly Attired” post of a few days ago, but I hope this link makes up for it. You’re really doing some exciting stuff.

  3. Fascinating poem (and blog) pulled me in…I’ll be back to wander about. Festival of the Trees I recognize from Maureen’s blog. (And thanks for your comment re: Forche.)

  4. Hi all – thanks for stopping by!

    It occurs to me that one real benefit of making a poem like this is that I don’t have to worry about ever editing it, since the words aren’t mine to edit. On the other hand, there’s no way I could ever seek to publish it in another form, even with all the authors’ permissions, since virtually the whole point was to give the gift of linkery. So I guess one could make a strong case for this form, the link poem, being a true web endemic.

  5. Stale words for blessings
    pale are mother’s eyes
    hard splinters shower
    to elusive mutant winter
    hills calling ooo

    I curse no daily sky
    always vanishing as twilight
    splinters onto
    its green mutant winter
    mourning ah

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