ASH POEMS
by Christina ManolescuRoom of one's own
In one corner of my room
is a stone caryatid
my muse
she quickens
shifts her limbs, her head
as I glance at her entreatingly
commandingly
her stone essence softens
to diaphanous
watered silk
clinging
to her strong thighs
shimmering
in each sudden gust
she clasps my hand
and we travel
walls dissolve into wind
my room
this narrow prison
this charmed sepulchre
becomes the world
Boots
I wear my life like new boots
That give me bunions
Ingrown toenails
Stumbling, clodhopping
In stiff, pinched impostrous boots
I am a deserter
Ready at any moment
To slough off this hob nailed sole
And slide into the branches
Of an enchanted forest—here
Here I am a dreamer
Greening through the glade
A wet leaf cleft between my toes
Far off I hear the beating
The drumming of many boots;
Stiff, leather smelling,
Pacing in straight directions
They come nowhere near the slime rock pit
Where I lie breathing;
If they did, they would surely
Beat down the nettles
Crush the wild clover
Ferret me out with a stick;
I know they would
Push me right back
Into my river stained boots
Now muddy, yet softened a bit for walking,
They begin to feel more like my own
Than someone else's;
Into the neat and crowded street
Some day, I will march in my boots
Trained for woods and thoroughfares
Dandelion
Why the lawn-keeper's war
Against our sun-faced dandelions?
Those party crashing indiscreets
That sprout rebellious pockets
In our upright law abiding lawns
Is it their profusion,
Their disturbingly easy
And sudden intrusion
Into green society
Which condemns them
As outlaws of this land?
Although we mow down
And choke out
Legions of them
Do they not spring up
Year after year
In thicker and thicker battalions?
Their stiff yellow petals
Blaze out from tiny centres,
A tattered children's crusade
Aghast
At its impending massacre
For my part, I am content
That they should grace my garden
Until their woolly ghosts
Blow off
In the direction of Eternity
Stygian Subway Express
Take a seat, King Tut
Well, you're just a little late
Let me fill your pure gold snifter
Pure elixir? Eau de Vie?
Here at last, polished Sun God
Battered luggage washed ashore
You have cast eternal glitter
On the black slime caves
How's the traffic in the marsh woods?
What's it like to wade Third Class
Through the murky river transit
On the Stygian Express?
Saucer eyed dogs at the turnpikes
Riffraff choking every lane
Will they never stagger Rush Hour
On the Pluto bound Express!
Home at last, King Tut
Yes, at last you've reached your Stop
Did you get ripped off at Customs?
Well, we heard you lost a lot
Rest your feet, King Tut
It's a long hard haul
From the Valley of the Kings
To Toronto's Museum Mall
Golden Calf
Who says this isn't sweating labour?
Ripping through my templed skull
for graven images
long buried;
hack through glittering dross
for promised gold
My vessels swell and throb and burst
to brilliant pain; a mother lode of smelted iron
sinks between my eyes
I am a miner's pit
steep
caverned
ochre sandy
Here I scrape and sort and sift
bloodfuriously I claw through
skindeep frontiers
that each moment fester, heal and shut
between the Word Made Flesh
and me
A sunken headstone
marks the accidental path
I stumble on; a mazeland seeping
through the rorschach desert
far flung grains of sand
or points of gold to gather, forge and link;
upon the billion billion images die cast
I stamp this mine
Milestone
I am a milestone
In other people's lives
That marks the spot
Where a wedding was celebrated
Or someone was shot
So, when this milestone hoists itself up
Of its own accord
And walks away
Leaving a gap, a pit, an open wound
A host of spiders
Suddenly find a rent in their webs
Which they hasten to repair
And the same wind
That blows me onward
Carries the earth
That slowly fills
Then, buries
The spot
The Ice Maiden
Out on the frozen peak she lies
In a bed of ice and clay
Where the sealing, keening wind from the North
Rings its lullaby of day
They have stained her flesh with the holy dye
With the twisting point of a needle-bone
They have etched it with blood-sacred runes
She is wrapped in the weave of the spinning worms
While the holy widows pray
Frozen tears sting the eyes of the chosen one
As she's lain in her bed of clay
Ill luck
Ill luck to the reckless one
Who should steal the Ice Maiden away
For out on the frozen peak she dreams
On her catafalque of clay
Where the screaming, heaving winds of the North
Have scattered her tears away
Frozen chantress of dreams
She shall summon the stars
Rouse the wind; free the streams
Breathe almighty peace into the clouds
Roll back the moon and twist
Everlasting night
Into day
Accursed
Accursed be the heartless one
Who drags the Ice Maiden away
But the centuries pass, now a wanderer comes
To this once-sacred cairn of rubbish and rubble and clay
And he seeks out the bones of the chosen one
Dreaming soundly where she lay
He lifts her out of the tomb of clay
Tho' her lips seem to smile, yet her eyes shed a tear
As he lays her under the sun
Ill luck, ill luck
Will come to the one
Who carries the Ice Maiden away
For the flesh that was seared has all disappeared
And the bones tumble one by one
From the shroud-wrap of silk that is ruined and befouled
And crumbling under the sun
And the bones of her pain resonate where they're lain
Writhe the sky into fire; pound the wind, lash the rain
On her tomb of rock and clay
And dismay fills the gaze of the thoughtless one
Who has brought the Ice Maiden away
Broken chantress of dreams
Let her hurl down the stars
Still the wind; glaze the streams
Breathe almighty terror into the clouds
Blot out the moon and wrench
Everlasting night
From the day
O Death
Death to the heartless one
Who has dragged the Ice Maiden away
Grim Lottery
A grave young actuary
Briefcased
Blond and prosperous,
Gainfully employed by BrightLife
The Family Insurance People
Daily sets computer tapes
Spinning
Whirring and humming,
Casting death lots
For a precise percentage of the population
Boards business flight 277
First class
Fatigued, he stares
Into his glassful of amber spirits
Discovers his own card
Punched
Pierced and flipped
From humming, whirring wheels,
That rigid bird soars up on metal wings
But never clears the runway
Sunspot
Your image is engraved
momentarily
upon my retina
like a dangerous, yet seductive
prairie sundog
that sun-pregnant rainbow
glittering, dissolving
into the hot-cold Canadian sky...
Then little bits and pieces of you
float apart
then reunite
a lip, an eye; I try
to conjure up your essence
piece you back together
warm and whole, even
to that crescent
knife-edge of a scar
above your eyebrow
raised
by questions dark, profound, mysterious
or else banal...
I can neither
fathom
shape
nor take the measure of you
Perhaps, after all
your smile is chimera
Perhaps there is nothing to form
nothing to feel
nothing to find...
The Time Bomb
One morning, the Lord Mayor
Opened the gates to his very fine city
And noticed a time bomb, half buried,
Ticking away in the dust.
That thing looks dangerous
Cried a mother, hurrying past with her child
Who left that there? asked the surgeon
Putting down his bag
Not me, cried the merchant
Scurrying to open up his shop
Not me, echoed the blacksmith
As he stoked a murderous fire in his forge
Not me, called the engraver
Razor-sharpening his drill
But who will dig it out?
Asked the Town Crier, whittling his quill
Hmm, mused the Alderman
Perhaps I'll send a memo to the King
Definitely outside our gate
Pronounced the Mayor
As he kicked a pile of earth to bury it
Come, Scribe, scribble me an order, quick!
Stone gargoyles for the eaves
Silver shingles for the trim
Gold paint for the roof
Of the Town Hall
Gunseason
Two highway hours ago
You sniffed the scented needles
Drily fallen
To the ribbed forest floor
Now wet dusk is racing past
Your crushed neck
Your thin hind bones are splayed
Unlovely Looped
Across the windshield
Decapitated Queen
Hooked to the varnished mantelpiece
You grace the fireplace unlit
Faked out in knotted pine
Your doe eyes
Brown and brimming deep
Through wavering forests seeped
In unspilt tears
This is your captain speaking
Welcome aboard, everyone
To nuclear powered Planet Earth
Now, cruising through space
At a brisk 20,000 nuclear knots per hour
Relax, folks
For your comfort and safety
We are girdled tight in missile sites
Atomic hatches all strapped down
Of course, we've sealed up all our missile gaps
Emergency exits are now, regrettably, obsolete
But blankets are provided for passengers
Seated close to those draughty
‘Windows of vulnerability’
Your co pilot and I are expecting to make
Pretty good time this trip
Barring, control towers occupied by freaks
You know, those goddamn peaceniks waving placards
On the runway; we are headed straight for
Nuclear touchdown
Within the next four minutes
We’d like you to observe these simple safety rules
Make sure you gather up your toddlers from the aisles
Please straighten all reclining seats
Fold trays and buckle safety belts
Get ready, folks, get set
We're gaining speed
Now, from your windows near the wing, glance out
You'll get some mighty stunning view down there
Ground Zero, here we come