The poetry of Cerulean and Scarlett

[Cerulean]

Still under construction

 

Could I make a polite request to keep this thread clean please?

 

Your feedback and additions, enthusiasm and welcomes are lovely, thank you so much, but all the same I'd prefer to have comments in PMs and keep this thread free of other posts.

 

Thank you for understanding, Cerulean.

Edited April 7, 2005 by Cerulean

[Scarlett O'Harpy]

Ottava Rima for Scarlett O'Harpy

 

Ms Scarlett isn’t ethical or chaste,

no culture-vulture, brain-box, nor aesthete.

Her sensibilities are interlaced

with baser drives: to rut, to slay, to eat!

Although romantic Cery’s often phased

by Harpy’s actions, she withstands the heat.

For method shapes this maddening virago -

what could Othello be - without Iago?

[Ozymandias]

Holy crap. O_O

 

*TACKLEHUGS*

 

Cerulean!!!!

 

[Cerulean]

Arabia

 

 

Civilization was

a careless promise that faded on the lips.

Incongruous and impressionistic; my Arabia.

 

*

 

A goat in the passenger seat of a Mercedes Benz.

Bedouin herding camels from four wheel drives.

Petrol fumes and animal spit.

 

*

 

A child in the classroom, drawing his mother:

Two sketched ovals, feathery outlines in pencil

centred on a white page.

 

He's beginning with her eyes.

 

A darker crayon underneath to line the lower;

magnificent concentration, the boy's six.

 

Now reaching for midnight, he chooses deepest violet

to emphasize

her top lids.

Painstaking lashes,

single and dewy -

curving and blinking under his touches.

 

The tear ducts cornered in and coned.

Bright iris. Brown fails.

Brown and yellow, he's searching for amber flecks.

Darkening. Quickening.

Tools inadequate; they're only crayons in his little fingers.

 

The pupils blacked in now. Two points of space.

 

And I behind him, gazing at this woman's eyes.

Impeccable detail, but only her eyes.

 

He's finished his picture.

 

And I rage at the slotted veil she bears,

which permits her son

only this fragment.

 

*

 

In a supermarket,

daydreaming,

careering into some intricate display,

which clatters down about my feet.

 

An English flush creeping over my cheeks,

awaiting the 'tuts' of other shoppers, but

I'm quietly escorted to one side of the chaos -

as local men rebuild the tower of tins,

then carry my goods to the pay counter

so my dignity as a Western female is never compromised.

 

*

 

Bringing beer over the border in black bags, giggling.

 

*

 

Kuwaiti girls, Purdah lifted,

walking in the streets ahead of their husbands.

An American journalist delighted by this 'progress'

smiles blandly on. Paternalistic pathos.

I ache to tell him:

"Land mines, that's why. "

 

*

 

The sand. The sun. The desert shifting.

Brutal and elemental.

My smallness.

 

*

 

The first call to prayer,

beating the stillness.

 

A tender imperative which arcs and climbs through the night.

 

And it's at once ephemeral and permanent.

The solidity of always. The fragility of ever.

But you long to linger in the half-light and catch it with your fingers,

 

grasp it while it flutters through your senses -

then form the gentlest fist,

holding it to you,

as it shudders like a thing alive.

 

*

 

____________________________________________________________________

Thank you for voting this piece into The Pen Recommends list. I am honoured.

 

Originally posted in the Archmage Conservatory forum as an entry to a competition run by Finnius.

Edited April 17, 2005 by Cerulean

[Scarlett O'Harpy]

Apuckerlips Now

 

 

Something whizzes through the water,

marks onlookers down for slaughter,

champs its teeth and gnashes sharply,

it's the shark known as O'Harpy.

 

Circling fast upon the fishes,

Scarlett extracts forks and dishes

from her Pouch of Handy Items.

(No girl would be seen without 'em.)

 

Finding that the fish are tiny

and the seawater too briney

up she climbs onto the beaching

with a grin that's so far-reaching ~

 

every adult male's teeth chatter

anticipating their spleen's shatter.

'Well' says Scarlett looking round her.

'All I caught today were flounder,

 

Where's the job to task my senses?

Give my ardour recompenses?'

(Close-up of her mad-cap plotting,

tooth picks ready, mouthwash clotting.)

 

'Tell me when the earth needs saving,

I'll deal with that while guys are shaving.

Show me where the crisis is,

I'll don my lipstick, do the bizz,

 

but aliens, mermaids, quests and plunder,

batons that are tossed asunder,

represent no serious plight.

Present me with a list tonight.

 

For now I'll say it's great being back.'

(Observers hear her jaw-bone crack.)

She bares her teeth and then waves brightly,

bound for Mr 'Ten Times Nightly'.

[Cerulean]

For Huda, my Iraqi student

 

 

Will you sift through the sand for his blood, my love

will you rub through the mud of your tears?

Will the lies in their eyes guide your hands, my love

will the lie of the land calm your fears?

Will they choke on the bones of your love, my dove

will they splinter the span of your smile?

Or will night clasp your light in its glove, my love?

Starving the dawn with its wile.

 

 

______________________________________________________

A piece that developed in the Writer's Workshop here.

Edited April 17, 2005 by Cerulean

[Scarlett O'Harpy]

Olé

 

 

Scarlett makes a thumbs up gesture.

Did they think a bull could wrest her

from her plans? They didn't know it ~

she was armed and primed to throw it...

 

Through the air her cleaver whistled,

The crowd froze and yon bull bristled,

just as it advanced, horns gleaming ~

blade struck meat and bull stopped dreaming!

 

Harpy hopped with manic fever,

licked the bloodstains off her cleaver.

Viewers turned away, disheartened,

as the beast was sliced apart and

 

gobbled up ~ a frenzied floor show ~

first the hooves and next the torso.

Scarlett beamed, proud of her cull,

announcing 'Now I'm full of bull'.

 

*

 

Cerulean studies Scarlett,

she's half cannibal, half harlot.

Peeping through her fingers, wincing,

Cery sees the ground-beef-mincing.

 

'Well at least she's making progress,

Usually she's like an ogress ~

last time something bit the dust and

got devoured, it was her husband!'

[Cerulean]

Spirit

 

A juniper kiss

melts the ice and scents my thoughts

with lemon blossom.

 

_________________________________

Alternatively titled: Gin & Tonic Haiku

Edited March 18, 2005 by Cerulean

[Scarlett O'Harpy]

Organ donor

 

 

Harpy shrieks and Harpy rages,

(It's a skill she's had for ages.)

Marches to a random suitor

And thumps him smartly on the hooter.

 

'Enslave me would you?' spat with malice,

I'll be Queen and you play Alice...

Turning to her sword of red

She cruelly screams 'Off with his head!'

 

The sword, obedient ~ does as bidden,

Harpy can't keep her grin hidden,

Gazing at the pool of gore,

She extracts organs ~ as of yore.

 

And as she works, a chant is twined,

To aid his poor befuddled mind,

So he knows once and for all clear,

The name of what this girl holds dear.

 

'The thing I love is mined and plundered!'

(Victim trembled, Harpy thundered.)

'Without it friendships soon get old

I’m after diamonds, silver, gold~

 

It's power sets my heart aflame;

So please just stop your foolish game,

And now you must relinquish claim,

Cos friend... you'll never get this dame!'

 

It seems that Harpy's work's complete,

She feasts on liver - what a treat!

If only she had upped the ante,

To some fava beans - and a nice Chianti.

[Cerulean]

Greenbelt Ladies' Park

 

 

Through dusking half-dark ~

 

park gates closing;

swarms of black-swathed forms

meander veiled to waiting cars.

 

Asserting jewelled rites,

soft-stepping towards males claiming

patiently in white.

 

No mingling for these two to pavement grey,

where moondips soften yellow day

and queen takes knight.

 

___________________________________________________________

A sexual chess match - culturally choreographed, perfectly executed

 

Orininally posted in the Archmage Conservatory forum.

Edited April 17, 2005 by Cerulean

[Cerulean]

Moving Target

 

 

I didn't miss you.

You thought I would

with every tissue.

I didn't miss you.

There was no issue -

my aim being good.

I didn't miss you;

you thought I would.

 

_________________________________

My first attempt at writing a Triolet

[Cerulean]

She's Smiling

 

 

She's...

 

Smiling,

 

smiles that chip the darkness into glittering shards,

 

roaring over wires and miles.

No meagre twitchings of a lip

for her

 

a full-blown beam.

Part ingenue, and clownish.

An explosion to split the seams and shame the sun.

 

You found your fellow sheepy, she's the one

who always got it wrong, and ever felt the need to create a personal icon

 

:s

 

a wriggly grin of embarrassed fun!

 

A fool indeed, a friend with keys,

unlocking possibilities of difficult gifts.

Scattering glimmers of self in a distant place.

 

And through it richer still.

Knowing that the skill lies in

watching one perfect moment

 

dive

off

into

i

n

f

i

n

i

t

y

 

and arrest it

as it's yet tangible -

s t r e t c h i t o u t through the telling.

Uncurling her fingers

and with the barest breath

sending it to him -

a dandelion clock of whispered thanks;

the softest rosette of down

and up and around.

 

For Zool,

 

who'll take the time

to paint the stars brilliant.

 

_________________________________________________________________

A thank you to Zool, for his inspiration and friendship. Originally posted in the Archmage Conservatory forum.

Edited April 17, 2005 by Cerulean

[Cerulean]

A Double Dactyl for Gwai

 

Higgledy-Wiggledy

Gwaihir the protector

puzzled the readers with

gender untold.

 

Was this particular

nonspecificity

caused by an oversight -

or getting old?

 

__________________________

 

A response to this thread

Edited April 9, 2005 by Cerulean

[Cerulean]

Blighty

 

 

Stand up if you're proud to be British

and flutter a Union Jack.

Cos the days when old Blighty was something

have gone, and they're not coming back.

If you'd care to get all sentimental,

then shed a kitsch tear as you gaze

back yonder through rose-tinted glasses

 

remembering those halcyon days.

 

when sports squads were dapper and god-like

hats off to Geoff Hurst and the lads,

for winning the world cup at Wembley

Cos that's all the glory we've had.

If it wasn't for the home advantage

our coffers would be in a fix.

'Cos we've dined out on one football triumph

 

and milked it right from '66.

 

Oh but England's a wonderful nation

of playwrights, eccentrics and kings.

Oxbridge, Big Ben, Harrods shopping

The Spice Girls and SanPro 'with wings'.

We're barely acknowledging Europe

content to stand small and apart.

Our bombast and pride at our swift

downhill ride

 

is nothing that we'll take to heart.

 

For there'll always be blue skies in Dover;

that is, if the MET gets it right.

And an Englishman's home is his castle,

of course, if he's solvent and white.

So toss one more log on the fire dear.

Lean back, let's all bask in the glow -

of self-satisfaction about our inaction

 

Just don't let the cracks start to show.

 

 

___________________________________________________________________

From the (AN) Archmage forum, written in response to a thread about national pride

Edited April 17, 2005 by Cerulean

[Cerulean]

A Duet

 

Cerulean:

Oh Harpy would you walk this way and join me in my musing?

I’m trying to define romance and finding it confusing.

Does it gain lift from thoughtful gifts, or kisses bathed in star-shine?

Do daisies know when plucked just so, exactly who will be mine?

 

It really is a puzzling quest , I find the task gigantic,

I think without your input dear, that it will make me frantic!

 

Scarlett:

I have no use for candy hearts, red roses or a sonnet.

Just keep your carpet stretching yards with petals strewn upon it.

I’ll shrug if I’m bedecked with pearls while men swoon at my graces,

and I shall yawn if every dawn sees duels at 40 paces.

 

Plain cash or cheque will do for me (or check if you’re pedantic.)

And that’s not brash or lacking class, it’s merely unromantic.

 

Cerulean:

But Scarlett! (Cerulean cried) that's simply not an answer!

So if you're paid, you're not dismayed, if he's an awful dancer?

You don't think that a lingering look is utterly disarming?

And Peredhilian politesse is absolutely charming?

 

Come on my dear, speak without fear of what you find enticing,

If love's a fresh-baked home-made cake, then romance is the icing.

 

Scarlett:

She sighs and stares and pulls her hair, at Cerulean's thinking.

I just know this - it's not remiss to get that coinage clinking.

You take your cakes and fond keepsakes and I'll add up his earnings.

Romance of sorts is found in noughts, pro rata to my yearnings.

 

If love's the song to which we dance, it's really not surprising,

That I conclude with a non-rich dude: just why the heck should I sing?

[Cerulean]

My Favourite Things

 

Prismatic spangles of sunlight on water.

Pink, gritty sand and NUFC slaughter.

Fume-cupboard foolery, angels sans wings,

These are a few of my favourite things.

 

Chamonix snowballs and noble alliance.

Cold swirly gubbins or mint-tea defiance.

Loire Valley aliads, cycles and swings,

these are a few of my favourite things.

 

Heads-on-spikes RP beyond Jebel Dhanna.

Swimbo v FatK and rough stuff (with manners.)

Karma, chirality, dates dried in strings,

these are a few of my favourite things.

 

When the kids fizz,

when the roach roars,

when I'm feeling sad.

I simply remember my favourite things -

And then I don't feel so bad!

 

________________________________

Written for an Archmage Ally, Silexion.

[Finnius]

'Well at least she's making progress,

Usually she's like an ogress ~

last time something bit the dust and

got devoured, it was her husband!'

Awwww...

 

Meeeeeemmooooorieeeeeees...

 

Misty, water-colored,

MEM-oh-ries!

 

Seriously, s'great to see you back an' writing an' stoof. Wonderful, evocative, and just downright enjoyable, as always.

 

*tacklehugs*

[Gwaihir]

A double dactyl for me? An elf blushes.

 

OOC:I'm not sure if this poem is a question or a comment on the past. If it's a question--Gwaihir is male, his writer is female. But yes, for quite a while I role-played that Gwaihir's writer was male too. I was amused that everyone generally assumes you're male on the internet unless you give them a reason to think otherwise. Also, I guess I wanted to see how long I could pull it off.

[Cerulean]

Hi Gwai

 

It was a response to a thread Vlad started a while back ~Linky~ -just seemed like a great idea for a pome lol. I must write more DDs when I get around to it!

[Cerulean]

Skystory

 

Days as long as this should break the rules

of those who make their living watching skies.

They grant us empty seconds for our tools,

then press them into clocks that issue sighs

so ghostly, measuring out in careful parts

each avenue to course throughout our lives.

 

In light it’s time to eat, to work - til dark

slips recklessly across the sky, with knives.

Each flash a twilit falsehood to eclipse

the saddening reminder of times past.

These stars that drink the dark with little sips

an age ago burnt out, and drank their last.

Observing shades, I slow my second hand,

recalling daybreak’s subtle reprimand.

 

 

__________________________________________________________

 

A reworked version of a poem originally posted in the Archmage Conservatory forum.

Edited April 17, 2005 by Cerulean

[Cerulean]

Packing up

 

 

I left you lying on the bed

in Sharon's flat.

Boxed tight. My choice.

But as I hauled that

ridiculous suitcase down

each

polished

marble

step

towards the glass lift

and truly tried to sift

the good things from the crap,

I watched my mirrored self

a thousand times descend.

 

The airport - ten minutes' drive,

billboard blurs and smiling lies.

I stuck two fingers up

at the Marlboro man

and craved you with ferocity,

future atrocities forgiven.

Senses riven by

my misremembered

taste of you.

 

It's three years now, but every now and then

when I am least expecting it

a sudden tear in my

fabric of control

reminds me.

 

Leaving you

left me a hole.

I smell you with my coffee,

recall how you felt against my lips.

 

You were a cancer,

that's too high a cost.

I flip my idle zippo

and ponder what it was

I really lost.

 

__________________________________________________________

Originally posted as part of 'After the fall' here in The Writer's Workshop

[Cerulean]

Bukra fil mishmish

 

I dreamt that through the strafe and buzzing flies

a man emerges, promises in hand.

He drops them on dull faces, soft as lies,

they shimmer with the lure of contraband.

I see his sinning sink, as terms are sown

to form a carpet. He strolls, unafraid.

Each step he takes announces cracking bone,

til bones and flesh with words, are overlaid.

 

But every rotting child who starved for bread,

each dead-eyed woman, whoring for a meal

will leave a bloody imprint in my head,

to match the one he’s polished from his heel.

Impassively, he lines his speech with sorrow,

reminding us of apricots, tomorrow.

 

______________________________________

Originally posted in The Writer's Workshop Here

[Cerulean]

Sleep, sweet Muezza

 

Pluck dander-dandled hearts out of my sleeve,

leave shadows of your silky sprawl awake

beneath each fluttering breath of sleep.

Keep memory’s susurrations from the dust,

and let the silence soften, as it must.

[Cerulean]

Writing on the wall

 

 

'Daeth to the white khalifa', daubed in red.

My eyes sweep over threat to spelling error -

In bed that night, mind static with the terror

that I will feature in the Dreamtime News:

'Illiterates slay woman with their gnus.'

 

________________________________________

Original version posted as application to AAA here

[Scarlett O'Harpy]

Diminuendo

 

I'll sing you a song where the thrills

of the world, combine with the chills

as new ills are unfurled. Soft trills

from their tongues belie reddening spills -

resounding with top-notes of fingers in tills.

 

_____________________________

 

Originally posted in the Banquet Room here