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| by Amy Lowell | ||
O You, Who came upon me once Stretched under apple-trees just after bathing, Why did you not strangle me before speaking Rather than fill me with the wild white honey of your words And then leave me to the mercy Of the forest bees. | ||
once
bathing
strangle
honey
forest
4 comments:
OPEN HEART WISDOM PRAYER
I am waiting for the open heart
the heart made of honey and choices
the rooms of the forest take on rainwater
strangle night shadow dark moon
once in the mountains
bathing at a hot springs
I thought I saw the wisdom prayer
writ large across the sky
FUTURE TRIP: MONSANTO
There is no more bathing honey to sing what I sing in…
But once, in the forests, I can remember,
there was a buzz that kept time with the wind…
long vanished/strangled now in flowerless fruit.
WOMAN IN A BLACK BATHING SUIT AGAIN
a woman laughing
wears a black bathing suit again
once and always
there at the ocean shore
seaweed near
we call it strangle weed
honey in the wet
hot in the sun
a fire of joy
the dark tree hardwood forest
just up the road
honey in the wet
hot in the sun
everyone has heard
a story of a woman
bathing alone in the forest
mythology is full of these
kinds of stories:
there's always some pervert
or lustful creep hiding behind a
rock or tree, watching.
i dont think its perverted
to look at a woman bathing-
unless she doesnt know.
and the story always
ends badly.
sometimes, the woman is
raped and the whole act
ends in the creation of some
new beast- with
quills or spots and stripes.
something that hides
in woods and bathes at night.
sometimes the woman-
with hair like honey and
pale perfect breasts-
becomes a flower by the water where she bathed.
a small rose whose petals tremble in the beating of the rapids.
and sometimes
the secret
watcher is punished-
pretty severely for just
watching-
its one of those
stories that is supposed
to inspire shame in all of us
he is
turned in a wet, bulbous mushroom
or some other slime covered
belly-crawler.
"and you can still find him
slithering beneath rocks"
in one story he is a hunter
who becomes
a stag who is then eaten
by
his own dogs.
but they never mention
the scene afterwards-
the bathing place that
still stands, its silent
clear waters churning
beneath the cover of
dark pine and purple oak.
a place where at some
later time
another lone traveler
discovers the small pool
and realizes there is
nothing so tantalizing as
standing naked
in the cover of lush green foliage
in a small swirling pool-
the breeze and water
combining to make your skin
pucker.
a place where a single flower
grows unashamedly
at the edge of the pool.
trembling under
eyes of dieties and secret
hopeful watchers.
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