These poems were written by Virginia Carraway Stark during the online Poetry Half-Marathon sponsored by StarkLight Press on Sept. 13. 2014.
Poem 1
The exquisite shroud
Virginia Carraway Stark
I should mention here
Just for you two finishing your debate
That we are all frail vessels.
It reveals more to us
That we should wish them
To be larger than life
It no longer works for you
To sweep away the dust
And the cobwebs
I didn’t call you in this late hour
Just to chat
As you lay dying
With your leaking bowel
And your Sweet
Foul
Death on your breath
Pulling at my life force
Like chloroform
Dragging me down too
Soon the white cloth will cover
Your face
And these last moments together
Will always be a Mystic Dream
To me
The shrouded veil that waits
To claim you
Is exquisite and as I speak
The words of love
That spare me from regrets
Your eyes are dim yet glowing
And before you
Let go of my hand
You tell me
That The Virgin
Holds you on Her breast
Poem 2
this funny skin
Virgnia Carraway Stark
My body is my body
And it’s such a silly thing
It’s all people see of me
This funny skin I’m in
And I know you judge me
For my hair, my weight, my skin
People say I’m beautiful
And I smile
And I wonder what you mean
Are you seeing my soul?
Radiating my energy unto the world?
Or is it all down
To how I’ve arranged my hair?
Is my body still me
Am I reflected from within
To without?
Would you love my essence
If I was in another form?
Would you like me better?
Are you threatened by my intensity?
It’s such a silly thing
And yet
My body is my body
Poem 3
Pay No Attention It’s Good v Evil
Virginia Carraway Stark
They paid no attention
To the formal military situation
They should be handled
By an expert
Under medical conditions
Good can go sour
In unreasoned Anger
The psychomathematicians
Will read that mess
When there is the possibility
That he’s hid a gun
Under the floorboards
In Good: I have given thee spirit
and evil… it is an illusionary universe
Of ever passing forms
Evil is the insanity that slices reality
Good in the True story
We tell the Universe and ourselves
Poem 4
Humanity Makes Us Small
Virginia Carraway Stark
The last time I felt so small
It struck me
That ‘feeling all too human’
Was actually feeling
Like a small, keening, naked animal.
In faery tales
There are no proofs offered
Except the proofs given
While locked in a tight embrace
Or trapped in a chill, damp
Hole underground
Longing for the warmth
That equals love
Even in the underworld
It is feeling human
That makes us small
And that makes us
Big enough
To fill the world
Poem 5
Comfortable
Virginia Carraway Stark
I am twelve
I am not yet grown
And I haven’t learned
To be ashamed
Of what makes me a woman
Collapsed in a hammock
My white picot skirt
Covered in grass stains
And yellow smears from dandelions
Across my cheeks and nose
Sun and shade dapple my skin
I’m warm and safe
Every hill and tree is familiar to me
And my hands smell like loam
And puffball mushrooms
Reading a book
With dirt under my fingernails
While my dirty hobbit feet
Kick in the air
And a crown of messy daisies
White and yellow
Against my red
Slips over the bright blue
Of my dream filled eyes
Poem 6
I will never forget
Virginia Carraway Stark
I will never forget
That I have the power
Of memory
That lies and slander can’t steal
The truth
I will never forget
That like a feather
Made of down
I can dance through my recollections
See the truth
No one can dictate
My reality
Except for me
Poem 7
My Dear
Virginia Carraway Stark
If I was an animal
With hair so slick it turned to fur
My head poised,
Ready for flight
Eyes large and dew filled
A childling of the forest
Long ears listening for
The sound of a branch cracking
Or the snick of the safety
Being removed from a gun
Running through trails
Only known to me and the hares
my hooves are soft and silent
My tongue laps up the brooks and streams
Until snowflakes get in caught in long black eyelashes
Sleeping in the ice
Molded to fit my warm body
Until spring comes
And with the longer days
Comes my new dappled baby
On her unsteady feet
That sink into the mossy forest floor
Poem 8
Virginia Carraway Stark
The End of Amyntas the Third
To prepare beforehand
Amyntas sold his kingdom’s rights
To the noble timbers,
the cypress trees of Macedonia
He did it for allies
And lost a valuable resource
He feared for his power
Against his new allies
And implored the Spartans
To back his plays against Athens
He had three sons
The youngest of whom
Would father Alexander the Great
And after years of fighting and strife
Amyntas secured his right
To Macedonia’s trees once more
He died an old man
Noble and strong
Poem 9
Neophyte
Virginia Carraway Stark
Please be agreeable
To the actors on the stage
What they divulge
Is not perceptible to the
External senses of man
But it is in the consequences
Of the united will
Boiled down alchemically
Through cast and crew
Into, ‘lights, camera… Action’
Poem 10
My Fear
Virginia Carraway Stark
A defensive ritual
My fear of abandonment
Wondering at each door close
If it is a door slam
Of being accused of being ‘too’
Too much
Too big
Too funny
Too serious
Of being just… Unacceptable
By my nature
Learning that my light
Makes me other
Makes me weird
Until it is no longer a fear
It is accepted abuse
That this is the way
People can be
Jealous? Angry? Spiteful?
It doesn’t matter
Because I can’t change
Cuz I’m always just me
Poem 11
Heaven
Virginia Carraway Stark
What is perfect?
This breath right here.
The rise and fall of your chest
The sound of your heartbeat
Muffled and strong in my ear
It’s the feel of your fingers
Running through my hair
And my hands clutching your shirt
And the way your biceps feel
Under my needy fingers
And your chest rises and falls
And you, holding me tight
In your strong arms
Heaven in being your beloved.
Poem 12 (last one!)
Friendship
Virginia Carraway Stark
Deep and profound
There is no hypothesis
On which you can lay friendship
When through the
masses and crowds
You see those
Precious stones gleaming
And somewhere in your heart
You just know
(Sense, believe, feel and perceive)
And once knowing,
To never let it go
These poems were written by Virginia Carraway Stark during the online Poetry Marathon in August 2014. They will be published as part of a StarkLight Press Poetry Anthology later this year.
All poems copyright Virginia Carraway Stark 2014.
Poem 24
demure myrmidon
just don’t occur in nature
(to say demure myrmidon
that is, a mythical being
much like an unicorn)
to say they ever did is to
deride the ancient Greeks
and modern despots
(with no implication that
they are the same thing)
would be diligent
to prevent slander
the results of understanding
the myrmidon
may at time leave you feeling
that you are an esteemed funambulist
at best it is likely only hypnopompic
and yeah,
that’s kinda sad for you and you and you
because it is exactly that self same state
that resulted in this poem pour vous!
Poem 23
Tyranny
Ask yourself
if the tyranny
be in your place
in your home
your city
your land
your country
your sea
ask yourself
then go to bed
see how you feel
when you look in the mirror
in the morning
We can talk more then
Poem 22
Golden Clasps
A poor and loathsome beggar
Through devious channels
Put his filthy long-nailed fingers
Onto the head
Of a young girl’s golden curls
“You are my child,” He muttered,
blindly, his rheumy eyes cauled over
“Birthed in the ancient fires.”
She didn’t cry
Even when his rotten, toothless mouth
moved close enough to her ear
so that she could feel his whiskers
and his hot breath
“Can you keep a promise?” He asked
his voice trembled with his demand.
She nodded and only a mute whimper
showed that she was more afraid than he.
“Can you keep a promise?” He looked
full in the face. He brown, blood shot eyes
scanning her large blue ones.
Both sets were filled with unshed tears.
Finally she made her lips move and murmured, ‘Yes’.
He reached into a satchel
That could have been made of most anything
And put into her tiny, plump hands
Two golden clasps
She felt that something had happened
The clasps vibrated in her hands
The begger turned and left her
All ferocity was now gone from him
and he shambled with broken shoulders
and never even glanced back
The girl opened up her fingers
her face lit up with gold
She murmured, ‘yes’.
And put the clasps in the bottom of her jacket pocket
and skipped down the street
where her friends were already at play
Poem 21
Nyad’s Tears
The Lady in Blue
Her dress draped around her
Mingling with the ripples
In the water of her pool
Lined with rocks
Softened and
Covered in shag carpets
Of green and olive moss
The Lady laughs
her laughter echoes
Even dampened by the leaves
Of the slender birch nymphs
Her hero approaches
Strong and sure
Proud, impudent and kind
His eyes are the blue
Of her garments
She opens her arms
And he forces aside the waters
That drain off his thighs
In the heavy green waters
The skies are heavy
With pregnant red clouds
And he lifts her up
A shrieking, laughing
Lady Dryad in love
The heavy laden clouds
Murmur with thunder
Blue leaves the red
A bold of lightning
From straight above
The bold fills them
Their love protects them
As long as she remains young
And he stays strong
Nothing can touch them
How can he ever fill
The hole his dryad left?
No mortal woman
Could bring the lightning
Down on him
And he will always crave it
That love that
She brought him
Too late to realize
That when she aged
It wasn’t to deceive him
She then drank all her pool
And the waters destroyed her
Laid to rest in
An unmarked grave
Misunderstood and reviled
Her beauty inside her
Poem 20
Autumn Stream
Whereupon
You must tell them
‘here stands my other son’
He loved you and
he held you dear
As Hercules held Uni dear
And nursed from her breast
And you, my dear
Who never would trouble herself
As the morning dawn
Is too cold and clear
You complain that your fingers
Grow numb in the
late autumn stream
But I tell you,
What matters is that
As he sits
His back to you
Spine rigid
Heart broken
Tell him that
The stream never did matter
and that he is,
your other son
Poem 19
Blood
Two gasping inhalations
and then
‘You have got to learn
To wing it
Only then can we
All flock together.”
She told me when I was age four
Then there was that day
The day of
Blood
They called her grandmother
I called her grandmother too.
She said, “Child,
Nothing can ever harm us
Save that which we fear,
and that which we love.”
Gasp
Breath like knives
In my lungs
Grandmother’s face
A mask of righteous fury
A quick inhalation
A sob
Grandmother holds me
The bad man dead
We both safe
covered in his murderous
Blood
Poem 18
The Great Deity
In order to make room
He lifted the little girl
Up into his arms
Above her,
His face hovered
The very aspect of
The Great Deity
Her mother taught her
That the rains that fall
Nourish the earth
And that even buttercups
should not be
Thoughtlessly crushed
But He lifted her up
To his stubble covered chin
He would always be
More god than man
To his little girl
He would be her daddy.
Poem 17
Abiding
I shall bide
Beneath the earth
and yes,
I’m well aware of
How that sounds
Then he opened his eyes
Well then…
What are we waiting for?
So that the blunt monster
Will give us all
A crock of gold
And three wishes
His open eyes close
We all know
The three wishes
Never work
Go back to sleep
Dark one
Poem 16
My House
My house
Grows in the trees
With flowers and moss
On the roof
Chickens and geese
Live so near
I can hear them clucking
and hooting
In their dreams
The wind sighs
Through the branches
Rough pine bark
Is only a hand’s breadth
Away
Sap hangs like
Turpentine gemstone
Sticky on the fingers
Sweet and biting in the mouth
Linden grows just
Over there
Spade shaped leaves
Beside the apple tree
Silence and peace
Except for the crack
Of the fire
And the creaks of the trees
I lived there so long
Now it’s just in my dreams
…And in my every cell
Somethings will never
Be far from me
Some beauties
Are just too deep
Poem 15
Ancient Ones, I implore you
“Oh Ancient Ones
My mild plea will not
Make you feel guilty
My intent is loving
Not that I think
You should care much…”
“You had best let be”
I heard from a monstrous
Throated voice
“There is no maid that
I could ascertain would
Ever go with You willingly.”
Anguished with guilt
I cringed
And prepared to incur
Yet more guilt
Benumbed with despair
Marianne stirred
The ageing coals in the fire
And brushed her soft curls
Out of her large, limpid eyes
As the villain and
The ancient ones
Bargained for her fate.
Poem 14
The Bally-bog
We now have to consider
the gibbet
They prayed
He would not requite his death
With storms or other
Adversaries
A bed full of fleas
Was more than merely witty
Then came the bally bog
Mud covered, they rise
On their bulbous bodies
Arms and legs like sticks
Their neckless heads
Grunt and gibber
The boggies chased
The murderous crew
All covered in fleas
They griped and they whined
Covered in bally bog slime
With his arms stretched wide
And a mouth full
Of rotten teeth
The bog-a-boo was relentless
Each man who hung
Old Charlie up high
Grew stuck in the mud
Human sacrifices left to die.
Poem 13
The Tattooed Lady
Train tracks like a tattoo
Down the arm of my city
Bogged down in boom time
Every house tells
Of another boom that flared
Then died
Cities aren’t trees
They are built for industry
Not for beauty
Or the practicality
Of water and air
Or even sunlight
She’s a tattooed lady
With children suckling
at her teat
I don’t judge her
Bark and leaves
Aren’t much fun to eat
Poem 12
The Gatekeeper and I
I had hoped that
Watching my footprints
I would stop going in circles
The gate master fiddled
And asked for my passport
I begged the gatekeeper
for cider and cake
In the old tradition
Of Wassailing
He told me to sing
But I couldn’t think of a song
Until I walked in more circles
Then I sang him this
Keeping time with the clapping
Of my hand on my thigh
Then he laughed in delight
And he opened the gate
We ate cake and cider
He said, ‘get on with you,
It’s gotten too late’
The door slammed behind me
I don’t know where I am
But I can’t see my footprints
And I have a song on my tongue.
Poem 11
It has happened
I dream in poem
Faking comas
Snorting laughter
Now it has happened
I speak only in poetry
Poem 10
Her Killer
The advantages are clear
I left my oxygen mask on because the
other did
with hope to find her
he knew where she was
and I doubted the smile
so
cris crossed with shadows
was her killer’s face
Poem 9
This Is Not a Drill
This simulation is not as the former
this dreadful trumpet
you’ll be the death of me yet
across the littered ground
(again, the choice is/was yours}
where you will find everything you
need
this simulation is not as the latter
I’ll send for the dreadful trumpet
that is,
I meant to say
I’ll send for the doctor
this was not a simulation
Shit the bed
reality fail
Poem 8
Kisses from Boreas
After some twenty of them
had been disposed of
during the waning moon
with costumes and masks and
enchantments
he now wished he had not sacrificed
his sons
laughing
they would never throw themselves
down weeping
to die of grief
we have to rise
just as vegetation dies only to
reappear in the springtime
what’s wrong with the way I kiss?
Asked the winter wind
everything
I replied even as I thanked Boreas
in the deep of my heart
for the sweet relief from the smoke
and the flames
then it was
during the waxing moon
when costumes are removed
masks unmasked
enchantment revealed
and winter is come
Poem 7
An Island Arises
Clothed in lavender and rosemary
boughs
iridescent orbits delight and entrance
coconuts and bongos interrupt the tranquil sight
volcanic stones make my tread light
I’m naked and unrepentant
rushing up an island arises to blight
the whole scene
reeking of garden oils, flowers and
clean
laughing, splashing all along I was just
bathing!
Poem 6
Hallucinations
He allowed himself
to be
carried away
by the massive hallucinations
he had produced
and why not?
He asked
of the wallpaper and drapes
bees fly,
birds glide,
balloons loft,
and pollen…
disperses
so too my sights
my visions
shall smear across the sky
shattering the retinas
of all who watch
he was a wizard and a magician
a necromancer and a king
he was a Hollywood producer
and his vision governed most
everything.
Poem 5
I’m not, I can’t
I’m not dreaming this sense of
allegory
I’m not imagining this sense of
melancholy
dark robed figures swing scimitars
in grain filled fields of wheat and oats
death is in the harvest
bloated bodies line the streets
no cart, no crier, no relief
I can’t make up the raging anarchy
I can’t unsee the sight of destiny
If this should be when we bid each
other adieu
recollect the times I tried to put my
arms around you
forget the times my temper flew
in passion’s flames I will collect your ashes
but there’s not enough to bury
beneath the tree of life
goodbye my darlings
and good night
Poem 4
Sway
Sway branches creak
all night long
in the frolicsome storm
I remember your voices
and the ceaseless chanting of your
leaves
sing to me your stories
on the autumn winds
rock me in your arms
until the world never ends
Poem 3
Her Face
Her face looked gaunt and old
her body bloated more
each time I saw her
she thought she could block up the
door
with a pendant of the goddess of
disappointment
entwined around her neck
on a silver chain rich with tarnish
divorce and disappointment clotted every doorjamb
she was only so angry
because nobody loved her anymore
I don’t live with her
Like ivy
my love puts fingers into every crack
that her despair left behind
I would rather tear the structure down
than to live with her old corpses
anymore
Poem 2
Elements
Air
I breath you
you caress me
hold me
hot or cold
every minute is you
your quality dictates mine
you send my voice far
or rip my words from my throat
water
i meet you
you greet me
as I pierce your skin
you negotiate my cells
plumping me make me more than dust
so we drink each other
earth
I tread you
you uphold me
you are the grit of my teeth
as I ingest you
in all your mineral glory
you will one day eat me in my entirety
fire
I worship you
you warm me
or beat me to blisters with your
flames
without you i am form without
function
slower slower until I still
mind stops all movement cease
you are my passion and I am wild with
you
I am statuary without you
spirit
I acknowledge you
you laugh at my knowledge
like a toddler who realizes her cognisance
in the floating of a feather
and that memory courses through all
thought
even in the null of the void
it is just me laughing at my own
realizements
that’s all it’s been all along.
Poem 1
Not Even Awake
Not even awake
six am. Has come
sleep is no more
yet it is
it is the nobility of dawn
the integrity of doing
what for me
has not ever been
done before