June 27

In a previous post I referred to poems as "sparks." I also think of some poems as "looping corkscrews." The imagery in such poems throws one completely off guard. On purpose. The only defense against such poems is to avert one's eyes, stop reading, turn away. But if you let the looping corkscrew imagery in, it will twist and turn, this way and that and you will be reward, being touched by something you newver thought or felt before.

I think blog member Daniel Burke's poems Paracolobopsis and Crominox  are good examples of "looping corkscrews."

Paracolobopsis

below is amerigo;

he's snuck through the fold

and up my arms.

six legs scurry

around a palm

of peppered soil.

and up above;

cacophony each way.

a mirror landing

shards shed

the paratree

that I am underneath.

pressing against church 

brick, my hand went 

near a slug.

reaching up its walls;

fog-paved ways tell of time

and stone.

I wonder if someone

could sneak me inside?

hidden in a twix packet...

into the square space

with four faces.

(weaving in situ; actually kneading)

where ants are carpenters

and charioteers.

(working on a stack of wood for burning)

Osiris 

Neu 

Tetramorium

...plunged into

nu-point starting;

never pausing satellite.

birth of the sun is split;

one-man's seizure spells

team carnage

ed is a portal;

snake wrapped around the sun,

ghost of a saber-toothed tiger.

Crominox 

fire at the altar

top! supper served 

tabula rasa.

the hues of

the body

are refined.

to stain with colour

is to touch

the body. 

now made eminent,

hailing from 

the bursting hills;

shortest, 

trifling,

Min the Blond

attends adorned in gold and white,

to the once castrated;

Ox the Besprinkler.