Dress, hair, cracking chair
constant movement of the legs, trunk, arms
her excitement followed by languid sadness
and his finger on the page scanning symptoms
glasses fitted on the tip of his nose
injecting more imagination in his science
may be muggy, glutinous tentacles
grip her heart? or may be that
her ruby blood crystallizes
underneath her chicken skin…
he looks at her again
she is crocodile food
her breast looks yellow
under the serious light
poultry with a heart still pounding
while her liver suffocates
in a toxic world
his hands in scrutiny
now she coughs and must keep in motion
his hands hold her right hand
then her left hand, closer to the heart
while she hides behind her feathers,
eggless, restless
time for a poetic prescription
to keep away the predators
with his metaphors he feels
like a quiet, quiet crocodile hunter.
1)If you ever saw the play "Peter Pan", you'll remember this maxim: "Never smile at a crockodile...don't be taken in by his welcome grin, he's imagining how you will fit inside!" Here's the kind of crock you never-never want to revisit--not for all the Tinker-bell promises in the world.
2) I also thought of your use of fowl language here. And having grown up on a chicken farm (among other things), I can't not visualize the "eggless, restless" chick of your poem as a frightened, brooding, self-clucking damsel in distress. For her benefit, I am recalling how cool-dark rooms and soft music lull my feathered friends.
3) I shock-shivered at your line "glutinous tentacles/ grip her heart?" Wow! and how nasty is that!? I'm sure this little hen has allergies to such things. Who wouldn't? Hmmm, such a tentaculous beast as this must never-never find a permanent home (or path) into this feather-brain again.
4)Remedy: You're right (write?) the only prescription worth noting for such flighty imagination is poetry... that and a good cup of herbal tea... cinnamin-basil maybe...with a little dallop of honey, and an extra sprig of basil on the side... mmmm... --Charlie
This is fascinating stuff, Axilea. The imagery you use to depict the circumstance and essence of the characters intrigues, yet the sense of place and situation seem to fit our accepted expected "norms": an interesting juxtapose. I can only liken it to the behaviour of fowl when a fox enters the coop, that distress of invasion, that sense of threat to despoil the protected goods. What is, perhaps, unsettling about "alernative" practitioners is that we know they are viewing us with holistic eyes and so our presenting symptoms are not always what is used to measure our status by. What we fail to understand and what is actually being considered unnerves us. If the success of homeopathy depends on the balance of Yin-Yan, then methinks this particular interview might be wholly UNsuccessful! The title, as well, flags us a sense of suspicion that all is not well on the home front and that other abuses might be lurking. Truly, Axilea, you have us all intrigued with this one, and longing to find out more: answers to questions, at least! :)) xx
The first stanza distresses me, Axilea, its images are so vivid; and as the 'examination' continues the 'patient' is seen through objective eyes, cold eyes - 'crocodile food' - home path, the path to the end of life; homeopath, alternative treatment, the layered meanings challenge and excite, but for me the overall mood is grim.
There are a few poets here on AD whose work I read, and I find myself wishing that I could somehow get inside of their heads...their thought flow....and you are one of them, Axilea. And yes, it's true as Peter says, that this should be read more than once...but then, I feel that way about most of your work.
Intense and yes as Peter suggests it does make the reader read more than once and wonder and question the perplexities of the poets thoughts...well done.
fee
Your poetry always makes me read and re-read to decipher meaning and metaphor. That's a good thing, by the way. Mark of a great writer. Oh, what a week I've had. It's like: brain broke, don't use it! However, the doctor-patient-poet-predator theme is intriguing and creative. Poetic prescriptions are wonderful. But so is Xanax. Hmmm. Signing off. Cheers!
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A few things come to mind.
1)If you ever saw the play "Peter Pan", you'll remember this maxim: "Never smile at a crockodile...don't be taken in by his welcome grin, he's imagining how you will fit inside!" Here's the kind of crock you never-never want to revisit--not for all the Tinker-bell promises in the world.
2) I also thought of your use of fowl language here. And having grown up on a chicken farm (among other things), I can't not visualize the "eggless, restless" chick of your poem as a frightened, brooding, self-clucking damsel in distress. For her benefit, I am recalling how cool-dark rooms and soft music lull my feathered friends.
3) I shock-shivered at your line "glutinous tentacles/ grip her heart?" Wow! and how nasty is that!? I'm sure this little hen has allergies to such things. Who wouldn't? Hmmm, such a tentaculous beast as this must never-never find a permanent home (or path) into this feather-brain again.
4)Remedy: You're right (write?) the only prescription worth noting for such flighty imagination is poetry... that and a good cup of herbal tea... cinnamin-basil maybe...with a little dallop of honey, and an extra sprig of basil on the side... mmmm... --Charlie
Christine
the coop. Love this. -gene.
John
So imaginative and full of vulnerability.
Blessings,
Christine
fee