The Happiest Place on Earth?

blog mm bday1931 adin the mist
of forgettance
where half truths
masquerade as
penquins
and remembered
says it will
always be

comes
nostalgia
unbethought
by dancing mice
high wire crows
sing-song
obliterates the day

cruel griot
with no clothes
or feet to strap on sandals
decides
from a small
Missouri town
that mageek happened
there
sends dreamers
to tolerate
the sun

bye bye
mister
dizzy
an apology
is warranteed
don’t you think?

(Compelled by the movie “Saving Mr. Banks”, another lie about a weird power monger who helped shape the United Statian culture. In his childhood Walt Disney lived in Marceline, MO, just down the neighborhood from my mother where they attended the same high school… at the same time. Main Street USA in Anaheim became the loneliest place on earth, evoking tears from my mother and dis-wonderment from a small girl child.)

Copyright © 2014 Sharon Elliott. All Rights Reserved.

walt trader-mickey-c2a9-walt-disney

Beltane Fire

Giant_crow01murderous crows
speaking
in tongues
craaaw craww, arkkkj
a language
recognized as
belonging to the Mothers
say prepare

leap the fire
of spirit
sanctify
new growth
generative fornication
verifies
effort made massive

small
upright stone
wide with promise
anointed with water and oil
burnishes
blue people
who move forward
pregnant
with hope
to birth
unorthodox nativity

Copyright © 2014 Sharon Elliott. All Rights Reserved.

images 6097445652_c890cd1137_b

Death Haunted by Humans

 

Art by Aaron Paquette

Art by Aaron PaquetteDeath Bringer plays

Death Bringer plays
a melancholy waltz
on a button accordion
says
humans
are an enigma
in their ugliness
and their beauty
how the same thing
can be both
a riddle with no reply

 

cloaked in thunder
mystery
seeps into bones
made of jellyfish
and lead

everything
is stuck behind clouds
waiting
live the years
wisely
with reckless abandon
take care
not to be too careful

in the slow
inexorable twisting
of the spine
revolution rhythm
a dance emerges
graced by whispers
in the red night

mumbles
carry messages
too still
for ears
to hear
unless attention
is paid

give thanks
for eyes
with vision
blessed by spirits
hiding clarity
but showing faces
in the carpet
down the hall

that which is breathing
contains the secret word
blown by closed lips
into sacred union
with stones

what is awaiting transition
won’t have to wait long
a split second
rides the wind
catches the ferry
rests
in the depths

Copyright © 2014 Sharon Elliott. All Rights Reserved.

blue upright piano

painted-piano.0.261.3648.1744.860.412.c

 

 

 

 

at the end there is a beginning
before the door closes there is a beginning
between new white sheets there is a beginning
around the next corner there is a beginning
where children swing up high there is a beginning
when rock splits open there is a beginning
under raging waterfalls there is a beginning
while dancing in the streets there is a beginning
after throwing up the sash there is a beginning
in the blink of an eye there is a beginning

and tears unfold
the bent promises
of a single page
publish books
in ragtime

Copyright © 2014 Sharon Elliott. All Rights Reserved.

Vellichor

definition from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig
n. the strange wistfulness of used bookstores, which are somehow infused with the passage of time—filled with thousands of old books you’ll never have time to read, each of which is itself locked in its own era, bound and dated and papered over like an old room the author abandoned years ago, a hidden annex littered with thoughts left just as they were on the day they were captured.

old-bookcase_161087-1280x800

 

 

a choir of volumes
musty and strange
paper turning
from vellum
to starch

each writer tells
a story
fixed by time
to a location
arriving
on a train of ink
and hardware
to this sturdy
wooden shelf
already in receipt
of other
long-standing payments

leather
or board bound
sewn in
dull colors etched
with gold
or silver

prices handwritten
in pencil
on the fly leaf
an abomination
deserve at least
a library stamp

flies buzzing
in circular mote currents
dust emanating
from corner
counters

stacks of nothing
you will ever know
words go unread
holy hymnals
out of order
songs
a tune of yesteryear
peerless effort
inundated

touching them
is sacred duty
reading
a long-lost opportunity
turning pages
in a dimly lit room
a novitiate

Copyright © 2014 Sharon Elliott.All Rights Reserved.