Dungeness crab
testimony
liquid ankles
boneless
dancing
in the breakers
across notes
seduced
from silent flutes
rivers of blood
flow frozen
like icicles bearing
vitality
to the sea
unconscious
ancestral
injury
fights its way
between
tongue and teeth
vomited red
pungent
onto hot stones
sizzles
past dreaming
melts the frost
graffiti witness
written by
crabs
scuttling sideways
on the sand
Copyright © 2014 Sharon Elliott. All Rights Reserved.
arise
loom across rock
pad
on paws wide as
dinner plates
soft as eyelash kisses
refuse to be
a commodity
keep your white
pelt wrapped
tight
on precious skin
blue eyes
wander
watch
wait
make safe
babies and old ones
guard against invasion
Copyright © 2014 Sharon Elliott. All Rights Reserved.
A wee giftie for the Mom’s who have made the transition. Inspired by the birthplace of Bessie Smith.
she roam roun
a moan tree
howl in the bury patch
bone picked clean
dark hide she sound
back groan moon
drum say krakkk!
blue gone goose
HOLLER
Copyright © 2014 Sharon Elliott. All Rights Reserved.
in 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.
murderous 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Yemaya’s necklace, beach on Beauly firth near Inverness, Scotland
Oshun’s power, river near Inverness, Scotland
Sister
I am ocean
fire dances above the stones over which I swim
Sister
you are shivering across soft sand
coral biting your feet
drawing blood
blood that feeds the earth
births the fire.
Children of the stones
our progeny
my heart splits open
for a thousand years
I carry you
against my liquid skin
we recognize each other
by the way our fingers stroke seaweed hair
to calm our frightened babies
by the way our hearts teach them to love
I live beside you
above you
below you
around you
My lips lay themselves in the hollow of your salty throat
feed upon your pulse
Sister
I owe you nothing
I give you everything
I open my liquid eyes to your turquoise light
and call you….
me
Photos and poem, copyright © 2014 Sharon Elliott. All Rights Reserved.
Cuillin Mountains, Isle of Skye, Inner Hebrides, Scotland
(assisted by Jolaoso Pretty thunder and Rara Tou Limen)
Behind mountains there be mountains
A song that has been singing for a long time
Remember, bow down before a westing flame
Earth is paying attention
Poem and photo copyright © 2014 Sharon Elliott. All Rights Reserved.
The Change 