#ovillejo

¿Qué consume la virtud? La luz Su belleza es una entrega Que alegra ¿Y de qué voy revestida? De vida. Y cuando estoy resentidacon el mundo y con las cosas, otoñales mariposas de luz, alegran mi vida. ©Julie Sopetrán

¿Qué consume la virtud? La luz Su belleza es una entrega Que alegra ¿Y de qué voy revestida? De vida. Y cuando estoy resentidacon el mundo y con las cosas, otoñales mariposas de luz, alegran mi vida. ©Julie Sopetrán

There’s a cast-off baby doll in the forest preserve. She has just re-emerged from the snow. I want to write a story about her (in fact, I kind of started to last week, before I short-circuited entirely), but that requires planning. So, a poem. An Ovillejo. Title: La NiñaWC: 59 Damp earth bears the stamp of my handStiff fingers fannedSnowmelt and sawdust and swollen limbsDay dawns, then…

Dead tired from traveling. No prompt. Just an ovillejo Title: ArchWC: 53 Who mends the sky that lightning rends?A soft sigh’s friends. What trails the cloud-curve underneath?Indigo teeth. How do storms stutter to a close?Nobody knows. Frightening to think no one choseThat what will be tumbles and spinsRed to black, skittering lessonsA soft sigh’s friends, indigo teeth, nobody knows

( via / via )

"Ah, one of my early, funny books!"

"We have passed the moments of crisis: we are now in the era of death and collapse; now we must preach and practice harm reduction, preserve our oral histories, feed and nourish each other, rest and recover, and imagine and build the foundations of new life as this world ends" --@ganjacum

"We no longer encounter the past principally as a coherent narrative informing our present and future action into the world. The past, is now encoded in ponderous databases, and it can be readily and endlessly re-interpreted, reshuffled, recombined, and rearranged. This activity is what now consumes our time and energy."

"O ill Jove"

Where we wander, fuss & fizz,     nothing is. Ahead of us each way eyes strain:     more plain. Any other thing prefer     than the blur gathered as more tricks occur. How did we to this place get sent, on purpose, or by accident?

Nothing is more plain than the blur.

Twelfth of Never.

"cool breeze i hear myself in an oil slick"

--@poem_exe

Potcake Poet’s Choice: Mindy Watson, ‘(Under)worlds Collide – (an ovillejo chain)’

Makaría, my girl, though you’ve heard Every word Of this myth I’ve recounted before, I implore You—indulge me again. For at last You’ve surpassed Fragile childhood’s constraints. Now hold fast And let fantasy shift into creed. You’re Persephone’s daughter; please heed Every word, I implore. You’ve surpassed Expectations I set at your birth. From my dearth You drew bountiful joy; from disgrace You…

in beginnings of sweeping storm gales - the worst wails

are seeds of existential doubt they emit out

questions none can answer - or abide, from inside.

...through my windows, and, wind-chime-bells these, the smells...

...smoke from once-brothers I now lack bring me back -

...being broke; I am close in ways to homeless days.