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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1253431-Beetlebung-and-Kettlehole--April-Poems/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/10
by Joy
Rated: 18+ · Book · Drama · #1253431
Poetry in April -- in celebration
Daisies poetry signature


This is my Second Book of poems. I may not have eaten the plums from the icebox, but I am guilty of writing poetry without thinking too much, without laboring over words and lines.

This Is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

          by William Carlos Williams

You, too, forgive me for I only love the writing process; the result is secondary...And please never mind that I am also aping William Carlos Williams's false apology. *Wink**Laugh*


*Note1*

From where does the title Beetlebung and Kettlehorn come from?

The name Beetlebung and Kettlehorn has to do with ancient whaling practices and Martha’s Vineyard and Cape Cod.

During the nineteenth century, because of its dense white wood, the tupelo tree was used in whale oil casks made of copper. Beetle was the mallet made from the Tupelo tree and bung was the stopper in the cask hole. In Martha’s vineyard, the Tupelo tree is still known as the Beetlebung tree, and at Chilmark there, is a Beetlebung Corner, with shops at Chilmark Center, from where roads lead to other interesting points.

Kettlehorn, as well as being an ancient surname, refers to a piece of equipment resembling to but much bigger than a shoe-horn, used to stir the hot blubber and separate the fine oil from the denser particles. Whale oil was a popular commodity and, as a fuel, was used for lighting the dark, burning to provide heat and as an aid in cooking. After the whale was hunted, men in a boat cut strips of blubber from the whale's back, tied them together and rowed ashore. There the fat was cut into smaller pieces to be boiled into oil in large copper kettles.

In addition there exists kettle corn in Cape Cod which are corn chips fried in kettles and sometimes mistakenly called kettlehorns.

For some reason, way back when, the words Beetlebung and Kettlehorn were used together and, at one time or another, were given to shops and other things that go together as titles.

I adopted the name for my on-the-spot poetry in reference to the idea of blubber. *Laugh*



"Poetry the shortest distance between two humans"
Lawrence Ferlinghetti


Previous ... 6 7 8 9 -10- 11 12 13 14 15 ... Next
April 5, 2014 at 12:17pm
April 5, 2014 at 12:17pm
#812666
Easy breeze on palm trees,
fronds open up, to a purple sky,
reaching for alms,
and my claim on a conch shell,
staked earlier
between my fingers and thumb,
vanishes with the sea foam,
while I settle on a stone seat
topping the promontory.

I've lost my grip and feel jinxed,
but the ocean’s chorus
sings in one eccentric tongue, twisting
with tunes of mystery,
empty shells’ tales, and perforated reveries.
In awe, I press my hand to my lips
and still my breath,
to hear a wave rise high and whisper,
“If it is lost, it can't be found,
and you’re too old to live a lie.”
April 4, 2014 at 2:16pm
April 4, 2014 at 2:16pm
#812573
Don’t turn away from me.
This game’s in play,
gathering us and racquets,
all carbon-based,
so very human.

I don’t know if I can bear it
your service tight, inside four walls,
my ultrasound in quarks and photons
and us, cramped, side by side,
with your strained smile.

My revulsion ripples before your kill,
and smashing at the front wall,
ball bounces at reverse angle below the out line.
All scar tissue. No clouds drift inside,
just a healing slash backing to a boast

------------------

Squash terms used: Service, front wall, bounce, reverse angle, out line, boast, kill .
April 3, 2014 at 2:07pm
April 3, 2014 at 2:07pm
#812438
He grabs her by the wrist,

as if yanking a big vine
using his weight for mastery,

as if in middle ages,
to check for the knife
inside her sleeve,

as if to evade her seductive touch
or his obsession for weak women,
weak women who conceal
their venom, until he touches.
April 2, 2014 at 1:38am
April 2, 2014 at 1:38am
#812149
My words,
lily-livered debutantes
unsure of their accoutrements,
perch on the bench
too silly to come out.

April 1, 2014 at 1:47pm
April 1, 2014 at 1:47pm
#812055
Playacting,
your heart unlocks
fairy-tale secrets
for this fool.


April 30, 2013 at 12:27pm
April 30, 2013 at 12:27pm
#781671
Since nothing is left of this interval,
your shadow veils the page
and the steam of your ardor
rises to leave.
But you, the poet, writer, learned scholar,
you the lover,
cannot disappear, even if
you cross the street and follow
other avenues of your invention.

This moment at night
under the weight of time
may stage a spectral play
in your theater of thoughts,
but you’ll keep on producing
colorful illusions, with splendor
as their charm, and you’ll wake up
like the beautiful Shahrazade,
with a new story to tell, each day.


==

Prompt: Nothing left
April 29, 2013 at 12:34pm
April 29, 2013 at 12:34pm
#781589
First fish, tiny with soft spine,
thin scales, no jaws
cheeks rising to pleasure
in limitless ocean, a rippling fragment
of heaven’s light
while every wave of the sea
erases the sky’s memory.


First friend, a mate
with no name like the light
from dream to vigil
communication in silence,
rivers of joy flow within
then the blazing touch
in the center of the night.


First land, one little hell of hope
thirsty for invisible mountains
can it climb, on a slow trek
from gullibility to clout?
Zeal erupts for new promises
it muscles up, sharpens,
to adapt to a vicious world to come.


*ostracoderm—first fish of 530 million years ago

-------------
Prompt: a specific kind of fish
April 28, 2013 at 3:08pm
April 28, 2013 at 3:08pm
#781535
Aroused by sunbeams
in the lap of greens
sapphire jewels wake up plump,
wearing the morning dew
to hear a slow creek's blues.

Lopsided, they ease into my hands
tender, angelic, naïve,
before the bird beaks
chisel through their skin
to tattoo towering verses of blue.

Lining them in a pendant of beads
I'm reluctant to crush them
into the dough, for they'll leave
a trail of purple tears
on their final destination.

I ought to be indifferent
but now, I'm stupidly blue
for there's no way to re-attach
a fruit to its branch
or find illusions once you lose them.


-----------
Prompt: The color blue
April 27, 2013 at 11:37am
April 27, 2013 at 11:37am
#781465
needles and spools
lamp black, steel green, silver grey...
I thread through the eye
while he watches the needle drift
in the button, out the cloth

and I'm wandering
in and out, in and out...
fragments of memory

was it just yesterday when
we were held hostage
by corporate dreams
bitten by the snake
of champagne wishes

and I'm wandering
in and out, in and out...
fragments of memory

was it my friend or his sister
who talked about the woman
scented with sweaty nylons,
the lie dismantled, delusional,
all maggots and worms

and I'm wandering
in and out, in and out...
fragments of memory

I couldn't see well,
but neither could he
their sealed tears, tribal fears
deceits, hanging over us
like spiked stalactites

and I'm wandering
in and out, in and out...
fragments of memory

was it my mother or his who said
I never fix his buttons?
I look at him, he grins
with how-nice-this-is eyes.
I smile in personalized silence

and I'm wandering
in and out, in and out...
fragments of memory

yet, not a dram of bitterness
as it's almost over
and the sun's setting
I tie the knot and pull the needle
fastening the button in place


----------------

Prompt: It's almost over
April 26, 2013 at 1:09pm
April 26, 2013 at 1:09pm
#781426
fevered ocean, cool earth
moaning creek, humid moon
Apaganthus, moss, lichens, dust,
weeds that shatter blistering rocks

not quite the same,
this year, spring’s slanted

for something subtle is departing
more precious than gold or fame
with what is vintage forming new ties
nothing of the old we knew, and yes,

not quite the same,
this year, spring’s slanted

your wavering self, my vague regret
our love akin to a hothouse bloom
bright colors and no scent
bursting and vanishing like a shooting star

not quite the same,
this year, spring’s slanted

--------------------------
Prompt: Slanted
April 25, 2013 at 10:48am
April 25, 2013 at 10:48am
#781349
Rain,
with hidden ambition
comes back again,
more often than not,
just a touch, a drizzle at first,
but being vain, when least expected,
it pours over the roof
to make you move against me
like a wave.

Funny
how zealous drops do not break
grass blades and flower buds
but wake us from our dreams
to let our bodies coil around
each other, before we resume
to sink toward sleep, listening
to the twisted tongues of
rain.


----------

Prompt: We resume


April 24, 2013 at 3:47pm
April 24, 2013 at 3:47pm
#781305
There’s something due
hard to figure what

as this could be the last days
of pleading cries when

ragged ribbons of rivers
snake in the Everglades

liquid mirrors ever so slow
through browned-green sawgrass

Mangrove roots in mud, like stilts,
grow downward from branches

Gators stretch still
with turtles clamped in teeth;

yet, pythons wreak havoc
extorting terrorized tunes

boats rush to landing ramps with no regard
to otters, ospreys, spatterdock lilies

and nature distorts in human hands
losing proportion.

There’s something due
hard to figure what.


------------

Prompt: There’s something due
April 24, 2013 at 1:58pm
April 24, 2013 at 1:58pm
#781298
Stars are pigmented, science claims
but I see only brilliance
ridiculing the dark that hangs
over the backyard and the golf course,
as spring blooms send gardenia scents
through the half-open windows
regardless of this planet's pains.

Pleasant hours of night
but with false-colored eyes
watching an unchaste world,
a world, at times, I've held back from
in fear or remorse,
and yet the poet* said,
"this very holding back
is the one suffering
you could have avoided."


*Rumi

Exact quote: "You can hold back from suffering of the world, you have permission to do so, and it is in accordance with your nature, but perhaps this very holding back is the one suffering you could have avoided."

-----

Prompt: You know who
April 22, 2013 at 2:27pm
April 22, 2013 at 2:27pm
#781117
Did I ever believe my mind was clear?

Once I swore I’d never forget his face
every facet of its expressions
but now, do I even remember
the color of his hair
or his laugh?

This thing I’m born into,
this being human, flounders between
forgetting and remembering
staying awake or asleep
seeing and not-seeing.

Part of me wishes to crawl backward like crawfish;
part of me wants to lunge forward Icarus-wise
to melt in your arms
still thinking about him,
one heart divided by two.

Did I ever believe my mind was clear?

--------

Prompt: divided by two
April 21, 2013 at 3:53pm
April 21, 2013 at 3:53pm
#781044
the new you, a piece of candy
in a mother-of pearl dish,
welcomes you

no more drama, no more tantrums
no more steam rising, sulfurous,
from inner volcanos

no more fear of falling in this new place
for now you know, frights hide
behind taboos

and an implacable sweetness
knowing its unknowing
coils in your depths

as interior walls
gain dozens of vigilant eyes
watching you



------------------

Prompt: What it really means to be an adult
April 20, 2013 at 12:47pm
April 20, 2013 at 12:47pm
#780989
Come to me
far from your silent place
of grey skies and snow-covered hills
with rising smoke
and hardening hearts
where all is lost in winning
and hopes lay abandoned
in burial sites.

Come to me,
seeking shelter
on soft sands by the sea,
where tropical winds boogie
with Sego palms' fronds
and find this crystal desire
of white sugar canes
egret songs
and days of feasting.

Come to me
for I'll build a smile,
fluttering adrift
in front of your eyes,
and under a blossoming orange tree
my words will emerge
like soft moss and culantrillos
to show you what is left behind
is waiting ahead.

Come to me
with your gentle greeting
richer than gestures filled with honey
and offer me your lips
to open the universe
of guava and eucalyptus
to make me shiver, wishing
your body will burn
akin to those days
anchored in my memory.

========

Prompt: Then come kiss me
April 19, 2013 at 9:50am
April 19, 2013 at 9:50am
#780912
Clinging to hours,
clouding and clearing my throat strings,
with the elusive wish to sing
while musing how the world is so full
and so empty,
how the mind drifts,
how rain falls,
how the wind changes so freely
bringing pollens and scents of flowers
into my nostrils.

How creative everything is,
yet, how mundane!

And still, what I want to sing
remains unsung.

Without my song, no breath.

---------------

Prompt: But not quite there yet


April 18, 2013 at 12:05pm
April 18, 2013 at 12:05pm
#780860
This will be a new life
for that photo of years ago
as I no longer search
my hollow obscurity in sepia.

There is nothing there
but my old name and your shadow
and if a door opens,
I won’t go back in.

Time will decompose,
forming new wrinkles,
and my steps will quicken forward
while I'll still think about you.


--------------------

Prompt: Coming of age
April 17, 2013 at 11:15am
April 17, 2013 at 11:15am
#780799
gathering speed, she makes her way
to the mirror, nodding yes, self-possessed
she waves to her image

she was her own whole world
wrapped in the brazen myth
that she existed alone

a second look
her eyes deepen with a discovery
the mirror reflects other things

primitive slow motion
the walls, her dresser, her bed,
the bird on the tree branch in front of the window

the shadows lingering on the bed
hers and the man’s who left
in the weak gray light before dawn

the bird starts to sing, its song chaotic
contralto, a requiem
pushing out the night

transfixed, she stares in the mirror
now a witness to bird songs
and many other reflections besides her own


-----------------

Prompt:Virginity, or loss thereof

April 16, 2013 at 12:21pm
April 16, 2013 at 12:21pm
#780712
No sweets for me
take every grace away
for honeyed laughter can be wicked
behind witch-eyes and charms

No sweets for me
not from your cauldron hanging
over our children’s heads
let no one know such savor

No sweets for me
sugarplums do not dance
while bats fly about our faces
and bombs terrify the innocent folk

No sweets for me
for I am a staring wreck
at this flood of shame and blood,
unforgiving the all-forgetting

No sweets for me
but give me wisdom
from the cracked bones of terror
in this world of fear and shock

No sweets for me
place me among the outlaws
followers of a lost cause
for a planet at peace.

------------

Prompt: Sweets for the sweet

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1253431-Beetlebung-and-Kettlehole--April-Poems/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/10