Friday, February 20, 2015

Ring Of Fire

By half past eight,
I've traded night for day,
but I'm still sleeping.
Well, I'm driving.
No, I'm absent,

but I'm keeping on
when this old song comes on the radio.
Mariachi horns in single file swagger,
sharp as sent for me daggers, and I feel something
like my pulse.

I follow their snaking through my suburban streets and home
to where everyone's gone, and it's just
his voice -
that voice
the voice in my garage wilderness -

And I have an impulse
to leave the engine running,
to close the door.
I could,
I could,
but love

is a burning thing.

For Grapeling's word pair challenge at Real Toads.  I used absent / sent and pulse / impulse.  This has been edited several times since I first posted it.  Sorry; I just can't seem to get it right.


Shawna said...

This is incredible. It made its snaky way deep down into my soular system.

"sharp as sent for me daggers, and I feel something familiar
like my pulse"

the last six lines

Sylvia K said...

Terrific as always, MZ! You do know how to start my day, but I think I'd better keep away from it at night!!!

Anonymous said...

Loved it.
What else can I say? Your words stumble and gather, your images flicker and reappear... they have a harmonious union.

Kerry O'Connor said...

The thread of music, heard on the edge of sleep, turned into poetry to worm its way into a reader's mind half a world away... leaves me thinking about the final solution. Life is a burning thing.

hedgewitch said...

Sometimes the fire only seems to make the darkness deeper, or is it vice versa? Maybe somewhere, but not here--really well-wound spell, like many that come from your midnight radio grimoire.

Björn Rudberg said...

Somehow I got an image of shredding all those tears to Mariachi horns... (must have been a scene from Buffy the vampire slayer) together with leaving the car running inside the garage. Maybe just my thoughts that ran wild there.

Anonymous said...

A very powerful vivid poem, MZ--really one hears and feels the movement, and sadly the disappear--something identifiable--the ring of fire feels like all kinds of rings, and that too has a resonance--with his voice-- well, you know. k.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

"I'm absent, but I'm keeping on. " I so know the toll that Keeping On takes. The last six lines worry me, mother hen that I am....great writing, as always, MZ.

Susan said...

Yes, she could. I hear the rhythmn of Johnny Cash in here, minus mariachi--sorry--it's the title and love being a burning thing. And that voice! Woof. But that must be a dream, a suburban dream.

Helen said...

Yes ~ garage as wilderness. Perfect.

grapeling said...

something sinuous about this, MZ.

and yes, love is a burning thing...

thanks for adding your voice ~

Anonymous said...

Glad I waited to comment, because reading it was like "something / familiar ..." a "pulse," yes, keeping time somehow with a ghost heart. Tempting to join that absence, to become present in that absence, but what of the "Ring of Fire"? Perhaps Love is the guardian angel who keeps us yearning and burning (here).

Gail said...

I must confess...I am envious of your talent.

These words left me empty...I think they were supposed to. Excellent.

Margaret said...

"I'm absent, but I'm keeping on…"

the impulse is so frightening, I knew someone who did shut the garbage door once - was found just in time. Radio was playing too…

I'm glad you ended it they way you did.

Fireblossom said...

As soon as you mentioned the horns, I thought "Ring Of Fire"!

Life will find you, like a sapling growing up through cracked pavement. It's determined and will use the thing that fires you, that speaks to your soul. Jim Morrison is dead and doesn't write any poetry. Fuck him. Rave on.