I am seeking local artists and artisans for a series of interviews I hope to publish on this website.
If you would like to participate please email me. Thanks! This could be a neat project.
Medea
What mother has not thought
in the secret passges
of her mind
"flee for the hills
or kill the bastards.
any way to be free"
the brothers are fighting again
“Mermeros got the fat
and I got none”
“Phereses ate the eyes
and I got none”
these little Jasons
want to conquer her body
breasts and arms
to snatch all the meat
from the soup-pot
she can scarce breathe
in the cave's close heat
she is hungry
she is a single mother
in hiding
taking the blade
she slits their throats
in their afternoon naps
she prays their final dreams
are of a joy
unrelated to conquest
moments later
a fist in the uterus
a limb cut off
she will regret
what cannot be undone
prop them up again
and they fall over
stitch on the heads
it will not work
her healing is done
riding a dragon
rising over princely burial mounds
she will rise
to the moniker
given her
Wiced Medea,
who has no home
but will always have a name
Lucy Simpson
Seattle
7/2008
]]>Dear Neighbors,
Please join me in extending a hearty welcome to Erc http://erc675.vox.com/. His poetry is excellent! Please pop over to see his work. His Kindergarten poem is particularly lovely. I'd publish his work were I an editor.
Lucy, who enjoyed the Seattle thunder showers
]]>
Evolution
the gecko curls his feet
in fetal bliss
wax-worm-fed
eyes shuttered against the light
like when he sat in his egg
content in warm goo
dreaming nothingness
and then a light
cracking through
calling him
to break the shell
and struggle out
a hungering
you too passed through ages
in mother's womb
floating in bliss
a lumpy egg
lizard-tailed
pig-snouted
you looked like swine
before you assumed
your primate shape
little skinny monkey
wrinkled
pale as an onion
or the moon
depending on mother's
hormonal moods
Lucy Simpson
Seattle
7/1/2008
Carolyn Kizer is one of my favorite poets. Here is her fresh take on the Midas myth. Her rhyming is perfect and not contrived. The poem is pithy, concise and also sad.
Foxglove Purpurea
Foxglove curves like a spine
vulpine floribunda
purple cups
look nothing like fox gloves
that little bit of dark fur
on the paws
only looks like a back bone
with fluted vertebrae
digitalis in the nectar
every part a poison
I keep it away from my daughter
so tall, it exceeds the fence
and waves in the wind
paralyzing lovely
look! two have come together
spines entwined
rapture
stem to stem
Lucy Simpson
Seattle
6/28/2008
]]>yarrow grows in this rocky place
palest blue scent of comfort
green feather leaves
crush between my fingers
the Sound whispers the shore
stones – sigh – rock roll -sigh-rock -roll
then the scent is curling
in my nostrils
up to my brain
of spicy yarrow
and shellfish salt
of the water
and the color of evening
smells purple
yes, that is a lovely smell
and the water, those tiny lights
like fireflies or little boats
are drifting
mesmerizing
calling my soul out
to sea
you by my side
a heavy anchor
that moors the boat of me
good wooden keel
from being dashed on the rocks
or floating out
to be bleached by days of sun
you, shore of flesh
country, my country
where my hands have a home
your eyes, my navigation
see how the water washes
you and me
how desperately we need each other
and these waves
to define ourselves
Lucy Simpson
Seattle
6/29/2008
]]>I am seeking local artists and artisans for a series of interviews I hope to publish on this website.
If you would like to participate please email me. Thanks! This could be a neat project.
Dear Fellow Voxers.
I am a local published poet seeking to build my journalistic skills. I am looking for composers, artists and artisans to interview and photograph. The work would be published on my Vox site. My only requirement is that you use your real name and that I get to hang out in your workspace for a few hours, ask you questions and photograph your process. A link will be provided to your website. Art includes includes sculpting, wood carving, photography, painting, dance and theater. Artisans include jewelry-makers, potters, wood-turners and more. Composers include instrumental music, as well as singer-songwriters. I will select the work that most speaks to me, so I can write effectively about it.
This could be the start of something beautiful...
Lucy Simpson
]]>
Sisyphus Learns
Sisyphus heaves the boulder
one mighty shove that first time
trudging ascent
after the tenth time
his chest bruised
he knows he is screwed
he learns to take it slow
to breathe between pushes
like perpetual labor
he measures contractions
and imagines
a green field
he floats in this egg
as his bones crack
Lucy Simpson
Seattle
6/20/2008
Homo est Machina
He bends to his work
a man, whose name we do not know
Does he like olives?
Does he like the rain?
Clasping the wrench
turning steel bolts
with his might
there is a sea in his mind
we have not swum
The machine is:
a great puzzle
a wheel of life
a metal womb
with a great eye
watching
The man is a fetus
active boy
determined to win
try his luck
at life's wheel.
Year after year
the machine grinds him down
the once beautiful man
whose arms woman lay in
him, whose nectar they sucked
His lungs shrivel
Arms diminish to sticks
The machine will mutate
to different forms
created by man's scions
Each man will try his luck
at a different wheel
Lucy Simpson
Seattle
6/19/2008