#p.k. page

[allyourprettywords]

“Sisters,” P. K. Page

They split each other open like nuts, break and crack in the small house, are doors slamming; are gentle for their mother still and take her simple comfort like a drink of milk.

Fierce on the street, they own the sun and spin on separate axes and attract about them the shrieking neighborhood of little earths. In violence, hold hatred in their mouths.

With evening their joint gentle laughter leads  them into pastures of each other’s eyes. Beyond, the world is barren. They contract tenderness from each other like disease and talk as if each word had just been born-- a butterfly, and soft from its cocoon.

[ohappylivingthings]

P.K. Page and Margaret Atwood

[hepatosaurus]

national poetry month, day 12

This Heavy Craft The wax has melted but the dream of flight persists. I, Icarus, though grounded in my flesh have one bright section in me where a bird night after starry night while I’m asleep unfolds its phantom wings and practices. —P.K. Page

[violettesiren]

Green, how much I want you green. Great stars of white frost come with the fish of darkness that opens the road of dawn. – Somnambular Ballad (Stephen Spender and G.L. Gili, trs.)

Landscape of crystals rock salt and icebergs white trees, white grasses, hills forged from pale metals padlock and freeze me in the Pleistocene. See my skin wither heart become brittle cast as the Snow Queen. Green, how much I want you green.

Green oak, green ilex green weeping willow green grass and green clover all my lost youth. Come before springtime before the brown locust come like the rain that blows in the night and melts to fine dust great stars of white frost.

Water, sweet water chortling, running the chinooks of my childhood warm wind, the ripple of icicles dripping from my frozen palace. How sweet the water moonstones and vodka poured from a chalice with the fish of darkness.

Come water, come springtime come my green lover with a whistle of grass to call me to clover. A key for my lock small flowers for my crown. The Ice Age is over, green moss and green lichen will paint a green lawn that opens the road of dawn.

Green, How Much I Want You Green by P.K. Page

[johnesimpson]

As If / As Is

Cheryl Strayed, Ram Dass, et al., on things as they are, as they might be, as they ARE: 'As If / As Is'

[Image: adapted from “Mermaid birdbath closer,” by Flickr user “orchid dude.” There are a lot of images of mermaids in concrete and stone in some kind of watery setting, but this one by far had the best representation of one of the despondent and possibly ill-tempered creatures as depicted in Matthea Harvey’s poem this week…]

From whiskey river:

I’ll never know, and neither will you, of the life…

View On WordPress

[feministfistbumps-blog]

Musician Ilia Nicoll wanted to share this poem with you:

My enemy in a purple hat

looks suddenly like a plum

and I am dumb with wonder

at the thought

of feuding with a fruit.

P.K. Page

[sorexvagrans]

Single Traveller

by P.K. Page

What is this love that is my life's companion? Shape-changer, sometimes faceless, this companion. Single traveller, I wander a wasting world awaiting the much anticipated Companion. A trillium covered wood one April day served as a nearly consummate companion. A horse, two dogs, some cats, a blue macaw each in its turn became a loyal companion. Behind the loved embrace, a face of light- demon or angel-lures me from my companion. The street of love is neither wide nor narrow. Its width depends on me and my companion. Am I too bound and blinded by coarse wrappings ever to know true love as my companion? O Poet, squanderer of time and talents why do you search for love as your Companion?

[poem-locker]

P.K. Page, "This Heavy Craft"

The wax has melted but the dream of flight persists. I, Icarus, though grounded in my flesh have one bright section in me where a bird night after starry night while I'm asleep unfolds its phantom wings and practices.