I take back what you have stolen and in your languages I announce I am now nameless.
My true name is a growl.
Margaret Atwood

6 April 2018

untitled (fine dining)

I plated the gypsy's words
"feed on the new blossoms of estrogen"
scrying chicken bones steeped in Merlot
I dead dreamed by Baba's fire
as her spinning wheel bled a new moon's womb
I plied one indigo web-strand free
ring-fingered it beneath the silver birch,
stepped in\out of skin
to feast on the ancients' sins


I can't source the image but think it's really cool


  1. This blew me away - the image is extraordinary but what you did with 55 words is just plain amazing.

    1. thanks Kerry! this was a touch of magic in the morphing, digging deeply to push myself beyond the neurosis of the form constraints ....

  2. I love the flow of words and get the sense of ancient magic.

    1. thanks Viv! old world magic is the best

  3. This is just ungodly(or old-godly) cool, Pat. I am a sucker for all things mythical, for the wisps of dreams and fairytales that haunt our psyche and lead us to the unexpected path, and here there is a richness of all of that, as well as very personal point of view--just a piece I was born to love--and I especially like the ending, tho I am not a big quoter--that framing, between plating the gypsy's words and feasting out of skin really works well to tie the poem up with a chicken bone ribbon. Great 55, and I hear you about the editing agony--it gets easier the more you do them, I think. Thanks so much for taking the dive back into 55.

    1. sometimes it's so hard to "frame" word functionality on a page, harder still when the form is tight, difficult to work out the technicalities without detracting from the actual piece - always a neurotic decision to make ~

      Old word magic is mythical - I'm re-learning to listen to it, for it - then to try to speak, live, breathe it alive again, or perhaps still

      thanks for such an amazing and positively encouraging comment - the bones for the broth, yeah, I can totally and honestly appreciate this and feast (beats famine any day, for as sometimes "purposeful" as thin can be)

  4. Oh my. One meets so few anymore who speak the old Estrogenic tongue. This is top-drawer stuff, Pat. What a pleasure to read. From plating the Gypsy's words to dead dreaming to stepping in and out of one's skin (!!!) this is just a feast, and doubtless, a ceremony and a bacchanal all in one 55 word beauty of a poem. I love Hedge's calling "old-godly." Have you ever heard the old Alice Cooper song "Black Juju"? There's a quiet part and then he screams "WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP!!!" The poetry blogosphere has been dozy for some while now, and stuff like this will knock it out of bed and out the upstairs window. Like Crazy Cora in "Quigley Down Under" I knew ya could do it, Roy! (I know I know, your name's not Roy.) Your name is Ms. Chicken Bone Sorceress. She'll cut a bitch!

    1. roflmao@ (I know I know, your name's not Roy.) Your name is Ms. Chicken Bone Sorceress. She'll cut a bitch!
      I've also been named: She Who Stands With Fist.
      And yes, honestly, Medusa (by my parents no less)

      yes, I'm re-discovering the old Estrogenic tongue (now this is absolute poetry - I may have to quote you somehow on it.

      when words like this come (mine and comments) and I welcome them, I feel like I'm finally "coming home" to roost ... slipping into my rightful skin -
      thanks Shay!


thanks for sharing your thoughts, I greatly appreciate it.