Pantry

Pointing a tremulous fester, both blue and old until the morn,
Who were the buds of overside, those ending
keenly at curly nail-tips, and whitened chalky manes;
A muscled crypt of myrtle borne and seaside shallow?

Crows with beating burly stalks, a thistle bird of sickly
feathers. Those mercy words that swell the moving butter
churns, turn to ice before the quail, egg and all are none
the master, nor do the pine bark sing in lofty tails.

When hearth or bracken, the skeletal birds of mine to keep,
do suffer seek me, a pretty child, the virulent member
or monstrosity come; hither there be no rhyme to coddle,
as reek I do of morning chill or ported wine.

A murky shire of chestnut trees are moaning, that cold
burrow song, a priceless dog or soldier keep me not afraid.
An hour of sleep before the morrow, spent and careful
into the farrow. Fields are kept a plenty by the shrouded dowsing rod.
 
Books are blackened, warming hands like spreads of ballads,
the honey pot, a ripened callous, where hands meet gloom and
loamy earth. Inside the keepers graze a jealous muffling hum,
while parts of me reside within that rotting, muddy study.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

Blood and the Alley

Apart from my misery 
The stony hole, the wilting flower,
Earth took a bud and shaking membrane,
Past the lobe a striking pick
Bending backwards a loping,
Breasted mound.

The earth is shallow.
As I bring clay to cheeks and
Whisper, unto him my bloody water,
In boyish legs, spreading between them
It grins a tepid, milky space
As pick I do at tufts of hair.

Biting lamps out down the walkway
And into the zone of paper grass;
Digging a gloomy bruise with fingernails
And spits of wood
That blood, a brightened slip,
A fattened pathway,
Rests, in part, in that Alley,

Apart from my misery.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

The Boy in the Clock

On what day did the Seeker, that foul-shaped gangly
Figure, weep and belly-crawl toward me
Forward winding? In craven eaves, in parsley fields,
I wrinkled sleeves, running, running,
A bare-foot straw sock stuck fast and wide
While crows were nodding, nodding, nodding.

The mansion breaks the parsley skirting; my mouth
Is panting, low, unsightly. A butter cloud of moths
Were dancing, and caught my cheeks with tender tags
Of sickly salt-pan glister. With baked stone walls I 
Pushed the tail-bone, and time was wailing fast before
Me, it scratched my back into a cup of clawing,
Chasing fingers.

He seeks me still in wooden boxing, under sweating
Hands are shaking; time atop my crush of raven
Swings a hefty, dullsome, tune. Knees were pulled far
Up and rounded, domed and white, and jade, and black,
Stuck and stinking fragrantly, the skiddish slums of slime
Betrayed me- sleeves were dirty, hot, and green.

With backbone slinking down the body, the clock
Grows loud with muffled strumming. In front, the crack,
The door before me, small enough to wholesome hold
Me, blanks the mansion's putty light. Arms that longly grope
The run trail, scoop a crackle from the door frame;
Ones that pester, hound and perish
With longing, longing, longing.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

The Dunce Beneath The Pine Tree

With wings that limb the beaten bore,
Inside branches red to mud, blush and
Dowse him, before the birding
Sucks onto the pine.

There be creeping a winding bottle,
Blue in bud, spore-filled, boorish;
A charcoal dinner of savoury wood,
And muted burly fruiting.

Beneath, the waiting traveller, a dusty 
Grass companion. Flailing dimly along the 
Bark wood- tempting feasts with
Nose's crook.

Smiling pretty beneath the pine tree,
A sugary cheek becomes the rice mound,
Frustrated, shaking, he throbs the timber;
They watch him quietly,

Ear to ear.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

Awake Before the Cherry Tree

Awake before the cherry tree,
My eyes are stuck 
The sockets thick-
I stick my fingers in the bread pan
Rounding thumbs with pastry nails.

Stumbling bow-legged from the bed seat,　
Feet inhale the wooden plank;
Before the forest carpet meets them,
To ply them whole with muddy shards,
And boiling heels
With prickled cold.

Walking in
Past the fur-case,
A deer is boiling
Feet and all.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

Upstairs, Ghosts Talk.

Fixing loose-curl auburn lockets, the pins embed
And turn again. Step, and forward sway the hipbone,
Thirty, forty, a flight of granite looming forward,
Front and back, past my skirt tail – laden laced, pearly

Quiet go the foot pads, front illuminations rest forgotten,
Past the small mouse scuffling four-paw: zigging, zagging 
Along the stair stage. Past the morning call in woodpecker
Tongue, squalls and loudly names the dawning. Softly,
I ascend the cold rough stairwell; 
	careful
Not to spend courage whole.

Wring the rusty thoughts of amorphous dreaming, eat the 
Bad thought before the stairwell – rubbish orts and morsels thin
Of single tipped barbs, and doubted quenching
	alas
Before they mean too much.

Wave with white hands a fare-thee-well, the apparition
That pauses; portentously grinding its nothing on the wall
Seemingly real the whitewash of nothing, he is voided
But lives existent in that other-world well,
Singing, and that much better for it.

Twitch the dreaming skull-bone loose, and question not,
As I mask my tooth-grin with knuckled fingers;
He spots me slinking past the wound in time
	and calls me closer,
So that I may meet him.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

Body of Snow

The ceaseless eyelash stems they darken,
Inky tails are black-smudged, viscous,

They pinch-prick rotund dusty cold drops,
Melting pits of sunken space.

Tokun' tokun' goes the warming,
Sliding, drinking cold drop pieces

We own no wildness, as they wither,
Snaking silver trails on milky skin.

Under thinness, mouths are creasing,
Splitting wide, and cracking deep: freezing

Thumb prints on the wall-stone, watch them
Bloom a passion flower, purple thumbs are tickling

Tickling; my sparse and cold-bit hands.
See how shaking numbness stretches!

Then slap the hand shank on the frost wall,
Behold the water smooth and blacken

Under fingers, shapely, small. Pressing
Colours from the nail tips; tracing outlines

Into the fabric. Inside smells are washed and plumping. 
Watch, as snow cakes shoulders whole.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

Versatile Blogger Award!

I’m very very very pleased to announce that I have been nominated for the Versatile Blogger Award, not once, not twice, but THREE times! Oh my!

Big thanks go to Zendictive, Madnessinmasquerade, and Peach Farm Studio for your kind nominations. I am incredibly humbled!

The idea behind The Versatile Blogger Award nominations is to use these nominations to make other bloggers aware of other great blogs, as I’m are doing here. I encourage you to nominate some of your favourite blogs for The Versatile Blogger Award and Liebster Blog Award too!
Rules for The Versatile Blogger Award.

1. In a post on your, blog, nominate 15 fellow bloggers for The Versatile Blogger Award.
2. In the same post, Add the Versatile Blogger Award.
3. In the same post, thank the blogger who nominated you in a post with a link back to their blog.
4. In the same post, share 7 completely random pieces of information about yourself.
5. In the same post, include this set of rules.
6. Inform each nominated blogger of their nomination by posting a comment on each of their blogs.

My nominations:
1. http://nichepoetryandprose.wordpress.com/
2. http://whatidoisme.wordpress.com/
3. http://suehealy.org/
4. http://rumpydog.wordpress.com/
5. http://francoisbergh.wordpress.com/
6. http://bedrockandparadox.wordpress.com/
7. http://emmiemears.wordpress.com/
8. http://kiwsparks.wordpress.com/
9. http://zendictive.wordpress.com/
10. http://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/
11. http://joe2poetry.wordpress.com/
12. http://suzicate.wordpress.com/
13. http://lrntn.wordpress.com/
14. http://taraalaka.com/
15. http://zumpoems.com/

As per rule #3 “Share 7 random things about yourself”, here is a list of 7 random things to know about me:

1. As some of you may have worked out, I lived in Japan for approximately one year. While I was there, I studied Japanese and Anthropology at Doshisha University, Kyoto. It was one of the best experiences of my life so far, and I made some of the most wonderful cherished friends I’ve ever had the pleasure of getting to know. I miss them all terribly!

2. As a result, I understand a fair amount of Japanese, but I’m by no means fluent!

3. I enjoy reading books. Especially poetry. Authors like H.P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allen Poe, Diana Wynne Jones (sadly missed), and Slyvia Plath to name but a few. Also Japanese authors: Oe Kenzaburo, Nakagami Kenji, Yoshimoto Banana, and Haruki Murakami. (I read manga too, in both Japanese and English.)

4. I’m a total nerd. Lord of the Rings? Yes. Gaming? Booyah! My gaming escapades vary, but I’m mostly a RPG, Beat em’ Up kind of girl. Also horror titles like Silent Hill… that I scream at continuously.

5. I’m rather artsy, but I’m no where near as talented as my sister (I have two older sisters by the way.) I enjoy sketching, painting and sculpture. I mostly draw anime and manga characters to be honest; I’d say that Barbara Hepworth is my favourite sculptor, and Van Gogh is my favourite artist by far.

6. I’m writing a novel! (Or two, actually.) They’re no good at the moment, but you know what they say, things improve with age!

7. My biggest dream is to finish University, complete a Masters, and then a PhD – ultimately becoming a University lecturer of some description. Unfortunately, I’m not the richest person in the world, so it may prove hard – if impossible – to do any of that… but, I’ll keep on trying. I won’t give up. 頑張らなきゃ・・・

A big thank you again for your nominations! I urge you to take a look at each of my nominees; you’ll find a wide variety of poetical musings, writings, fun-facts and advice. You won’t be disappointed, lets share the love!

Thousand League Boots

A thousand leagues in leather tongued squall,
Booted feet are ponderous-- inside toes
Are wiggling, wiggling, snaking, stalling-
Over the binding ivy sea.

Useless are the bucket tails, that step,
Taking in your padded sole. The pale
Cooling pool- jump like dandy shellfish,
Or tread in callous silver pail.

A muted journey, fabled, solemn;
Take the magicky sleeve-tails and swing,
Swing a peacock marble tail, under
In lofty pieces, blue and white-

The mottled, dry and musty travels,
Streaking orange, craters-- lordly;
Through tongue'd boot you thrust, a stepless
Hanging steeple door-- open wide,

Stand! Be beaten by rainy pounding,
My soggy, tanning brush whip friends, are
Laughing, laughing, at my sour old mouth,
As I wring my tepid cotton.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011