Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Jay Carson: Baroque

I remember the hollow cross above my mother’s bed
And the day it opened to me accidentally.
Me, playing, although perhaps always snooping.

The back slid off like a caster gone wild,
and death’s fixings stared back at me,
candles, oils, all neat on tiny shelves.

They, fronted by a golden dying Jesus,
were to get one of us through,
across the river to the other side.

II
Baroque, some say, comes
from the Spanish word for egg.
OED says a rough or Scotch pearl,

a struggling to get out, like 17th century
prose, sometimes set free awkwardly and often
pushing too much whimsical ornamentation.

III
There’s murder in love.
Through neglect, fist, finger, tool,
and maybe what you are thinking now.

My rages, deception, desert inside,
the doctor says a poet should know, let out,
like a released egg’s sizzle in a hot pan.


 

Copyright 2018 Jay Carson

.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Information

This entry was posted on August 7, 2018 by in Poetry and tagged , , , .
%d bloggers like this: