Friday, December 30, 2011

germinate...





like ripe fruit landing
on an upturned knife
words are dividing
inside me tonight
the pain of bearing down
while fashioning this sound
leaves without goodbye
a whisper or a sigh
the seam so bright
this day for night
where seeds fall in and sprout
and vining up this trellised light
do flow from out my mouth...

lucy meskill

Sunday, December 11, 2011

only, and just, everything...



Love is what we think we make
and fail to see that it makes us
Love is the driver of the wasp who
at the end of its days with both
right legs missing still courts in its heart
flowers, sun and the living air
while basking on a warm rock in autumn
It is the driver of the elephant who
recognizes a childhood playmate
down the long corridor of years
with every bone, sinew and ounce
of its ancient, seamless and glorious bulk
Love stitches the wings of the vulture
like an emblem on the open sky
where for most of its useful life
it floats and soars in an ecstasy
of thermals, currents and scented wind
Love is the thread of light that I throw
across the ocean of years in my dreams
that loved-ones grasp and tug upon
from a distant shore that I do not fathom
Love never stops fishing when spooled
and orphaned in a cardboard box
on a dark, dusty and rusting shelf
in the scary basement of our lives
It is the thing that cleaves away
from the wreckage and disaster
that we make of our relations
on this beautiful spinning ball in space
Love is always clean and new-born
a blameless doll that bears with grace
whatever outfit we decide to dress it in
Love charges all animates all
with its gigantic and invisible force
it is the gum on the sidewalk, it is
the bird on a branch, the food on our plate
and the faithful aged stove that cooks it
Love is bestower, creator, enfolder,
fuel, engine, chauffeur and car
we are love's passengers
who, directing from the backseat,
like to live the illusion of mastery
by naming it our emotion
when in truth love is the ocean
and we are just the drops...

Lucy Meskill









Saturday, December 10, 2011

phosphorescence...



The whole of life is lived
at the end of the ocean
in the flashing of the foam
and the crashing of the wave
in an instant that is an eternity
of moments strung like bubbles
bursting one breath at a time
to advance and sing-out upon
the vast and glassy shore...

Lucy Meskill

Friday, November 11, 2011

exodus...



what stoked the silence
that ruptured the lock
whispering, incendiary,
feelings that sliding through
fused the pack of flat-levers
rendering the hapless door wide?
sere emotion that in quick time
let loose the wild, the furred,
the feathered and the scaled
to enjoin their flight, as the door
free in all but one latitude
sings on its hinges to the open air...

lucy meskill

photo credit: judith meskill


Wednesday, September 28, 2011

salver...



The world with its trembling oceans of salt
was formed at the beginning of time
by a goddess crying over a broken cobalt dish,
and that my dears is why the planet is blue--a blue plate special--
spinning in the void like an invincible dish
in a table-setting that we call the Milky Way. 
Believe you me, that all of the dish-shaped planets
full of mysterious and miraculous fare placed with care
like diamonds, in the ever expanding mystery 
defined as the universe, is indisputable proof that God,
is indeed, a vitreous-loving, kiln-carrying, plate-spinning woman...

lucy meskill

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

universion...


the greedy grape doth eat the vine
the apple eats the tree
shoes devour wooden floors
and locks devour keys

my thoughts like rampant wily weeds
encompass all the ground
broadcasting their fertile seeds
o'er every hill and mound

and silence is a wilder thing
that grazes in my soul
taking naught yet leaving more
it eats until I'm whole...

lucy meskill





curbed appeal...


houses that pass me,
along the side of the road
peeling in their appeal
too close to the highway
to be lived in, to be loved
have me thinking about a day,
the day, that someone dreamed
and decided to build them;
with a long sloping lawn
where once their cobbled path
eaten by blacktop, used to be;
about the day that they were finished
and where that someone stood
hands on hips exclaiming
“I love it, I really, really love it”
and how for most houses
peeling in their appeal
that very first “I love you”
needs to last a lifetime
because it will be the last one
that they will ever hear…


lucy meskill






Monday, September 5, 2011

wait...


translucent cellophane silences swell
outward from feelings not yet felt
fish-backs breaking water gently
displace in contoured undulation,
surface, like the blunt edges of a baby
yet unborn roaming clockwork, the limits
of the yielding and elastic womb

here breath mostly breathes itself
in slick, moist pink-lined nostrils
with bantam might recirculating,
abiding, contemplating airy exposure
where dust hangs on every breath, upon every
ounce of spittle imparting fleeting promise,
an emblem upon air, before it cleaves away...

lucy meskill











Monday, August 15, 2011

mantodea...


as moist heavy    
late summer clouds drift by
their deceptive cadence    
turning hot high noon
into cool blue dusk    
and back again
the ripened garden  
in its baroque decline
magnifies from scarlet    
through raw umber
it is here
that in autumn
you reign supreme
Oh magnificent    
and barely audible queen
of the lavish
and curling underbrush...

lucy meskill






Sunday, July 10, 2011

just peachy...


wink, wink, all blink
no fur, all pink
no skin, no pound
of flesh, is found
this warmth, to take
none dead, will make
this coat, this hat
all fake, no quake
no beaver, no chinchilla
no rabbit, no fox
no cat, no dog
no raccoon, no mink
no seal, no bear
no nutria, no fitch
no sable, no ermine
no muskrat, no lynx
no trap, no bludgeon
no scream, no cry
no torture, no suffer
no blood, ask why?
no guilt, no slaughter
no waste, no blame,
all fake, all comfort
all thrill, all sane
all dream, all fashion
all passion, no stink
all conscience, all reason
all good, just think...
lucy meskill

photo credit: judith meskill





Friday, May 27, 2011

floral spatter...


flowers plash open
like milk-drop coronets
in split-second summer...

Lucy Meskill

Sunday, May 8, 2011

mother...


I just realized,
that you are the pear
that I keep painting,
full and round
and large you loom
in my consciousness
brilliant skinned and
bursting with sweetness;
and I
am the succulent,
yellow tinted flesh
carrying
the smooth seeds of love
within my wombed core,
that suspended
calyx to stem,
joyfully floats
dreaming
just beneath
the surface of you…

Lucy Meskill

Friday, April 29, 2011

mouth dreaming...


loose teeth
sometimes fall out
of a personality
like beads that drop
and roll skittering away
surrendered to the void
beneath the floorboards
and in their stead
changeling out of sand
from bitter Arugula
crunching will form
a piece of enamel
in the gap
a glimmering pearl
of greater strength
proportion and brilliancy…

Lucy Meskill

photo credit: Judith Meskill

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

reveal...


my thoughts like the sun down silent beaches run,
quick fevers, passing warmly over cool sand;
and through the intermittently cloudy sky of mind,
realization breaks, like waves of sun and sea;
as each moment swings cleanly into view,
synchronized frames softly click and slide;
memories, like stones, turning gently in the sand, 
reveal themselves to me with such tenderness...

Lucy Meskill

Thursday, April 7, 2011

a love letter...


the burden of no burden
is a heavy weight to bear
unseating my emotions
unleashing my despair

My arms no longer carry
a parcel I adored
up and down the stairway
in and out the door

needing so, your needing
loving so, my task
giving was receiving
of everything you asked

and now my dearest darling
as you travel on your way
please know that I love you
more than words can say...

Lucy Meskill

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

berceuse because...


and in this bone-picked silence
float, stop and linger some
shell to ear, shelter here
as sudden rock-a-bye-babies
grasp tightly treetops
for when the wind blows
all cradles will rock
and when the hush breaks
and down cradles fall
so will come babies, cradling all...

Lucy Meskill

Monday, February 14, 2011

glory in the morning, pulp-fiction blue...


I saw blue again
for the very first time today
returning home at dawn, as
on my right, a quivering electric lid
of pale translucent citrine opened
to reveal an iris of impossibly
Barbie doll-eye sparkling
interference manganese
that made me gasp as it fully
owned the heavens just above
the inky, leafless tree-lined
dark soil and gleaming snow
looking ahead my right periphery
was met by another brilliance
where in color-wheel saturation
baby cerulean crawled through cyan
trailing robins-egg and periwinkle
to meet cobalt at a cloud-struck apex
that was humming modulated
tuned to the frequency of earthly blue
my car crept ant-like along
the yellow lined garter snake
road of heavy black satin ribbon
as it drifted from from its spool
parting the snowy corn-stubbled fields
like supplicant Moses arms raised 
staff in hand beneath a Venetian dome
of brilliant, crystalline blue spun glass...

Lucy Meskill

Friday, February 11, 2011

flimsy ballast...


the deceptive weight of fragile things
drops of rain etch window glass
leaves press down through heavy snow
soft beaks break through hardened shells
an eyelash slips through clay soil
to the center of the molten earth
fused with marbles, insect wings
and the jointed arm from a tiny doll
feeder-roots comb rocks and dirt
lifting weighty glass and broken plates
and birds feet press them down again
teasing seeds from out the muddy grass
lighter than a sleeping baby's breath
some words sink right down to the core
and teardrops swamping dry-docked ships
posit sand to fund their interior shores...

Lucy Meskill

Thursday, February 10, 2011

bounty...


floating sideways
in the water basin
looking drowned-at-sea
not sure why I lifted you
with the corner of a paper towel
small and drenched fly
only that I could not bear
to wash you down my drain
and as you resurrected
on that quilted paper island
right there before my eyes
your wings gleaming
as you slowly dried
in a puddle of sunshine
in that tiny, little
moment that we shared
of me helping you
you helped to rescue
such an important piece of me…


lucy meskill

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

relativity...


like a slantwise cut
in the stem
of a clipped rose
your faith in me
is a great determiner
of the manner in which
I blossom and fade
in the guilt glass vase
at the table you have set…

lucy meskill

slice...


we all travel in our own little cars
each only wide enough to negotiate a single moment
and in that moment every being is steering for their life
like blades of grass in concert that negotiate a heavy wind
like birds pecking seeds in syncopation beneath my tree
like a penned cow, bound for slaughter, who decides
“in this moment I am going to jump that fence”
and so begins a journey that transcends the plate
in a moment a dog decides to crawl across three lanes
of heavy moving traffic to drag another dog to safety
in a moment a man runs into a burning building
because in his tiny slim car he believes he can pull
someone else out of a really bad moment in theirs
in a moment an old woman swinging a handbag runs
towards 6 boys and men because she believes
she can stop them from making the mistake
of a lifetime of moments, and so indeed she does
and in our slim and momentary cars we can choose
happiness, love, gratitude and bravery over a host
of other things because each little moment we negotiate
is in fact a new beginning and it is singularly ours
so here and here and here we string moments out like beads
and here and here and here and on and on and on, I wish you joy...

lucy meskill

Monday, February 7, 2011

subconscious...


wing flap sheet snap attention
coiling snakes and eels writhe
at the deeply shallow waters edge
fish are always weaving dreaming
warp and weft among waves
a teeming liquid bolt is spilling
words and intentions tumbling
invincibly distilled grains of sand
breathe iridescent bubbles
that shore birds run, run, run;
dig, dig, dig; eat, eat, eat,
off a table of digested rock
flying now in concert swarming
all sail and no boom recapitulation
diving to reposit slick amorphic
gleaming neural impressions that rain
spatter and dot the lavish shore…

lucy meskill

Sunday, February 6, 2011

how, best, to serve man/chaff...


“Welcome!” The salutation says
you are invited to the feast
jump in, jump in and let us stir you     just
follow the signs past the thin trail of sugar
and jump headlong into the slightly sweetened dough
there's no need for health-care where you're going
your needs will be magically met     listen
can't you hear our fine intentions as
the powerful fingers of our party need/knead you
thrill to our open hands as indeed we shape/fool you
into thinking you don't need a safety-net
trust that you are safe with us     to
rise, rise, rise swiftly up within the loaf
ours is the only family that you require
as you swell up past the rim of     the open
bowl is the only place to meet your maker
don't you believe that God     warning
is behind us as we work you into the fold
you don't need a thing like welfare to     recover
and social security is redundant for the     willing,
the hearth offers so much comfort to the     righteous,
come sit near us as we inch you ever closer to the glowing flame
isn't the table lovely where you'll be     featured
see there you have your own gilt/guilt plate
you won't need entitlements or education     guests/fools,
right there beside the butter alongside our gushing
heartfelt/pretend gratitude in the prayer before     the feast...
you will be rightly praised for your invaluable
assistance as we the entitled few raise you to our lips
hear us, as you slip over our pitchforked tongues down
past our sweet talk and good-faith promises
as you swiftly ride atop a wave of biting/bitter tea
into the churning belly of our billion-dollar beast...

Lucy Meskill

daisy...


sibilant affricate
a rush of citron light
redolent, reciprocal
twirling with delight...



lucy meskill

Saturday, February 5, 2011

worry...


oh great and ponderous beast
your retracted fluency
eclipsing my desire
for blessed equanimity

oh monarch of vexation
will you not dare stop
awhile, at my table,
drinking cranberry tea

can we not in comfort
and steady reason
while eating biscuits
put your fears to bed

amble off to sleep
like uncounted sheep
in the softly scented hay
and dream of tomorrow…



lucy meskill

Friday, February 4, 2011

creation...


give
twelve women
the same
piece of cloth
squarely
unassuming
a needle and
some thread
and they will make
twelve completely
different bags
in which to hold
the moon…

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

confectious light...


it was a warm, sugar-coated
jelly-doughnut of a day
the kind that goes
straight to your hips
the slightly crisp joy of it
lingers long on your tongue
while it's sweet, fat volume
stored up in your cells
like candy in gold paper
waits to be opened
in the deepening winter
when the light is too lean...

lucy meskill

Monday, January 31, 2011

the audition...


I have been:

the lion and
the tamer
both the dropper
and the shoe

the ghoul
in my own closet
the witch
in my own brew

the cold wind
at my collar
the dark cloud
on bright blue

both the chaser
and the runner
it is myself
that I pursue…

this and that...


which is more interesting,
the breaded eggplant, or
the granular, morsel filled
floury, spent herbed dredge

which is more enchanting,
the beautifully fried golden discs
or the crispy, burned bits
suspended, floating in dark oil

which part are you most invested in
the me that I am here and now, today,
or the chunks of me becoming
that each day, jettisoned, fall away…


 lucy meskill

metta...


with a half-life of melting sugar,
~may I be peaceful with this sadness
emotions, wax and wane
~may I be peaceful with this fear
and when I build a house
~may I be peaceful with this longing
on these ever-shifting sands
~may I be happy with myself
feelings pass, yet the structure still looms
~may I love myself just as I am
a house with no foundation
~may I love and be loved...
a castle suspended, tilting, in air...

lucy meskill

amnesty...


in the deep
tree studded
reservoir woods
the deer understand me
they have eyes in the woods
a native inborn guide
that abandons them
at the the grassy verge
of the roads which we inject
into their shrinking world
like enervating drugs
they rob the herd
of their knowing
they navigate
somnambulant
through fitful dreams
of blinding lights
and rampant steel
with teeth that bite 
and wheels that devour
but the deer, the graceful deer
hold no malice towards me
I pass with clemency
under the bare winter canopy
I view a nearby buck silently
weaving through the trees
running on three legs
his fourth leg
is broken through
just below the knee
though still attached
hanging by thick hide
it dangles freely
madly as he flies
sweeping counter
to his moves
keeping broadly
narrow time
swinging unpent
like a loose wild pendulum…

lucy meskill

Sunday, January 30, 2011

atmospheres...


grip stained margins embank the door's edge
where fingers like waves grasp, lap
and mark the tide of goings and comings
where the latch like a gull
sweeps the lock with a lonely cry
and light-filled the bloom diffuse of breath on glass
as phantom hearts etched in melted sand
unable to sustain invisibility, arise
glimmering in exhalation
beneath my parted lips…

lucy meskill

sangfroid...


what bright angel rescues
buttons, scraps and notions
from the floor inside my heart
wasting not, what was once wanted
as some seams get ripped apart
recording precious feelings
that tumble into disregard
from momentary smallness
or expectation falling hard
knowing better than I know
that love is never waste
it's half-life far outlasting
the sweetness of its taste...

lucy meskill

Saturday, January 29, 2011

paradox, love


the very thing that lets us in
so often locks us out
sly door on a nimble hinge
knows naught what it's about
once dreaming in the sunlight
now trembles in the dark
sinking like an afterthought
up-winging like the lark
a spark that is so often quenched
now kindles bright in rain
a treasure hid beneath the hull
now gleams upon the main
and we who wield, bestow, and tell
a tale we do not ken
so often must fall down this well
to rise up once again...
lucy meskill

Saturday, January 22, 2011

punishment...


it is a game so easy
that anyone can play
first you have to love me
and then I make you pay
I hurt you by hurting me
building guilt like equity
bored wild children on a binge
plotting schemes where no one wins
through this reeking toxic swamp
won’t you come and take a romp
where tears fill every wishing well
and rogue emotions cast their spell
good lord, this game is really rough
tell me when you’ve had enough
we’ll click our heels, and then wake up
where everyone fills their own cup
and the children in us safely roam
purposefully throughout this home
where we grow up and learn to live
to hope, to dream and truly give
evolving with great clarity
a world of blessed sanity
amen…

Friday, January 21, 2011

lemonade...


a little scrap of grace
a Finch with no feet
landing in the tree
just outside my window

a windblown leaf
above a branch aflutter
hovering then settling
with outstretched wings

balanced now on twig legs
slowly she surveys me
over her shoulder
with a backward glance

then with slow satisfaction
as if nothing now could shake her
gently she turns and drops
to the ground to feed…

Lucy Meskill

Friday, January 14, 2011

phylum porifera...


where do we stow yesterday
to make room for today
how do the saturated
stay absorbent enough
to pick up what is now
do we keep mostly/only
the parts that feed us
and with vigor wring
what will bloat and stink
like a stagnant sponge
at the side of the sink
letting what has gone by
glissade--bygone--away
inspiration, exhalation
gray water passing
joyously whirling
clockwise or counter
down the hollow pipe...

lucy meskill

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Brooklyn...


Words chunk, slab and slide syllabic sideways
down, down, down the rusted iron pipe clattering,
winnowing, peeling into tiny pinioned dreams.
The rutted drift-way thrills to the tune of
crabwise whirling, rivulet-ripping dust-devils
that careen and squish-slosh alluvial
seeding this alley where no one ever walks.
These labyrinths ring: ding dong, dong ding
with a concrete clap-slapping reverb
between buildings. Children who ran/run
still in dreams, the courtyard square-bottom
cup from rim to weedy-rim, tag, "you're it"...
The black sing-song, see/saw iron gate is home
or almost... Fly the clapper recalling what no one
ever saw on the stone stoop rising steeply to the door
or what the wide street and sidewalk recanted,
because no one wanted to know. And yet here we are...
here, we are, hear we are...

Lucy Meskill