torn corners & confetti (the octet)

8

 

torn corners 1a

 

In July 2015, I posted eight parts of a poem called torn corners and confetti, which I composed over eight days, then released over eight days.

Each part was accompanied by a torn corner of a copy of one of two family photographs.  Two photographs quartered = eight corners.

The creative process involved a series of steps which culminated in scrunching up the photographic “confetti” and stuffing the pieces into a crumpled plastic container.

I published the complete poem at 0800 EST on the eighth day of the eighth month of 2015.

 

torn corners & confetti 

a poem in eight parts

by punkie

 

torn corners 11(i)

our memories
are so many
torn corners
tossed in celebratory purpose
like confetti at a wedding
left for another
to sweep off
the cathedral steps.

torn corners 10(ii)

dust covers the windows
of your mind
thick and gray
drawn then stuck
to the pains and joys
it sits, then settles
until you forget
it’s there.

torn corners 9(iii)

at dusk
a crystal-cut sun
casts rainbows
on lath and plaster walls
then bright white spears
of full moon slice
through ebony branches
as you sleep.

torn corners 8(iv)

one day I was blind
and you saw ghost blue jays
on wide pine planks
“look at the birds
on the door,”
you said as you
pointed in their
reflective direction.

torn corners 5(v)

now light slips
quietly through
the cracks/crevices
of your mind
finding truth
and wisdom
we never dreamed
might be there and here.

torn corners 4(vi)

anxious/sage
words/thoughts/ideas
and sounds tumble in
random cascades
from quiet lips:
meaningful mysteries
for those clever/close enough
to divine their prophecies.

torn corners 3(vii)

when sol is
swallowed by night
s/he appears to disappear
but like you
plays hide and seek
from the other side
and mirrors her/self on luna
as proof of life.

torn corners 1a(viii)

see how life circles
until the bitter end:
flesh clings to bones
blood courses through veins
thoughts skip to my loo
with plaques and tangles
denying past/present/future
in one last rueda dance.

 

© Susan Macaulay 2015. I invite you to share this link widely, but please do not reprint or reblog or copy and paste my poems into other social media without my permission. Thank you.

 

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8 Comments

  1. Linda Alexander on

    Have been following you for some time, but this poem has prompted me to register. Well done! So evocative…

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