August:

the lizards bite the fallen
man in the field;
                           all day,
grapes sway, sway

to the shifting of shades,
too ripe.
               Paint cracks.

I look for the footpath:
the unmarked one
            that crooked line

traced on an old map--- now
       broken, or roaming

                        past the Fox River,
                 a gray, dusty tail
    slinking off
   
   into a vigil of milkweed
                                tangles
                  restless   

         as muddy tadpoles preen
the deep black, silt,

motes of sunlight, afloat.

My throat is full of quills. I listen
for a song I must remember,

bits from a torn-up letter I carry

to find my way back again
after my belly swells with barelywine
after tomorrow’s downpour

washes the scent of cedar
downstream
                        downstream

Outstanding. Look at the use of line breaks to make sound, extending the sense of the title. Wonderful sense of time as a conduit through place without labor and casting names around like afterthought. A really fine poem, a pick for sure, a bit later so that it isn't missed.

Oleska, a winner.

How important is the line "the unmarked one" ?   It's the only spot that after reading I jump back to after finding it on an old map and question is it unmarked, or is it noted . . . And I get that it is on a map but not physically marked in the world.  This comment is to say either way is okay but I did bump back to reread a couple times. 

Yes, a most definite pick but will give some space here for the moment.

lynn

It is time for this to be picked.

A real cracking good poem, Oleksa, no more to say.

milner

Excelent! Especially the last part is very good, Oleksa!
Vasile

Wish I had been around to pick this......Love:

"My throat is full of quills."

xo M

Thanks, all, and so wonderful that everyone (commenting) liked it. I was trying to break out of my geometric obsessions-- thus the line breaks and all. (I'm also trying sparseness...)

Have a good night!


Take care,

-O

I was enjoying this right up to barelywine, which felt a little fake, like hey, I'm a poet, you know?

Still, without music it definitely ain't.

Thanks O.

B.

Dear Oleska

Glad to see this was a pick.

Also brought back memories of my first Barelywine
in a London pub back in August 1969.

summer smiles
silent lotus

has lovely story lines, well woven.....loved\...as muddy tadpoles preen
the deep black, silt,

jerry

Lost in a resplendent maze, the task of finding my way to a choice among such a wealth of beautous smelling shrubs, to be the one to blaze for one short week, seemed far beyond my ken and capabilities. I called on all the gods and goddesses created by mankind to aid me; on Zeus, Thor, Jove, Hera, Athene, Poseidon, Diane, Quetzacoatl, Yahwe, the trinitacious Almighty, on all the heavenly hosts. None came to my succour, till, from afar, I heard  the notes of a lyre, borne on an Aeolian wind. Orpheus winged in on it and spoke to me thus: " Mortal, search for the one whose naming belies it." I can but obey his command.

Cheers

milner

How to follow up on that comment?  Except to say, Orpheus was right!

gorgeous still, this one -- great front page pick


lynn

Hahaha, Milner, enjoyed your comment almost as much as the poem!
Congrats Oleksa! (Still not sure about the barelywine though  :P )

B.

I don't know - barleywine is a generic term for a type of strong ale. Used to be brewed in the fall.

O may have been using the generic term in order not to place the poem in the here and now.

Somehow it is different if you say: after my belly swells with Bass Ale.

:)