Dorothea and Her Doors

By Annette Marie Hyder

There were red doors, blue doors, green and yellow, weathered doors with wood as smooth as satin.  Doors with microcosms of their own in wood lice, mold, lichen and gold colored ants in the cracks and crevices of their parts. Warped doors, broken doors and doors with no discernible doorknob (although the ones you could see were glass knobs and brass, fancy and simple wooden latch). She had pictures of them all and every one had been lovingly captured by her camera and her photographer’s eye and I was charmed at first by this diversity of doors thematically primed for a profusion of porches and limitless limens. The doors stretched like so many trunks in an endless forest but I found myself, on getting to know her better, finally lost in her maze of endless possibilities with no room in the subject field for an actual choice, just door after door after door and now that I think of it — all of them closed.

Follow up: Your company, a crown of thorns

Image Copyright Annette Marie Hyder

Your company, a crown of thorns
Previously published in NEWSPAPER TREE
By Annette Marie Hyder

For the guy I got seated beside
at the posh dinner party
who wore his religion like a robe

of righteousness
and thought I should take shelter
under its voluminous folds
.


Your eyes
are Starry-Night-by-Van-Gogh blue.
I wont use the cliche of storms
brewing in your eyes
or talk about the fragility —
the vulnerability — of your ears
how your gestures are all hard swirls
and religious fervor, soliloquy
to a zealot’s unique perspective.

But I will say
that I can’t take my eyes off you
can’t stop staring at how life
and the enjoyment of it
(by others) has you posturing
just short of spreading your arms on a cross
to complement the stigmata of your voice
raised like a blemish and bleeding on the air.

Your teeth flash halos of hate
as you try to turn my wine into water
lessen the loaves
subtract the leaven of pleasure
from this experience
leaving it flat like matzo bread.

I tell you I think nails are better used
for building things
than for celebrating wounds
while you masticate martyrdom
and sip on saintliness.

You see my words as candelabras
of confessions glowing in the room.
My tapers were lit long
before you sat by me
and tried to bask in their warmth.

I won’t tonsure my tongue for you.

You look like something that should be hung
on a wall somewhere
as a warning or example
of what too much sanctimony will do.
But you’re not some piece of art
depicting the germ of belief driven violence.
You’re real.

 

Opponent, proponent

I wrote this poem about “the guy I got seated beside at the posh dinner party”. I haven’t seen him since 2008 and ran into him last Sunday night at a play. He looks exactly the same, acts exactly the same and is just as much a trial to be around. The big difference? He is now openly bisexual and just as much a proselytizer/prophet/program pimp for his current lifestyle as he was an opponent of the sinfulness of carnality when I met him.

You might think that it was a waste of time running into him and having to listen to him — again. But it was edifying in that it highlighted and underscored for me that some people just don’t change. Not really. They have the same mannerisms and conceits, the same modus operandi as they ever did. Their script has changed, yes, but they remain the same (bad) actor, just with a different role in the ultimate reality series of life.

Personal transformation is a rare act indeed.

Sunday Things: Full of Crow

Full Of Crow Press And Distribution is an umbrella literary/arts
organization that includes Full Of Crow Online, Press, Distribution,
Blink Ink, Fashion For Collapse, The Sphere, Crow Radio, and more.

 From the Editors of Full of Crow:

“We are looking for content that is bold and unapologetic, presented in
thoughtful and purposeful ways. We like work that touches on the
surreal, the mythic- enduring themes and images that are rooted in
something deeply personal but connect to something transcending and
universal. As many editors say, we know what it is when we see it.”


Caw!

I have three pieces in the new issue of Full of Crow, spoil the day, shiny things, and earlier, then, now. The Full of Crow Winter Poetry Issue is live and you can see it here: Full of Crow Poetry, January 2012

Also, just for fun, check out this crow that likes to go sledding!

Video courtesy of YouTube user penelopakristi from Russia


Link of interest:

Awesome post on the above sledding crow video by Alexis Madrigal at the Atlantic Monthly Magazine

Martin Luther King Jr. Day 2012

“A voice in the wilderness…”
By Annette Marie Hyder

The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of
the LORD, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
— Isaiah 40:3, King James Version (Cambridge Edition)


Your voice rushes in the reeds of our consciousness
your words, like thunder, warned of an approaching storm
promising not destruction but blessed relief.

See how your words have changed the landscape of this nation
how the green can’t help but curl into being
in the most unlikely places. In a dry parched land
a nightingale still sings.


Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day

Martin Luther King Jr., quintessential spokesman for equality, calling for the crooked to be made straight and wrong to be made right. May your words always shine bright, burn in the hearts of those hearing and light the way for all.


Links of interest:

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day
Martin Luther King Jr. Day 2011
The Seattle Times Martin Luther King Jr. website

Excerpt from The Seattle Times Martin Luther King Jr. Website:

“Martin Luther King Jr. has now been dead longer than he lived. But what an extraordinary life it was.

At 33, he was pressing the case of civil rights with President
John Kennedy. At 34, he galvanized the nation with his “I Have a Dream”
speech. At 35, he won the Nobel Peace Prize. At 39, he was assassinated,
but he left a legacy of hope and inspiration that continues today.

This Web site, first created by The Seattle Times in 1996,
contains the story of a remarkable man, images of a tumultuous time, and
perspectives of politicians, academics, students and the many, ordinary
citizens whose lives he touched. We invite you to explore it.” Link

Red Shoes, Dolls, and Merrow Trees

By Annette Marie Hyder

Some day my impulsivity, my spontaneity, will be the storybook red shoes that dance my feet right off of me.

I am not the handless maiden, but I might as well just be, for all the grasp I have wearing gloves of naivety.

In the courtyard of my thoughts, a tree lined twisting maze, there is an Ariadne thread. I find it in your gaze.

Sometimes given context dolls are scary things; after all, they started out as idols and the kind of gods that let you carry them are likely full of pins.

I am more inclined to seek the benediction of your smile than look for hope in talismans or relics full of  guile.

In a forest full of merrow trees there is the underwater sheen of moon kissed waves that lave the very heart of dream.