In a corona of silence, I turn to rain showers,
the headiness of honeysuckle blossoms
and blackbird vespers, simple pleasures
to distract me from the unease of disease.
So many shadows in the garden in which
to find the Grail: the green balm of grass,
May flower fertility and earthy pheromones
filtering the essence of the dust of the past,
the ruins beneath our feet. A solitary aircraft
drones a vapour trail across a cloudless sky,
leaves a chalk mark message for a while
before it is sucked up by the blue
or erased in a cloudburst. Change is overdue,
inevitably written in the stars before they too
turn to dust above this ailing planet, a cosmic
reminder, before we leave, to click the switch.
Kim M. Russell, 12th May 2020
My response to earthweal weekly challenge: The Perilous Chapel
Brendan reminds us that our literature is rooted in fables and myths as old as hominid consciousness, that ‘modernity has erased most of our conscious connection to this long history’ yet we cannot free ourselves from it. It resurfaces in our dreams and strange poems.
He says that the last challenge focused on the hero’s journey, asking if the old steps might be the next work of modernity. Now Brendan would like us to turn to something more personal and individual – poetry. He’s talking about legends of Gawain and the Grail, an eerie ruined chapel and a magic island.
Last week’s challenge looked at the hero’s quest out from modernity. This week’s challenge is about finding the Perilous Chapel and a way through it. Where have we found it, what perils did we endure, how is it linked to the Grail we seek? What is that poetry? And what initiation is required to transform modernity into Earthdom?
writing in north norfolk 
What a wonderful concidence that we both meditated in nature and then were disturbed by a plane -a kind of syncronicity connecting one side of the globe with the other.
Like you I write and post before seeing how others have rssponded. It’s as if we were both on the same wave level. Another strange coincidence was that last night when I was composing my poem I had the desire to put the stanzas in precise blocks like you have done. I wasn’t sure how to go about it so wrote in blank verse. I am interested to know if the form you have used has a name for I would like to learn the technique. The intricacies of poetic forms are a bit mystery to me for I usually write haiku.
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Thank you, Suzaane! I don’t know if this form has a name, Most of my poems seem to find their own shape or form and I only tweak them a little. The ones I post on WordPress are all first drafts. I play around with them quite a bit if I decide to submit them to anthologies or competitions, depending on the rules and the type of publication / publisher. I was writing a haiku a day with Carpe Diem until the start of the pandemic. My favourite forms are sonnet and haiku.
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That’s very interestjng. Thank you for sharing it. I will have to learn to trust my poetic urges more and let the poems take their own form. I used to write for Carpe Diem. I think that’s where I first saw your work. Some of those promots are very inspiring.
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Love that title! I can see Him at a green typewriter, clacking out greenmail to the world, inviting us to come out and play. So many poems I’ve read about resumed Edens, such a grand collective sigh of relief at the reprieve, however momentary. Yours is compact and redolent and lilting all at once – just what you’d expect on something with a Perilous Chapel for a postage stamp. Well done Kim, and thanks so for thinking it over, playing with it and delivering the goods to earthweal. – Brendan
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Cheers Brendan! I must remember ‘greenmail’!
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Nature is always a good pathway. (K)
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It’s where we come from and where we return to.
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I love the blackbird vespers and the turning to nature, which is always my source of peace, too. An ailing planet indeed, which is speaking in all of her voices. I hope enough of us will listen.
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Thank you, Sherry. I hope that the pandemic has made people realise what they are missing in nature and all her wonders, and that they will listen to her voices.
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Oh, sad sad, to walk among such lushness, only to be reminded to “click the switch.” I took that as not to use up any more energy, to have lights out. Perhaps, though, you will have us stay out in that garden under the stars, ignore the vapor trails and waste no more forever?
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You’ve got it, Susan!
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Some days we really need the distraction from “the unease of disease”. I too turn to my garden for grounding and hope and sanity. Love that the aircraft write in chalk across the sky.
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😊
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You name two colours – green and blue – the colours of our planet from space. I love that chalk mark, and the reminder to flick the switch. There’s peace and sadness here, Kim.
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Thank you, Sarah!
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