Giant hogweed (2019 Re-post)


Taller than grown men
silent reminder
of human folly

One look at you
one whiff of scent
declares intent

This land your domain
roots spread foundation
seeds spread your vanguard

To combat your growth
we must don armour
One touch might burn us

Arm ourselves for
axes will fell your
sturdy stems like trunks

Poisonous sap flow
burns skin in sunlight
blisters and blackens

Down but dangerous
still lying in wait
Second growth or seeds

Wait for guerrilla
warfare without end
Generations feud

We teach our children
to heed the danger
to combat your spread

Write history books
declaring lack of
knowledge led us here

Still we change Nature
before learning of
her intricate ways

©REDCAT


Re-post comment:

I’ve been struggling all day with writing a song.
Keeping every line between five to eight syllables long.
So this poem came to mind for tonight’s
Wandering the Archives Wednesday.


The Return Of The Giant Hogweed by Genesis

Written for Kim’s prompt at dVerse ~ Poetics: Sylvia and Ted. Where we’re asked to write about growing, multiplying, invasive species. As well as try to emulate style of one of the poets.

I decided upon the challenge to keep my line short, with five syllables in each like Sylvia Plath’s Mushroom. It took some editing, but eventually I got there. But boy, do my inner saboteurs have a field day every time I decide to say I actually can do something that connects with writing. Just as they did when I decided to make a new translation of one of Edith Södergran’s poems.
Even though I actually have paid bills working as a freelance translator.

As yesterday’s Haibun challenge showed me how much harder I have with counting syllables in English than my native Swedish. This time I put most words trough a syllable counter I found online.

Wikipedia informed me that this weed too have at least one song to it’s honor.



Image Credits:

First image: Wiki Commons

Second image: By Ronnie Robertson, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons


Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have – but I Have It by Lana Del Ray – Saturday Song

Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have – but I Have It by Lana Del Ray

Tonight’s Saturday song is Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have – but I Have It by Lana Del Ray

A song someone sent to me because they thought about me listening to it. At the time I felt both flattered and quite caught out. Did I really seem so depressed and struggling? I guess at the time I thought I did a better job hiding it. Then I realized how backwards hiding how I truly felt was, especially from someone who could read between the lines. So instead I got ugly honest about the darkness and received both some relief and a new friend by it. 

Since then I’ve become much better off not habitually always hiding how I am. It’s not always easy, and has the sad side effect of showing who your real friends are. But all in all I now believe it’s a better way to live than the opposite. 

I can also say it made me listen to Lana Del Ray and her poetic lyrics.

It’s unusual that a contemporary song has so much written about it, but looking up the lyrics and song links I stumbled upon several articles about it. Here’s two, one from Atwood Magazine and one from Story of Song.

Enjoy!


Lyrics

Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have – but I Have It by Lana Del Ray

I was reading Slim Aarons and I got to thinking that I thought
Maybe I’d get less stressed if I was tested less like
All of these debutantes
Smiling for miles in pink dresses and high heels on white yachts
But I’m not
Baby, I’m not
No, I’m not
That, I’m not

I’ve been tearing around in my fucking nightgown
24/7 Sylvia Plath
Writing in blood on the walls
‘Cause the ink in my pen don’t work in my notepad
Don’t ask if I’m happy, you know that I’m not
But, at best, I can say I’m not sad
‘Cause hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have

I had fifteen-year dances
Church basement romances, yeah, I’ve cried
Spilling my guts with the Bowery Bums
Is the only love I’ve ever known
Except for the stage, which I also call home, when I’m not
Servin’ up God in a burnt coffee pot for the triad
Hello, it’s the most famous woman you know on the iPad
Calling from beyond the grave, I just wanna say, “Hi, Dad”

I’ve been tearing up town in my fucking white gown
Like a goddamn near sociopath
Shaking my ass is the only thing that’s
Got this black narcissist off my back
She couldn’t care less, and I never cared more
So there’s no more to say about that
Except hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman with my past

There’s a new revolution, a loud evolution that I saw
Born of confusion and quiet collusion of which mostly I’ve known
A modern day woman with a weak constitution, ’cause I’ve got
Monsters still under my bed that I could never fight off
A gatekeeper carelessly dropping the keys on my nights off

I’ve been tearing around in my fucking nightgown
24/7 Sylvia Plath
Writing in blood on your walls
‘Cause the ink in my pen don’t look good in my pad
They write that I’m happy, they know that I’m not
But, at best, you can see I’m not sad
But hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have

Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
But I have it
Yeah, I have it
Yeah, I have it
I have

Lyrics Source

Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have – but I Have It by Lana Del Ray

Colours of the Choir – A Synesthesia Poem

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon from Pexels

The clear vowels rise like balloons

Morning Song – S.Plath

The brightly coloured notes flare
Crystalline forms in the air

Mighty bass rumble fertile soil bear
Warm baritone ancient wildwood stand

Feisty tenor verdant green land
Firm contralto deep roots expand

Light mezzo weaving life’s loom
Charmed by the soprano flower buds bloom

Write in the heart sweet songs of the Moon

©RedCat

Written for Poetics: Beginning at the End at dVerse. Beginning at the end is tricky. Where to go from there. How to build upon and still be true to yourself. Two of the offered final lines made me think of synesthesia

More than a decade ago. A happy coincidence led to me working as a Lightjockey. Playing the lights, as the DJ played music. Together we played the dancefloor. 

During those years I discovered that I feel music to be a certain colour. Fitting to only certain light patterns. The rhythm may set the pace of the strobe, but the music shows me the intervals.

I even felt strongly enough about it, that it felt utterly wrong when a DJ or club promoter told me to use a certain light scheme because of their preferences.

Maybe it’s a form of ideasthesia…?

The Sylvia Plath quote made me think of all the choirs I sung in and try to paint a picture of what that could look like.

Photo by Fiona Art from Pexels

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