A lone loon...

~ That She, dear She,
Might take some pleasure of my pain ~

The mirror window ~
Does this image
Indicate the set, the pair, snazzy ~
Our V&A? If they will be a happy
Alchemical combo, a fizzy brew?
A question posed, a conflict defined, an answer
Stirrs, but deferred. But particularly unhappy,
V, yes. Although her moment “To Be,�
Was not yet, V asked over and over:
“To be,
Or not to be?� V knew not
Where the inversion, her adored inclination
Had escaped, had flown...

[Anne ~ which was to say,
A Cat Thief !
Stolen goods, yes, gone, hidden.]

So lost, V, so alone.
Where was The Happiness of V?
Stolen, yes, a dark theft.
No Hark! All Low!
Who knew?
Any knowledge left, unavailable
For the day, all privy parties subjected
A letter of resignation,
Flew, bats from hell, the overpowering environs ~
The Land Ruled by the Dark Feline.
V mopes, she does, she hardly copes,
Yes, a moping V,
You see if you look deeply
Through Noir ~

And yet ~
A sparkling scene flys in from behind,
A rear view mirror reveals,
On a silver foiled plate, ready To Be,
To have been, to the top of a stillness
Dozing dark, her paradise lost ~
On stillness, a different version. The Noir
Queen draws, sketches her drafts, over drafts,
Her pentimento revelations, all while
A chilly wind wings V’s window,
Whistles after her dreams, chills
Her toes.

But somewhere
Another scene, another picture, where
Our stage sets aside the blackness
Cast unequally over Noir, lifts a black
Drop cloth ~ O know! What
Conceals, also
Reveals...

~ Noir does not arm.
Disarm, all Thee ~ with the remainders
To be scene ~

From here,
I saw only the vague
Drift of y’all, of all that would not
Ravel ~ threads of this story, still unthreaded,
Loose upon Noir, lost
After midnight, unraveled, yarns undone...
....but found at dawn, gathered, rewound around town.
O Ms. Panic, each night, you arrive ~
You bear a ferocious craving to proceed
Or stroll, arm in arm, two ladies
Of the night ~ A pure
And simple walk, you say, along the lake’s promenade?
A glassy mirror, the lake, still, but bearing
A loon’s cry for her mate…

…moon’s not forsaken…
A lunacy lights a moon’s not forgotten
Date ~ After all,
Night’s inversion, our inclination for inversion ~
Such lovely perversion ~ rolls up around
The major end of knowing.
A loon cries, she calls ~
The mirror’s window supports her answer.
Noir delights transfigure our shy Ms.
Panic toward our end, Beauty!
Go figure. Or filigree,
A setting bearing diamonds.
_______
Blog, or dog? Who knows. But if you see my lost pup, please ping me!
A
HREF="http://journals.aol.com/virginiaz/DreamingofLeonardo"http://journal
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~ That She, The Dark Feline,
Might take some share of my pain ~

The picture indicates ~
A snazzy appetizer assortment
[Our heroines and heroes,
do a happy combination make?]
thought, this very evening, particularly
unhappy thoughts,
though the time wasn’t ripe, half-baked,
knew not exactly
where the spilled sparkles escaped.

Meanwhile...
the Dark Feline chased her tail,
her tale lost.

For, at no light cost,
does Noir swallow the Hole.
The Dark Feline fretted, paced, lurked
about in haste, scattered her ball of yarn,
unable to retrieve her threads with dew grace,
as dawn threatened. A catty cloud hangs low,
her head bowed, low to the ground.

And who
was to say what happiness was,
what is?

All the mice left for the day,
submitted a letter of resignation,
said, “Enough’s enough!�
Quickly scampered out of the
oppressive environment, bats without wings,
ascending
a windy flew from Hell!
O Low! A wedge of Brie comes
flying back on a silver platter, ready to be served
up again, a slice of The Moon,
a land without cats.

A difference, some say...

Now night spreads noir unevenly,
fails to harness
all the dug remains ~ Spirits ramble,
just to be scene!
Those dogs, those Hounds About Town, dug
up all these bones. From here,
I saw only the vague
drifting congregation, the Souls of All
that wouldn’t
parade. Those yonder spirits, yes,
they hound me,
stalk me nightly.

[Note to self:
Quote the raven nevermore.]

Meanwhile
the Dark Feline panics.
Daylight had arrived, a pure and simple
illumination
urges all daylight denizens to proceed
or promenade,
or dally about on the sidewalk.
Soon, the New York Times
opens on almost every breakfast table,
while scones and café are eaten.

But O know!
The Dark Feline now must hide
from light!

And during all these tempestuous
upsets,
the spilt illumination...

The Day Light Hours,
usher through mind’s threshold
The Wash of Wandering Spirits ~
Each bearing laundry.

Meanwhile...
The Dark Feline curls, wraps her tail
around the deep end of knowing. The window
bears, scares
her own whiskered response.
Hounds yap. Traffic honks.
Children squabble. Sparrows chitter.

A swallow recounts
last night’s tale...
A lonely grrl checks her e-mail.
_______
Blog, or dog? Who knows. But if you see my lost pup, please ping me!
A
HREF="http://journals.aol.com/virginiaz/DreamingofLeonardo"http://journal
s.aol.com/virginiaz/DreamingofLeonardo/A

entary (Twittering One) wrote in message ...
~ That She, The Dark Feline,
Might take some share of my pain ~

The picture indicates ~
A snazzy appetizer assortment
[Our heroines and heroes,
do a happy combination make?]
thought, this very evening, particularly
unhappy thoughts,
though the time wasn’t ripe, half-baked,
knew not exactly
where the spilled sparkles escaped.

Meanwhile...
the Dark Feline chased her tail,
her tale lost.

For, at no light cost,
does Noir swallow the Hole.
The Dark Feline fretted, paced, lurked
about in haste, scattered her ball of yarn,
unable to retrieve her threads with dew grace,
as dawn threatened. A catty cloud hangs low,
her head bowed, low to the ground.

And who
was to say what happiness was,
what is?

All the mice left for the day,
submitted a letter of resignation,
said, “Enough’s enough!�
Quickly scampered out of the
oppressive environment, bats without wings,
ascending
a windy flew from Hell!
O Low! A wedge of Brie comes
flying back on a silver platter, ready to be served
up again, a slice of The Moon,
a land without cats.

A difference, some say...

Now night spreads noir unevenly,
fails to harness
all the dug remains ~ Spirits ramble,
just to be scene!
Those dogs, those Hounds About Town, dug
up all these bones. From here,
I saw only the vague
drifting congregation, the Souls of All
that wouldn’t
parade. Those yonder spirits, yes,
they hound me,
stalk me nightly.

[Note to self:
Quote the raven nevermore.]

Meanwhile
the Dark Feline panics.
Daylight had arrived, a pure and simple
illumination
urges all daylight denizens to proceed
or promenade,
or dally about on the sidewalk.
Soon, the New York Times
opens on almost every breakfast table,
while scones and café are eaten.

But O know!
The Dark Feline now must hide
from light!

And during all these tempestuous
upsets,
the spilt illumination...

The Day Light Hours,
usher through mind’s threshold
The Wash of Wandering Spirits ~
Each bearing laundry.

Meanwhile...
The Dark Feline curls, wraps her tail
around the deep end of knowing. The window
bears, scares
her own whiskered response.
Hounds yap. Traffic honks.
Children squabble. Sparrows chitter.

A swallow recounts
last night’s tale...
A lonely grrl checks her e-mail.
_______
Blog, or dog? Who knows. But if you see my lost pup, please ping me!
A
HREF="http://journals.aol.com/virginiaz/DreamingofLeonardo"http://journal
s.aol.com/virginiaz/DreamingofLeonardo/A


Nice poems.

Double-A

Nice poems.
Double-A

Thank you.

_______
Blog, or dog? Who knows. But if you see my lost pup, please ping me!
A
HREF="http://journals.aol.com/virginiaz/DreamingofLeonardo"http://journal
s.aol.com/virginiaz/DreamingofLeonardo/A