Wednesday, April 03, 2013

The Glass Frogs Begin

It's here! National Poetry Month  where  I feel not only justified in saturating us in poem and talk of poem, but compelled!  I am participating here on Intagliod and over at Sweetly Disturbed: there I will post in a single post/single day manner. As tradition dictates here at Intagliod, I will keep extending the poem in a single post so that I might see how it is running its rivery way down the page. Likely, by month's end, at some point, I'll hide the post, should the poem seem strong enough to try to find a home in print.

I have visited Robert Brewer's blog, Poetic Asides in order to receive my first day's prompt which deals with new arrivals and have written a little prosaic start to my:

Thirty Days of Looking at the Glass Frog

Coming into the light, a body
to grow no larger than an almond,
with nothing to hide. Clear-
bellied, the miraculous factory 
that runs them always visible, 
Their translucence against
a green leaf's a vanishing act.
Today: April, no fool's gold
to this sunshine, we're all 
about arrival.  The scientist 
who fell in love the species:
Hyalinobatrachium valerioi 
named his daughter Valerie
in their honor. 

What It must be to filter light,
feel the trail it follows inside,
like intuition only warmer,
the knowing a glowing
such a little form
but standing, window
to the side, a lantern
and a teaspoon of starlight
how nightfall must fall
soft as cinder, the day
coating as slowly as dust
gathered on a piano. 

Slowly, slowly the body
opens, a thorn’s puncture
here, the water glass tumbles
and a clear tooth opens
a scarlet throat in the sole
of the foot, or a possum
halfway across a highway
scripted now in elaborate entrails.
We are drawn and repelled
by what spells us out in organed-
particulars, taking the view in
a little at a time. The glass frog
belies such patience, giving us
what we want, never want
from what we love: to see
the musicbox-machinery
that runs those wistful singings.

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