Doodle-bug
doodle-bug
by halifax
breech born
orange rangy tom and his firefly harem
under a stratus strung Texas night
decide to close their wet season
out on a sod farm south of Willis
by making tiger beetle babies
what a drab litter of children she is
nestled away in a sand trap nursery
black pupils agape fused with stars
struck by mama’s taillight radiance
so enticing it stole the cat’s stray
streaks of rust and yellow grass
crowd her temple, brow, and nethers
her breath crackles on the way out
in deep-fried dry AM radio noise
her pulse draws boys like window pie
she’s a caught message in the air
it squeals how bare pink heels rub
resonate tone against hybrid seed runners
suffocating in the fiddle of crickets
to teach them fearless improvisation
and steal away their legs to play with
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The new site will involve more color, so why not.
While I like comments, I appreciate more the knowledge you spent weeks rereading it. Thank you for making an exception to your color palette.
Thought this one could use the color image Halifax sent along with the poem. Tried it in B/W but didn’t have the same affect. I enjoyed reading this one. I always wish I could comment more, but by the time these get posted I’ve read them at least two or three times, if not more, so by the time the public sees the work it’s already old to me and I have to try and remember back what I thought or felt when I first read the poem. And sometimes I originally read the poem weeks or months before. Anyhow…
This strangely formal hybrid of sound and content is interesting. The language seems to go beyond poetic description, loosely forming itself into a structure that approaches blank verse while emphasizing its use of alliteration, assonance, and consonance. Combined with the lack of punctuation, all these devices forced me to read it aloud a few times before I found the overall flow of its vocal structure. Considering content, the emphasis on sound works very well – being more than poetic ornament, sound integrates back into content and makes for a very well-crafted poem. After a few reads, it really grew on me – like a field of crickets at twilight. Very nice.
I meant “resonant” (not “resonate”) in the last stanza.
Also, drag your cursor over that last stanza. The end to it is in white text.