the beloved bluebirds

The Beloved Bluebirds,

behind a high iron gate –

hidden bodies,

or windless drapes ~

 

cupboards of today –

no little voice rooms

to tempt dark recesses

locked with creeping ivy ~

 

except ~ instead ~ the stomach cavity,

also, the roof, stare,

hanging on foggy snores,

deep buried canals ~

 

pull it out now,

a shiny key to tempt

his mind,

 

a suburban semi,

maybe longer,

beloved at night,

needs replacing now –

encircled by not-quite-matching stones

 

 

maybe an end-of-terrace

crumbling castle,

patched up red brick,

like wet sheets –

 

 

listening to well-meaning autumn,

that beloved succubus,

on a chest

burning up

in consciousness’s dark crypt ~

 

 

rhythmic wild acid streams,

hemmed in heaviness,

oh-I-know-your-mind ~ they’re here now.

This composition derives from Constance Bourg’s poem Suburban Succubus. When I first started reading the piece, I was listening to jazz & blues. I misread Bluebeards as Bluebirds.  I went back over the poem in proper context of the first line, but then I returned to the Bluebirds image, and stared reconfiguring the images & lines of the original poem.

My version became an echo of the first, still holding on to the Gothic dream atmosphere.  The accompanying images are a mix of older pieces that first appeared on Dark Pines Photo, and specific collage compositions  created for this post.

Hope you enjoy this post. Please check The original post on Constance’s blog, Tender Rebellion, as well as her other posts of collages & poetry. Thanks Constance for your work and inspiration.