“Flower Famine,” “pick the staples from the classroom clown,” and “Linguistic Moon”

“Flower Famine,” “pick the staples from the classroom clown,” and “Linguistic Moon”

Flower Famine

Nothing, I see

But,

dandelion blush and smoky Bardot eyes of western wind. Nothing, but McDonalds and cluster flies;

and threats of dry hunger strikes in the streets by blooming worker bees establishing new hives

on a drizzly spring Tuesday.

 

The ungovernable pitch shards of boulevard glass; rich city diamonds reflectively shine before

slapping across cut faces. Indispensable people, for the overcrowding of cold nations. We are

quick ~ aren't We ~ to paint this colorful world in black and white. Consciously, We,

The Killers of Rainbow Seeds, opt for a virtual fog bow; Advancement, instead of wildflowers and

dispensable from-scratch grandmother meals.

 

The once shy Black Swallowtail rushed onward,

landing hungrily on my flowery, lime-

green, butterfly-frog button up, hoping for sugary Hawaiian sustenance. The ungovernable wild ~

the only unrecognizable-recognizable place left.

 

Lightly, I step

Over,

and in-between, cinnamon ferns unfurling, oh-baby-baby-baby maples of seductive navel syrup, blue-

bead lily Of The North ~ thriving nana-yellow, epithet borealis

mountainous-mountain ash, spring-sprung elderberry, plaited moss–braided to new growth

raspberry strands, born

from uprooted hurricane-dropped evergreen spruce.

 

Bedded, I sweep

Hands,

milky, over delicate Starflowers, plethora-carpeting, as their upper-hand to avoid extinction, like Starling Emerald Hominids, greenery open-face leaves gazing up at the reaches; Stars ~ praying wild eyed to Solaris, for solar flares traveling from storms 151.6 million km away, hidden in the darkness beyond our galactic aquarium. 100-meters away, the slithering Trans-Canada asphalt snake lay

smooth, slick, ready to bite.

 

Still, I lay

Hidden,

from its poisonous exhaust fangs. A Starflower, pale faced, under Mourning Cloak wings,

peering upward, through patches of just right Goldilocks light brilliance, drifting fiery smog sky

Dead bodies of Giants ~ Balsam Fir, Eastern Hemlock, White Birch ~ bury the well worn path; timbers in their death throes, Lively awakening retro awe ~ Fred Penner wonder, creating childhood mysteries of dark hollow logs to clamber through into Alice's Wonderland. Mr. Dressup Crowns of Sweet Kings, Laurels of archery mastery Beauty Queens from Mother Nature's tickle trunk, still blooming

though–upturned

fed,

by those still standing through the storms.

 

Folklore medicine, I taste

Yellow,

rocketcress, Scurvy Annihilator, picked

from among discarded roadside garbage–tossed from whipping Helmholtz resonance car

windows; Barbarea Vulgaris, She–who sits spicy on the throne of my tongue

her silver shroom toes tickle my mind

Barbarian Queen, at the back of my erotic mouth, grinding, sensually

between

herbivore teeth

a strip tease rubbing flat molars, which will

forever

be taken for granted, until they are uprooted and spit out into a dry waste ditch.

 

450-meters away, I hear

Sharp,

crack of a fiberglass baseball bat. An angry coach.

Will they ever come to see this?

A father yells

Do they know it's here?

A child screams impatient Hunger.

 

Fast, I step

Marching,

for the freedom we have forgotten.

unseen, a vertical piece of rusted rebar buried tight in the earth, trips me up on the ATV trail home.

 

I smell McDonalds

and Flower Famine.

pick the staples from the classroom clown

Image

Linguistic Moon

Celestial Tongues of Morning Moon, Midnight Sun

whisper to me the odyssey of Maidenhair Trees’ blind mystic secrets under flaming canopies

rise high

Nostradamus of the Balkans

on that unyielding witching solar flare

Baba Vanga

sightless gaze piercing the tapestry of dusk, of eternal reward dawn

Baba Yaga

blaze ancient light lore along the convex of Luna’s wax and wane cyclic ballet.

 wiccan lace-sleeved enchantress

Stevie Nicks ~ ‘saw my reflection in the snow-

covered hills, 'til the landslide brought me down’;

sonic ocean muse

Lana Del Rey ~ ‘once you told me, look

for the north star, then you'll see’;

Nico

Seer of These Days ~ ‘please don't

confront me with my failures, I

had not forgotten them’ ~ Lady Bonfires

of singing ink-sweetened parchment

of incantation, of spellbound

allure, femme fatale flesh ~ Fire

will not Silence your Golden Hour

Dance.

 

my moon sister asked

How many languages do you speak?

a symphony of split tongues spilled forth deviled nectar ~

 

~ I speak the language of Tree Whispers echoing in the shade; the bee’s honeyed tooth &

in blackberry lips clashing in battle.

in blind eyes of feminine hex unseen, unworshipped

in visions of Lady Chronic Empath; sand grains falling from shaken dream hair, reaped

by spiders weaving Fate on a Fedora

webbed symbols of indecipherable intricacies of destiny.

 

I speak in pretty drugs, elegant alcohol

throat releasing steamy silk smoke Bowmore

interpreter of dehydrated green-skinned moonshine stained face

wide-eyed lustful clipped-winged pixies of the fabled Northern Still Snows earning sage feathers

~ earth foraged, forged by ember speaking Druids in Moonbeam Streams.

 

I speak in tangerine dreams painted with flickering lantern soothsaying light from inside a spruce

limb crushed Westfalia rusted under the gravity of hedonistic revelry.

I speak in moans against vibration producing kicking life

the dialect needed to caress coiled snake highways and pave them smooth.

I speak with Nor’easters, as they lay down thick crystal blankets of warm permission to hibernate.

hollow-face illusion, reality tinged with schizophrenic hues of occult night

 

I speak in soundless kinesics transcending linguistics

swirling within the kaleidoscope of languages, and there, churning oil slick into all the tonal colors,

casting witches' spells ~ is Wild Love, spun

into the vernacular of symphonic existence chasing the sun

between asphalt ruptures of dandelion rebellions - resilience roars!

calling to arms sprouting vines creeping under, and bursting through, faded bungalow siding - resist

annihilation!

Stubborn Yellow ~ pursuing the never-ending heat of Radiant Freedom

ever weaving

                       ever thriving

                                                  sur-viving

                                                                             ever Speaking ~ in emerald unfolding calyx tongues.

About the Author

J. M. Platts-Fanning

J. M. Platts-Fanning is an award-winning poet and short story writer dwelling in the woodlands within the wave-tousled coastline of Prince Edward Island. Recipient of a PEI Writers’ Guild 2022 Island Literary Poetry Award, 2020 Island Literary Short Story Award, the 2022 Battle Tales VII Champion and awarded 2nd place winner in the Humans of the World 2022 Summer Poetry Challenge. Publications include, The Dalhousie Review Vol 103.3, Burningword Literary Journal 2024/issue 109, Pownal Street Press’ 2023 anthology, Fiona: Prince Edward Island Accounts from Canada’s Biggest Storm, Toronto Metropolitan University’s White Wall Review 2023/03, 2022/11, The Write Launch literary magazine 2024/01, 2023/08, 2022/08, 2022/06, Prometheus Dreaming cultural magazine 2022/11, Artistic Warrior’s 2022 Dribbles, Drabbles and Postcards anthology, Common Ground 2020/03 and GIFt Horse anthologies Vol 1 through 6.