Friday, February 10, 2012

Ballade for a Honeycomb Heart

Ballade for a Honeycomb Heart

We should pity the heart of stone
(Honeycomb when she was a child).
Once so beloved she died alone--
She toyed with boys in ways once mild.
When toys changed to men she beguiled.
Men stepped through her revolving door,
Saw love and trust had gone mad-wild.
Her hands reached in hope nevermore.

Honeycomb heart turned lust's gemstone
(Her tender core cut and defiled).
Before she bloomed her seed was sown
By one she so loved then reviled.
Hurt upon hurt like cells were tiled,
She numbed pain with bitter rancor;
Paybacks plenty she planned and styled.
Her hands reached in hope nevermore.

Once seen a queen she died a crone
(Chic hair twist gone gray and unpiled
Hourglass shape drained to rag and bone).
Salon hostess was street exiled;
She would not beg where no one smiled.
They passed her by, that washed-out whore;
A death report was later filed.
Her hands reached in hope nevermore.

The heart that beats in her grandchild
Is blessed, asks not why or wherefore
She comes to this grave, as if wiled.
(Her hands reached in hope nevermore.)

                                                  MLydiaM ~ February 2012

Submitted as a combo for:

Mag 103 (hosted by Tess Kincaid -- image: a grave at the Novodevichy Cemetery, Moscow). Many more Magpies at the link...


dVerse Poets Pub FormForAll, hosted this week by Gay Reiser Cannon, whose prompt is to compose a French Ballade  (please click link for description and information, along with links to ballades written by more brave souls!).



Kat Mortensen said...

Powerful, Lydia! This really struck me: Once seen a queen she died a crone
(Chic hair twist gone gray and unpiled
Hourglass shape drained to rag and bone).

Nice work!

Lydia said...

Kat~ You are so so kind. Thank you for your comment that arrived just before I must leave for some hours. Be back to visit you and others later tonight. :)

Beachanny said...

Wonderful execution of the form. I wonder if the "nevermore" is a tribute to Poe. It is a somewhat heartbreaking story and well told in 3 stanzas and an envoi. Clever use of your rhymes as well. It is a sad story and a true one, probably. The envoi is a nice twist taking the look back at her life and realizing her hands held nothing but empty cells. Her granddaughter is of another sort and while filled with pity can't really empathize. Excellent to form and content. Thank you Lydia.

Rob-bear said...

So beautifully written as to be truly disturbing, unnerving. Sadly.

Caty said...

it is such a sad story, so well written that I felt her pain.

Lydia said...

Beachanny~ Your critique is so helpful. I thank you for the prompt at dVerse and for the encouragement to try the form.

The grave image at The Mag seemed gaudy to me and reminded me of the tale of one Julia Bulette, a prostitute in old Virginia City, who was murdered and greatly mourned. Excerpt from Wikipedia bio:
Virginia City went into mourning for her, with the mines, mills and saloons being closed down as a mark of respect. On the day of her funeral, January 21, thousands formed a procession of honor behind her black-plumed, glass-walled hearse; first the firemen, who were followed by the Nevada militia who played funeral dirges. Julia was buried in the Flower Hill Cemetery.

Lydia said...

Rob-bear~ I am glad you were touched by the poem, and so appreciate your comment.

Caty~ I feel encouraged that you felt her pain. (Please see my comment above to Beachanny for info on the muse for this piece.)

Lydia said...

**P.S. to Beachanny~ Yes, the "nevermore" was indeed a nod to Poe!

Barbara/myth maker said...

Some great imagery here. A bitter tale!

Tess Kincaid said...

Striking ballad...I especially like the hourglass turning to rag and bone...nice write...

Fireblossom said...

paradoxically, you've brought her utterly to life here, Lydia. beautifully done, and terribly sad.

Berowne said...

Well crafted, well thought-out, moving...

Helen said...

Lydia, this is amazing ... powerful.

susan said...

I can't think of more praise to add than what's been written before me but to say it's a very touching and beautifully sensitive poem. You are very skilled.

mythopolis said...

It speaks of painful things. Lost innocence, betrayal, a fall from grace and beauty, a decline into nothingness. A life that came and went.

Wander said...

I really liked this, much diferent take than I had!


Lydia said...

Barbara/myth maker~ Bitter story, yes. Appreciated comment, yes, also.

Tess~ Thanks much for the prompt. The image was really powerful.

Fireblossom~ Loved your comment. Thank you.

Berowne~ Thank you..looking forward to reading yours.

Helen~ I so appreciate your comment, and visit.

susan~ You are too kind. This was a real challenge and I am happy that it pleased in any way at all.

mythopolis~ Your comment could be the beginning of a poem itself...

Wander~ Thanks, and also thanks for the link. Be seeing you and everyone throughout the weekend.

Anonymous said...

Very intense, and so tragic.

ds said...

Oh, the form you chose is perfect for this! So many wonderful lines and rhymes (honeycomb, crone, rag and bone); the inevitable bodily decay. Wonderful, wonderful poem Lydia. Thank you.

Owen said...

Really wonderful writing Lydia, an intense interpretation. I guess we don't know who took the photo ? But that is a striking work of art on the grave. So many cemeteries yet to explore in the world...

Lydia said...

Amber Lee~ Yeah, I should probably lighten up for awhile!

ds~ I am humbled by your comment (and it made me feel happy, too!). Thank you.

Owen~ The photographer was not noted, unfortunately. It is an amazing grave, to be sure, but not any more captivating than those in your book of cemetery photographs!
I thank you so much for your comment.

Mimi Foxmorton said...

I adore that imagery!

The Collage Pirate

Lydia said...

Mimi Foxmorton~ Thanks; I'm honored!



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