elisem: (Default)
A poet with paper and pen is in business. 
Don't let them know what you're doing.
Remember to keep your tools sharp.  
Brush up on your covert ops skills. 
 
Don't let them know what you're doing.
Poets know how to get past the borders. 
Brush up on your covert ops skills. 
It helps to look abstract, or pretty, or simple.
 
Poets know how to get past the borders. 
A poem can be a way of smuggling truth.
It helps to look abstract, or pretty, or simple; 
Some poems are strong enough to bear that.
 
A poem can be a way of smuggling truth.
Bones speak louder than official histories. 
Some poems are strong enough to bear that.
A poet can owe a debt of story to a bone.
 
Bones speak louder than official histories.
Some things demand that we tell how they happened. 
A poet can owe a debt of story to a bone 
Or a stick, a charred stub, white stones, blood. 
 
Some things demand that we tell how they happened.
A poet with paper and pen is in business, 
Or a stick, a charred stub, white stones, blood. 
Remember to keep your tools sharp. 
 
-- Elise Matthesen 
elisem: (Default)
 So this is from a while ago, and it is fashioned after an old poem of a cat and a monk, which I repurposed to pay compiments to my Obble and make her laugh. She is the Obble to me (and I the Obel to her) because Mike referred to us as a pair of Obelisks once and we kept it because we were charmed. (It's from a Dorothy Sayers book in which a character refers to "obelisks -- you know, ladies who aren't quite respectable" when the word actually wanted was "odalisques".). Anyhow, here, have a poem. It's all still quite true.

 
There is true beauty in a cat
It’s clear that that’s where Beauty’s at
A cat with fan in silky paws
(Painted like your girls françoise)
 
But Beauty loves like company
And so a cat you oft will see
Curled up close by my Obble’s side
With rolling purr or yawn so wide
 
Thus art lives in the living flesh
That aims of art and heart may mesh
So wonder not what poets meant
No masterpiece, no monument,
 
No muse, I say, you’ll ever find
Cavorting through the artist’s mind,
In marble carved, nor fired in bisque
Has beauty like my Obelisk
 
Except a cat.
And that
Is that.
 

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Elise Matthesen

April 2025

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