Evan Hawthorn's Blog

Evan Hawthorn's Blog
(visual aid by Christian Schloe)

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

the furtherest adventures (the latest excerpt from my novella-poem, "Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons")

** hear ye hear ye and ahead of the presses ** be the furtherest adventures of
Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons.  when we last left our intrepid heroes,
the spookhouse in the woods had been surrounded by their majesties' minions
and ghoulish goons.  Sappy had just shared his vision with Rashful, and they'd
only just grasped....
the conspicuous drift of the stiffening breeze.

and scouring the nearby undergrowth
it brushed against a cheek that blushed a bloodied glow
wakening Weepy in a patch of ferns
where consciousness had lapsed beneath a glancing blow.

for he littered the trail of dissonance
crushed in the bracken by implacable wheels,
like innocence lost or helplessness found
the collateral prey of heavy-handed heels.

assuming his tethers to bide in his body
he thoughtfully studied the troubled skies;
his throat forming clicks to call to the otter,
intention glinting in his watery eyes.
and hearing his familiar's timid approach
he leapt from the spot where they'd left him for dead,
already transported by the cadence
expressed in the lilt of his enigmatic tread.

the atmosphere quickened its attention.
the monkey scampered up and settled on a sill.
the curtains fluttered with anticipation
coming to meet her as the shutters went still.
intuiting this billowing ally
whether sheer apparition or wandering jinn
the mage of mercy pondered the perspective,
adjusting the tilt of her contrary chin.

behind them the mirror mapped out intruders
scrying position by reminiscent scars,
possessed of the imprint of parting particles;
a magic lantern channeling the stars.
for much like the dance of ponderous planets
a yearning revolves through subatomic pores
resolved by charting manifestation;
beholding quantum pilgrims sailing round their cores.

and Mary heeded the revealing reflections
patched in succession through the mirror's screen,
a conspiracy of steely visages
sheathed in a shelter of variegated green.
taking her cue from the skeleton's neurosis
she divined a disassembling scheme
for avian bandits swooping in squadrons
disarming assailants and stealing their steam.

Sable, her sisters, and a disheveled Elsbeth
each led detachments on lightening raids,
relying on the crows' infallible instincts
to pick out the shine of the glinting blades.

and Solomon waited in the shadows
assembling their bounty in ill-gotten piles,
a resurrected fence for slings and arrows;
Death's grinning comment on the war god's wiles.

a feisty gaggle of savvy appliances
had mounted a foray into the woods
spurred on by the broom and blustering battlerack,
all swishing bristles and overblown hoods.
the swashbuckling knives led off the procession
the crème de la crème of offensive defense,
inclined on even diplomatic days
to suggest spookhouse guests ought to get themselves hence.

the ousted swinging vines still mucked about
delving murky depths in the unsuspecting peat,
thickening their thorns and strangling entanglements
fortifying grips for iron clad feet.

the crawling enigma that haunted the pantry
that day when the borders first came undone
poked its proboscis out of the underbrush
to sniff a stray shaft of fragmentary sun.
five draggling ears made up for missing legs
as it squiggled about on a surplus of fuzz.
and though they'd finally proved it existed
they still couldn't say what it actually was.

the irritated bears prowled round the entry
while Gropey and Mock kept an eye on the rug.
despite its having to do without innards
it worried their heels like a spring-loaded pug.
Mortimer and Sleazy chased after Chester
lest peril befall him while they were apart,
for those who have melded with a glimrin
feel a loss of harmony chiming by their heart.

Trixie and Lumpy were funneling yearlings
up the sagging stairs to lessen sorrow's sway,
interfering with fear's its self-inflictions
by forestalling the trauma on which it can prey.
Sylvana attended the sleeping princess
like an angel of stone on a grief-soaked mound,
a standing Oglala before the directions
chanting her death song, staked to sacred ground.

escorting a fawn to lesser danger
phantom recognition froze Pally in his tracks
when blinking his eyes at the lowering sky
he beheld hell's nightmare, looming through its cracks.
obscured by the lofty interwoven awning
paralyzing shapes began to emerge.
a trio of fiendish metallic contraptions
tortured the air with their ominous dirge.

quite the same order of throbbing steel beast
that tore up the future in ByWater Landing,
they called into question compassion's chances
of basing a faith on man's understanding.
Pally's endeavor to raise the alarm
was instantly expanded into a chorus.
hence synchronous, sympathetic echoes
announced that his larynx had also gone porous.

one of the demons altered course to pursue him
flashing its sinister, pitiless glare,
while something like a wave of buoyant laughter
broached Pally and the fawn in the fractured air.
propelled by friction they coasted forward
till they hovered above the remains of the door.
and lurching into reach, Mock reeled them in,
slinging gentle tendrils across the battered floor.

standing behind her unflappable window
the unsighted seer sadly shook her head.
then she pulled on a string from the hem of her cloak
unravelling a many coloured thread.
extending itself like a conjurer's trick
it swelled into cords its frailty belied,
weaving queer patterns enfolding Guanyin;
a giant cat's cradle with a wizard inside.

diverging at intervals formulas took shape,
each distinct as an autograph or seal.
and those nearby could almost comprehend
the cryptic twined meanings that they seemed to reveal.
like a deep sea commune of linked up creatures
waiting for debris to descend and dissolve
this wreath of shivering, living mandalas
thrived on its host and continued to evolve.
  
the woven symbols sprouted bits of light
surrounding themselves with an effervescent froth
as if phosphorescence was an offshoot
of reducing threads from their elemental broth.
like called to like and burst through the window
in a blue-white radiance of shimmering sparks.
for the flaming intelligence alighted
downstream from one of his incandescent arcs.

everyone in earshot was quick to deduce
those whispers stirring that sea of rustling grass
meant the hedge witch must have been conferring
with this flickering entity of molten glass.
enveloping the esoteric emblems
in his floating crop of iridescent tears,
he imparted that same august impression
of wisdom predating the dawning of years.

and wafted by ungravitating currents
the strand bore its ciphers up to the ceiling
giving rise to elation in everyone nigh,
untrammeling the edges of feeling.
as the garland hung its loops around the rafters
the murmuring adepts both heaved a sigh.
then it squeezed itself into tightening knots
till the three flying beasts were parked in the sky.
**** ** **** ** **** *** **** ** **** ** ****
- Evan Hawthorn, the 14th of September, 2016

Sunday, September 11, 2016

a musing for an autumn morning

recent events have prompted a question:
is an embarrassing, self-obsessed,
consummate capitalist really less evil
than an ambitious imperialist
with an exceptionally exemplary,
bloodstained resume
who's already rattling Obama's
refurbished nuclear sabers
so convincingly that our
cutthroat gang of unelected regime-changers
have actually written an
'Open Letter to the President'
to signal her that they're chomping at the bit?

and while i'm asking questions,
how does this 'lesser evil' yardstick actually work?
do the perspectives of the next batches
of eternally silenced children
enter into the equation?
i wonder if Madeleine Albright or Henry Kissinger
could shed some light on such
inconsequential consequences,
so "dispensable" and "collateral"
to America's once-and-future-greatness.



Friday, September 9, 2016

the making of greatness

considering the two and a half centuries
of unrepented genocides,
the unabashed racist structuring
of our entire social fabric,
the nonstop production and export
of a culture of violence
rippling with contempt for living things,
the adamant foreign policies
wrought entirely out of disdain
for the Democracies of other peoples,
and the rivers of denial that are
haunting America's negative column
like a never ending night of the
unliving, unthinking dead,
i expect it would take
a couple generations
of ceaseless decency
and heartfelt soul searching
to even make America so-so.
but we could try.
i believe the first step
can best be achieved by
disconnecting from the media,
since they so excel at
deflecting reflection.
if we could follow this up with
creative, helpful apologies
a collective, healing sigh
would waft round the earth,
and trust could finally flower.

Saturday, September 3, 2016

are the bombs still bursting?

i'd just like to state, for the record,
that i haven't stood for the national anthem,
or contributed to it in any way, since i was a wee sprat,
and grasped that, like all national anthems, it was a war song.
a mindless pledge of unconditional support for war criminals,
whose particularly astonishing litany of unrepented genocides
and blatant assaults on the democracy of others
would put to shame their very own angry god,
even on one of his most self-absorbed
and decimatingly self-righteous days.