Many more to come....
Listen to partcipating poets read their blazons aloud here.
Blazons appear in this order:
Zelda Alpern, Ride Towards This
Sierra Nelson (feat. Hollow Log)
Jill Leninger, Blazon 6: Escondido
Aurora Brackett, The Other Side, Poem 4
Quarterly nut and striped of nut and argent, in the first a toothed mountain sable,
in the fourth an owl’s wing teardropped purpure on sable, in the second and third
the slanta rays of a night-day sun.
- Leni Zumas
Ride Toward This
Wood paneling like growing up
in finished basements, a ground
furrowed in its shades. A tilted
horizon of beheaded Prince
Valiants or post-apocalyptic homes.
Beams Or and Brown shine up
from behind like search lights,
two of them, beside themselves and sinister.
From above a bitten burr of sun
charges down. The house faces front
each other. Furrows converge
at a skewed center. Beneath scalloped
sky beams crass and crosh.
Blazon 6: Escondido, CA
Three chevron crossings, due north
And drawn back, a past tracked with migrations, bent
Grain into lighter birch. A field of three
Intersects at the base, with you in obscurity
(In English), and them behind you, making some
New thing, your sister, the empty set.
Also missing: the coyote who dressed you
In a crisp white cap. And, of course, the papers
People at all the laminate counters ask for.
Place of birth? Escondido, you say, Hidden
In your native tongue—which is what they want for you,
A life under the radar. But I wish you this:
A fierce charge, attitude guardant,
Your parents still together as your story
Registers true, and protects you.
- Jill Leininger
Wood edged woods, a grand roundel meadow.
In sinister heights demi-bezant Or,
demi-Or bezant twinned in dexter depths:
soleil half-sunk in woods. Entwined raylets rampant –
wood, Or-wood, tawny, murrey – around bezants arrayed.
Sweet Throat is about grit, gagging, over-indulging, the senses, and something good gone wrong. When reading Aurora Brackett’s poem The Other Side, Poem 4, I feel a sense of longing to
connect with oneself, and struggling to climb and look beyond. This led me to create the experience of being filled with a mountain peak of sugar crystals overflowing from my mouth.
Similarly to the poetry, I am examining my own capacity and limitations.
The Other Side, Poem 4
What they will tell you
is that it was never possible
for anyone to cross over
and yet live,
but here is your map,
my breath and lips,
here is your map,
the bend of my wrist.
You do not get here on your knees
These mountains are the
ragged bodies of bear.
of matted fur
their waking screams
the hungry caves of
You do not get here clean
You are not,
have never been
with your own teeth
while you are
You get here
by scaling the peaks
of your own
This light that issues
the light you hunger for
is no sunrise
are the first light of summer.