The Sorrows of Naukrate
© 2022 Katherine Williams
"The Sorrows of Naukrate" appears in
Joost de Jonge - Water on Water: Painted Poetry & Painterly Poetics, An Ekphrastic Notion, Vol. III
Van Spijk Artbooks (2021)
Joost de Jonge, Peter Frank,
and Dinah Berland, Eds.
This poem is written toward phrases from a poem about Icarus by the late Susan Meyers.
© 2022 Katherine Williams
"The Sorrows of Naukrate" appears in
Joost de Jonge - Water on Water: Painted Poetry & Painterly Poetics, An Ekphrastic Notion, Vol. III
Van Spijk Artbooks (2021)
Joost de Jonge, Peter Frank,
and Dinah Berland, Eds.
This poem is written toward phrases from a poem about Icarus by the late Susan Meyers.
Blackened, she prays, if not then in the next
Dear Weather, if all flame to the last dream
Strums hot, out-of-tune, overtones the cerulean
Tallowed with orange feet Among all lizards here is one
Whose WINGS have not sprouted He swims among stars
That form or wink out as we speak The gathering speed
The sad rigging Go tell the King, who sits rapt
For the first sign all godspeed and aglow
In his closet, no handsome grief Not
More shifty, fulsome as the plucked
Eye, glazed with sleepless, broke-string guitar
Never to dream of drowning Its empathetic
Sticky chariots passing stupid husband stupid notes
Were his three stupid sisters Not the dark
Level-candled and greasy-haired
Light, dear Weather, prays the woman,
Melt your rigging back to our whirling.
In familiar wax on small feet Not
My son, fallen into cold starlit prayers
Blistered rising
Not my son from fingerlike
Not wings
Dear Weather, if all flame to the last dream
Strums hot, out-of-tune, overtones the cerulean
Tallowed with orange feet Among all lizards here is one
Whose WINGS have not sprouted He swims among stars
That form or wink out as we speak The gathering speed
The sad rigging Go tell the King, who sits rapt
For the first sign all godspeed and aglow
In his closet, no handsome grief Not
More shifty, fulsome as the plucked
Eye, glazed with sleepless, broke-string guitar
Never to dream of drowning Its empathetic
Sticky chariots passing stupid husband stupid notes
Were his three stupid sisters Not the dark
Level-candled and greasy-haired
Light, dear Weather, prays the woman,
Melt your rigging back to our whirling.
In familiar wax on small feet Not
My son, fallen into cold starlit prayers
Blistered rising
Not my son from fingerlike
Not wings