Showing posts with label Heartbreak. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Heartbreak. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 29, 2025

Stevie and Vincent (the Gold Dust Woman and the Redheaded Madman)

 


The Poet’s Garden

is lit with black fire, melancholy,

and a brushstroke break

turning lover’s faces to ash.

 

Just ask le fou roux

or the gold dust woman.

 

Remember Rumours?

Maybe we love it because in our own ways

we’ve lived it, too—as if our own heartwrecks

had been written like birdsong

 

sounding so good

we want to cut off our own ear

to keep it

 

safe from another’s melody—

or to present it,

bound and bloody, to a lover as a reminder

 

never to forget the whispering

of blue firs

hanging like shadows—

and fleeting, like the holding of hands,

 

before we stopped dreaming

of tomorrow.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

NaPoWriMo Day 29:  write a poem inspired by the life of a musician, poet, or other artist.  I’ve written a mash-up inspired by Stevie Nicks and Vincent Van Gogh.

dVerse Poetics:  Getting Hooked on Opening Lines

 

The Poet’s Garden (Public Garden with Couple and Blue Fir Tree) was painted by Van Gogh in 1888.  Photo © Jennifer Wagner from my copy of Essential Van Gogh.

In 2020, Rolling Stone ranked Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours album number seven of the 500 greatest of all time.

“Le Fou Roux” (The Redheaded Madman) was a nickname given to Vincent Van Gogh by the townspeople of Arles.

“Gold Dust Woman” is the title of a song from the Rumours album as well as the title of a biography of Stevie Nicks.

 


Tuesday, March 11, 2025

Pulse


 

After the departure

 

of winter,

 

of cara caras—

 

the arrival of white blossoms,

pollen, dusk moths,

bats diving for seconds.

 

After the departure

of my dark-mute-crash

in your absence—

 

the arrival of sweet,

prickly pear cactus,

green-purpling in tangelo sun.

 

After the departure

of cold,

of hibernation—

 

the arrival of migration,

your ready arms cloaking

the naked-bleed of me.

 

After the departure

of bleak season,

waning spirit—

 

the arrival of glittering sky

beyond palm bones—

and my ribboned heart

 

stitched whole

in the pulse

of your hand.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

Shay’s Word Garden

Poetic Bloomings