POETRYRemains of Joanby Grant Tarbard
Inspired by "Jeanne d’Arc" by Clément de Fauquembergue (May 10th, 1429).
The only known portrayal of Joan of Arc in her lifetime, although the artist had never seen her.
The image that remains of Joan, faded,
wearied with time, she is depicted with
long hair and a dress fitting for tea, not
a battle for her mother’s daisy’d land.
Sword too big for her slight girlish frame, clutched
blade reversed as if to say she would stab
the oncoming French army, banner held
faint in fragile fingers. They called her whore,
a village girl dressed as a boy, rattling
the English tambourine, the fantasist
who broke the siege of Orléans, yelling with
the madness of angels, not still faced, pursed
lipped, head bowed, but crystallised with a howl
from the frayed lungs that gripped benediction.
Grant Tarbard is the former editor of The Screech Owl and co-founder of Resurgant Press. He has worked as a journalist, a contributor to magazines, a reviewer, an interviewer, and a proof reader.
male-pattern badness did you see me me take a picture of me walk on the beach to take
picture walking on the beach could reach 100 likes like male-pattern badness bring me the password
her church was music
and her gods dead rock stars
who she joined on an eternal tour
around the furthest reaches
of space and time,
I lied to my fourth therapist,
telling her all of my bogus
achievements while she jotted
them down on a pad in her lap,
hoping that she couldn't smell
the Schnapps on my breath
4x4ever everything I expected 2.5 bedroom gun rack smokestack tread for dread of poor handling known known unknowable star-spangled suspension of disbelief
I have gone astray,
thinking,
rambling
in an esoteric phrase,
lying to the government
about a loaded gun
between my legs.
The gift of childhood is imagination. In Sarah Frances Moran's poem, "Still Alive and Well" love and forgiveness are found in a friendship that withstand the challenges of life.
"Inside my body rests this adventurer.
I know it was birthed by you. The way fresh air
fills your lungs and how a campfire and a cold beer
can be like heaven.
Riding bikes down bayou banks
and tiptoe walking across railroad bridges.
We are wanderers. Romantic gypsies just a little
misunderstood."
