Tuesday, November 13, 2018

Mandalay shoots


Rik George writes

The Carousel

The palomino swan-coach pair 

and bay horse and black horse all are still. 
They stand with the appaloosa mare, 
nostrils flared and hooves held high, 
poised on the silent carousel. 
The sallow people walking by 
darken the mirrors with their despair. 
They hunch their shoulders against the snow. 
They have no magic of the eye 
to see the horses waiting there 
to ride the golden poles. When they go, 
we see the mirrors shimmering, 
the horses prancing, eyes aglow, 
and, beckoning, the golden ring.
Carousel Art for Sale: Hershell Spillman Carousel art by James Homer Brown

The Blue Racer -- James Homer Brown

Michael Lee Johnson writes


Lorie

Lorie, you want to see me clearly
through this joy of my naked body
avoiding the sweat of my emotions,
just breathing on my neck
rubbing this baseline of my groin -
will not find us here again.
Go away, leave me thinking
louder than your breath -
body moves quietly
in a lazy sway of indifference.
 Niezwykłe tatuaże 3D!
Man working inside chest - Hikaur Cho

Rupert Loydell writes


IN THE CORNER

I thought it best to approach the transcendent religiosity of my favourite album played live without the original vocalist, after a drink or two. I can sing along with every word, and sometimes I even know what the lyrics might mean, but I have to admit in the cold light of day that that is as far as it goes.

You could say it is hippy nonsense, but that still seems preferable to the egotistical snapshot culture that surrounds me. The bar is full of people taking pictures of themselves, ignoring each other in favour of their phones. I can't pretend to understand, just as they – I'm sure – will not understand why I am writing this in the corner.
Selfie-art04
 -- Olivia Muus

Selfie-art07

 -- Olivia Muus


Selfie-art02

 -- Olivia Muus


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 -- Olivia Muus

Selfie-art03

 -- Olivia Muus

 Selfie-art00

  -- Olivia Muus

Shirley Smothers writes

Altars to the Gods?

I once saw an altar built
to honor a God.
Which God I do not know.

The day was overcast
and threatened rain.
The years and the
elements had wreaked
havoc on this altar.

A mouse scurried across
this crumbling stone.
A bird of prey swooped
down and carried away
this small creature.
A sacrifice for a God?

A couple of filthy
haggard dogs
came around
begging for a handout.

In years to come
will our altars
to our Gods
fare the same?

Ara Antica
Ancient Altar On Which Sacrifices Were Performed In Antiquity. Surrounded By Other Ruins -- Giovanni Battista Piranesi