Friday, March 24, 2017

Jack Scott writes

The Longest Night

The longest night in my darkest life 

was two months long, 
sixty day sentence, 
rosary of thorns 
endlessly repeated. 

My mind squirmed 

like Medusa's snakes 
anchored in thought’s skull 
writhing toward escape 
from psychogenic pain, 
boneless fingers 
fumbling in the dark 
to read a Braille map 
for any passage 
to anywhere away. 
Miscreant Midas, 
the touch of me, 
contagious glance 
a risk to all, 
magic sculptor 
turning all to stone 
or stony-hearted, 
but never, ever gold.

I tore at my rosary, 

darkness hid the bleeding 
as I rummaged through 
the maw of mailbox 
where letters go to die. 
Special delivery, 
an irony, no letter ever, 
no signature required 
nothing to slit open,
no mail to read 

not even memory of a stamp,
 no reply to what 
I thought I’d written 
or recollection 
of what I meant to write.

It seems that you 

were always going to come 
or had just gone, 
time, a stretcher in between, 
bearing wounded promise. 
You barely ever touched the land 
in the briefness of your visits, 
always hovering just above 
where I thought you’d light. 
Where you touched was heaviness. 
No. Who, not where.

Anything was what I pledged to you. 

Anything was my commitment, 
my first of that to anyone. 
I hadn't thought it might include 
being ladder for your elopement 
with a more attractive partner.

In reenactment of rehearsal 

of our unconsummated hymeneal* 
you said that you would marry me. 
Blue is a hue your face turns to 
when you hold your breath too long. 
When we were new, 
I didn't know 
you were the borrowed. 
Oh lord, this gets old fast. 

(*wedding ceremony)

 Medusa by Caravaggio created in 1597

 Medusa -- Michele Angelo Merigi da Caravaggio

Jon Huer writes

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Igor Baskin paints

ShortcArt by Igor Baskin

ShortcArt: 'Poetry of Shortcuts and Headlines'
project by Igor Baskin

A citizen of Thailand married a three-meter Cobra, considering it to be a reincarnation of the beloved

 2016.11.11 | ТАСС