Tuesday, November 29, 2016
Rik George writes
Abandoned Promise
I thirst for god, the promised water.
The springs I drink from are pools of mud.
The low wells yield a brackish drink
thick with salt and rotting matter.
I walk in barrens. My skin is caked
with salt from my sweat. Sand crusts in my eyes.
I cry challenge to God the Promiser.
“Why have you left me broken in this bitter land?
Here sun has bleached the bushes white
and bordered the leaves with brown.
The hot sand glares like amber glass.
The copper sky sears like a skillet.
The winds bob and weave in the thistles,
spreading their thorny seeds on the sand.
I walk this place and stir up dust.
It fills my throat and clogs my nostrils.”
God does not answer, preoccupied
perhaps, or dead, or harrowing hell
or otherwise divinely bemused.
I stumble over the mountain’s bones
crying through the parch in my throat.
One day some other unfortunate
will stumble over my brittle bones
and fall face forward in the sand and thistles,
and I won’t care I’m no longer alone.
Desolate -- Drew Evans
I thirst for god, the promised water.
The springs I drink from are pools of mud.
The low wells yield a brackish drink
thick with salt and rotting matter.
I walk in barrens. My skin is caked
with salt from my sweat. Sand crusts in my eyes.
I cry challenge to God the Promiser.
“Why have you left me broken in this bitter land?
Here sun has bleached the bushes white
and bordered the leaves with brown.
The hot sand glares like amber glass.
The copper sky sears like a skillet.
The winds bob and weave in the thistles,
spreading their thorny seeds on the sand.
I walk this place and stir up dust.
It fills my throat and clogs my nostrils.”
God does not answer, preoccupied
perhaps, or dead, or harrowing hell
or otherwise divinely bemused.
I stumble over the mountain’s bones
crying through the parch in my throat.
One day some other unfortunate
will stumble over my brittle bones
and fall face forward in the sand and thistles,
and I won’t care I’m no longer alone.
Desolate -- Drew Evans
Micheal Ace writes
WAR
.
When the vanquished call war
They sell themselves to a coming silence
They writes themselves a song
And tear to the rhythms of madness
.
When ember calls you to swim
Remember water is a sadness that drowns the heart
So tell her mama sends you on errands
.
When ember asks you to fly
Remember the skies do envy your eyes
So forget the rain, there are wells on earth
.
When ember call you for a walk
Remember you stole your skin from the sands
So tell her you are the rainbow God finds every night
.
Ember is death in the guise of war
But don't become a vanquished here
There are more to sing than a mere song
When every soul burns out its fear
.
.
When the vanquished call war
They sell themselves to a coming silence
They writes themselves a song
And tear to the rhythms of madness
.
When ember calls you to swim
Remember water is a sadness that drowns the heart
So tell her mama sends you on errands
.
When ember asks you to fly
Remember the skies do envy your eyes
So forget the rain, there are wells on earth
.
When ember call you for a walk
Remember you stole your skin from the sands
So tell her you are the rainbow God finds every night
.
Ember is death in the guise of war
But don't become a vanquished here
There are more to sing than a mere song
When every soul burns out its fear
.
Ember Spirit -- Gabriella Elizabeth Tavora
Sunil Sharma writes
Cultural
transmutation: Will Shakespeare -- 400
There
comes a time when you become
A
Lear
Hamlet
Macbeth
in
your life
sometimes
one by one
sometimes
all rolled into one
and,
sometimes, in piecemeal.
You
are, that moment, a Will Shakespeare
Will
becomes you
the
creator, created and the recipient -- isomers of artistic universe.
You
inhabit a temporal paradox
a
dualism of time...here
making
and unmaking of moments
real
and lapsed collapsing in the same moment
Simultaneously
posited in 1564-1616 and 2016
Flitting
between an English Court and postmodern Mumbai/Madrid.
How
time is caught, preserved, anesthetized -- and revived!
In
your current finger tips you hold bits of brittle time
faded
lost buried in a tomb or tome in a library
an
era gone forever but retrieved and re-incarnated
between
a text and your eyes!
Will
Shakespeare defies time
an
encyclopedia is shown in his lines and songs
the
full nature of human beings revealed on/off the stage
folios
and films.
In
dear William Shakespeare, each finds a bit of themselves
neatly
labeled, documented and analyzed
Being-Becoming
a
Hamlet
and
other dramatic personae
at
varied times by donning their robes and lines.
sediments
of ages…lie inside the plays and sonnets
for
us to find.
There,
yet not there, yet there-not here
here-there,
there-here, living two realms of space-time
turning
into
a
fool
a
grave digger
Or
a
babbling Lear finding clarity and sanity
in
moments of insanity!
A sculptor’s workshop Strafford on Avon, 1617 -- Henry Wallis
[Ben Jonson shows Gerard Johnson the (alleged) death mask of
William Shakespeare for his memorial sculpture in his home town.]
Dorin Popa writes
MY DISEQUILIBRIUM SUPPORTS
THE PRECARIOUS EQUILIBRIUM OF THE WORLD
again I had a dream that,
on the brink of happiness,
I took my days
and
sadder than ever
in my life,
again
I went down
more and more often
I choose to walk
through the ruins of my soul
and I always take along
your small bottle of perfume
of course
I step politely back
from all
the others
and thus, stumblingly,
I still believe
that one day
I will know how to serve You
Perfume -- Raipun
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