"Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness."
Khalil Gibran

Thursday, June 22, 2017

The Swans

Swans
M.C. Escher (1956)



Let us skim the surface of reality
like a pair of swans
and call it poetry

Or instead of giving it away,
two waterbirds, with necks bent
like the delicate handles of white china jugs.

No ripples.
No plumbing of the doubtful depths beneath
for our several personal atrocities

Just this almost silent glide
and a swishing turn by the reeds, poise,
because the secret lies in contemplation rather than deed.

And don’t forget to admire the mirrored underside of clouds
like pulsing throats waiting to be slit open,
and for rain to fingertip the silvery skin

And call it poetry.


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Today's challenge in the Imaginary Garden: Literary Excursions ~ Metafiction




Friday, June 9, 2017

Conversation with a Cab-Driver

There were many who went in huddled procession,
They knew not whither;
But, at any rate, success or calamity
Would attend all in equality.
Stephen Crane

The Chariot
Giorgio de Chirico
Fair Use


The charioteer climbed down
from his cab to contemplate his wheel,
stuck in a rut.
He carried a single passenger – the World –
who leant from his seat to offer wisdom:
“Those with their eyes fixed only
on a destination, fail to understand the journey.”
But the driver spat in the gutter
and cursed his Fate.
“I was not born to stand still.”


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Words Count with Mama Zen

I drew a tarot card yesterday and today - The Chariot and The World - and, although both readings seemed exceedingly inept in my current circumstances, I could not resist a return to my Tales of Tarot.