Posted on: May 8, 2012
The Sleeping Gypsy, by Henri Rousseau. 1897
Gypsy
The sadness of the dance
Between two opposites
The sadness of the work
Involved
No metaphors needed
Male and Female
Strong and weak
Yin and Yang
No metaphors needed
Because this is all
Delusion
And comfort food
Combined
Though the combination
Is a hopeful thing
A blessed thing
A dove sent
A plant thrusting upward
To the sun
From within desert sand
From within
Once barren minds
The act of combination
An act of liberation
Or may be
If we cross over
…
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Posted on: May 1, 2012
The Eiffel Tower. Photo by Douglas Pinson. 2007
Spinozablue has new poetry, fiction and phởtography on tap for May. Valentina Cano, Emily Ramser, Christina Murphy and Ben Nardolilli grace this site with their poetry; Penelope Mermall with her fiction; and Eleanor Bennett with phởtography. Emily and Eleanor have something in common. They are both in their teens. Their work, however, along with those already mentioned on this fine May Day, combines future promise and present achievement.
* * * * *
So, I’m reading The Three Pillars of Zen, by Philip Kapleau, and it’s kick-started all kinds of thought-trails. The book is quite good, though it lags at times when it shifts to interviews with adepts. Lags for me, because too many of the stories are similar.…
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Posted on: May 1, 2012
Lockdown
I turned to stone
that Saturday morning.
It wasn’t slow.
There were no gasps
as my fingers dried like corn husks,
or as my hair locked in place,
never to feel the breeze again.
There was no time for that.
In one second, I was staring
out of eyes sewn to our walls.
There was no blinking.
I was alone,
staring out into a room
I could no longer shut out.
In Amber
Softly, you turn.
Your face is a mask of ash,
drifting with the currents,
with my moods.
You peer at me out of cottonwood eyes
that reflect fires I’ve not yet set.
Cares I’ve not flung at you
like dirty clothes.
Stay like that.
Just like that, for an instant,
while I bring out
my words and boil them alive.…
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