An Arden Season

Greta Garbo Poster, Paris, 1932 — Photographer Ilse Bing

 

An Arden Season


Tempest, you are as death
Autumn’s diminished smoke;
Leaves the eve of winter
Fragile and bitter.
I wait for the thaw:
Resurrection in hope;
Let not temptation malign me
In tepid thought of naught.
Temperament of the heart
Fickle, full of folly;
Its pain, resilient
Holding to the last
Burr of love unfounded:
The sweetness of pepper,
The sting of salt.

 

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.”
― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones      Deprive

Wolf Larsen — “Kitchen Door”

 

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Irish Funeral

Please enjoy J’s wonderful tribute to a passing, Irish Funeral.

 

Irish Funeral

Memory’s phantom acquires its exit through an uninhibited window, silencing your time on this plane. The crying begins as recollections are held ransom behind tapestries, banging around the home of this grievance party. At 3 A.M. we arrested the clocks to signify when you passed between our two worlds. We sabotaged the reflection of our mirrors carefully under cloth, preventing your metaphysical residue from clinging to its earthly memories. Spirits spill sentiments between floor boards and brew aggression that brawls within broken glass. The party burned for two days and then laid his body to rest.

Columns of kin corrupt uncomfortably padded pews, brandishing bourbon aroma, exercising booze lit tears. Taper wax descends a candy wick delirium. Sobering sobs strip and humble us before a perforated Christ. Lips crucified in gloss. Carnations and chrysanthemums decorate our remembrance and close the casket of his time.

image and poetry © J. Gomez

 

More of J’s work: Irish Funeral and confetti and coffee

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The literati mafia

Memory’s phantom acquires its exit through an uninhibited window, silencing your time on this plane. The crying begins as recollections are held ransom behind tapestries, banging around the home of this grievance party. At 3 A.M. we arrested the clocks to signify when you passed between our two worlds. We sabotaged the reflection of our mirrors carefully under cloth, preventing your metaphysical residue from clinging to its earthly memories. Spirits spill sentiments between floor boards and brew aggression that brawls within broken glass. The party burned for two days and then laid his body to rest.

Columns of kin corrupt uncomfortably padded pews, brandishing bourbon aroma, exercising booze lit tears. Taper wax descends a candy wick delirium. Sobering sobs strip and humble us before a perforated Christ. Lips crucified in gloss. Carnations and chrysanthemums decorate our remembrance and close the casket of his time.

image and poetry © J. Gomez

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Benzodiazepines

Imagine by Sammy Slabbinck

 

Benzodiazepines
Higgledy-Piggledy Sleepwalking

I am allusion, illusion, a figment of beautiful:
yesterday’s forty-ninth parallel, the anniversary
march of one thousand predestined millenniums yet to be.
I am the distance between a lone point and a counterpoint:
righteous red dissidence. When dark, I am the cosmic weight of
an imploding black star and the buoyancy of nothing, the
separation immeasurable, its equivalency:
the gravity of silence — heavier than Uranium,
the element of unfounded intention that eludes the
square seventh face of a cube and the fourth primary color.

 

Copyright © 2018 Mia Pharaoh. All rights reserved.