Seventeen Sixty-three

Large jar containing smallpox vaccine — Unknown Photographer

 

Seventeen Sixty-three


Lies are hidden
Within the wide berth
Of the El and the Eyes.
Night’s naïve rhapsody:
Echoes, a distant beating drum,
Lub-dud, lub-dub.
Quieted by the deceptive mirth:
Of ill-rest and diseased conscience;
Allowing the plague —
Hatred, to set-in.
Infecting souls:
Baptizing with burlap and wool;
Burns — a brackish rite pool.

 

“I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: Oh Lord, make my enemies ridiculous. And God granted it.”
― Voltaire (Letter to Étienne Noël Damilaville, May 16, 1767)           
Punishment

Nirvana cover of the Meat Puppets’, “Lake of Fire                               Sanctuary

** Featured Poet **

I was surprised when Ryan, of DAYS OF STONE, invited me to be his **Featured Poet** this month. It’s a privilege and an honor to be recognized by such a talented writer. I have the greatest admiration for Ryan and his writing abilities, he is able to make a line of text come to life. Ryan offers a strong body of work, his poetry is always captivating and heartfelt. Please enjoy exploring Ryan’s site, it’s one of my favorites and definitely worthy of a follow. ~ Mia

days of stone

This month I’d like to introduce you to the poetry of the incredibly talented Mia from Copper Cranes. For me, Mia’s writing is a shining light in the Word Press universe. Profoundly deep, intuitive, imaginative and so beautifully constructed, Mia puts her heart and soul into every post and writes without fear or compromise. But it’s something more than that. Despite the complexity of Mia’s ideas, she conveys her thoughts with a grace and elegance that makes you feel as if the poem was written for you alone.

Copper Cranes is bursting with some of the greatest poetry you’ll find on the Internet and well worth a look. In the meantime, please enjoy:

image

Ether

Lit my last cigarette
With a match
That could never be
Struck again.
I stood as black carbon
Final indifference —
Kerosene and gasoline;
Fanning the flames
Hiding high crimes
All the while
Whitewashing ugly…

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Oblique

A l’Heure de l’observatoire: Les amoureux, Man Ray 1932-1934

 

Oblique


Searching everywhere
For the color, Nothingness;
Fearful it shares shade
With the tint, Indifference;
Found standing beside — No More

 

“For in the end, it is all about memory, its sources and its magnitude, and, of course, its consequences.”
― Elie Wiesel, Night                                                                                                  
Desert

Video — “Man Ray — The Lovers”

When I think of Man Ray, several things immediately come to mind, his relationship with photographer, Lee Miller and his iconic painting, A l’Heure de l’observatoire: Les amoureux, (Observatory Time: The Lovers ).

In 1935 Man Ray wrote the following about the floating lips:

“It is at seven in the morning, before satisfying an imaginary hunger — the sun not yet decided whether to rise or to set — that your mouth comes to replace all these indecisions. Sole reality validating the dream, resisting awakening, it stays suspended in the void, between two bodies.

“It becomes two bodies, separated by a slender, undulating horizon. Like the earth and the sky, like you and me, as so like everything down to microscopic objects, invisible to the eye. The eye itself becomes invisible, just as everything that is too near, like everything that is too far becomes invisible. But your mouth that can come closer without losing anything, which makes itself felt more by coming close up to the intensity of contact, has no need to see. Nor need of light, the astronomical accomplice of time. Now time must go back to see things clearly, but your mouth does not tolerate removal, which stops it from seeing.

“No matter that I become blind — liberated from all concern with appearances, touch and speech will be my strengths. One can close one’s eyes in order not to see — one cannot stop oneself from feeling when one is touched nor from hearing when spoken to. Were it only the finger placed on it to stop it talking, the silent mouth must touch.

“Lips of sun, you attract me ceaselessly, and in this moment before wakening, when I detach myself from my body — I am weightless — I join you again in the neutral light and in the empty space, and sole reality, I kiss you with all that still remains of me: my own lips.”