View all posts filed under 'Mineral'

Sep 21

Lighthouses on the Shoreline

Tuesday, 21. September 2010 20:00

the enso

A close-up view of the lighthouse at Verona Beach, New York, on the shore of Oneida Lake.

"The Lighthouse at Verona Beach" by marlowe

the poem

There is nothing before
there is one. We are taught
systems, each starting with zero,
ordering our lives in straight lines
that never intersect, parallel possibilities
we learn to design and then build.
We have read the ancient texts,
perhaps even tread the cobbled stones
paved by Roman armies, meandered
between Corinthian columns, or climbed
the Mayan pyramids, hoping each echoing step
brought us closer to our origins, closer
to a divinity we could not define
via mathematics. We push forward
like arrows, like trains whose brakes have failed.
As we outlined our borders, coloring
inside the lines, squares within squares
like nested dolls, taming
ourselves in our wild world, we erected
lighthouses on the shoreline
just in case we needed to know where
the beckoning waves ended.

Category:Ephemeral, Human, Mineral | Comments Off | Author:

Aug 31

Compilation #2

Tuesday, 31. August 2010 20:00

the enso

A crepe myrtle tree with pink blooms

"Pink Polka Dots" by marlowe

the compilation

We watched girls in white linen dresses tango in the twilight
while the ferns stood stiff as sentinels and each rose bud
opened to reveal a labyrinth. When we
constructed our truths as elaborately
as our lies, we found what we had been seeking.
Remember? You wrote: we are one.
The blinking Christmas bulbs teased us like
a lighthouse on the shore. A purring kitten,
a cooing dove. Yes, the white flash
of the mockingbird wings announced the illusion.
And the blinds waved in the wind, plastic tassels tinkling
like door chimes that tease us when we depart.
Counting cans of Campbell’s soup, you think of Warhol.
Boxes of Polaroids contain the overflow, the hallowed halls
of our memory, realities we since discarded.
We had planted yellow tulips at the mouth of the river:
a row of torches welcoming, warning. Their leaves
stretched like webbed fingers, like hydras, like tentacles.
Even the widow tree bent under the burden of our griefs.
No, we find what we are seeking by opening our hearts.
Three doves sit on a telephone wire against the turquoise sky
while a helicopter hovers, focused as a dragonfly.
You see the crepe myrtle with its polka dots of pink blooms
and the golden hues of a peach shine like the sunset
This green glass platter reflects a summer pool:
its ripples barely seen, its calm sheen too perfect.
And the swirling tea leaves in your dainty gold
cup? Caught in the tempest we delivered,
its fortune yet untold.

Category:Animal, Human, Mineral, Plant | Comments Off | Author:

« Previous Page — « previous posts
next post » — Next Page »