Fireflies

I read in the news
That fireflies are diminishing.
On the banks of the Mekhong River
You can barely catch a glimpse of their stars anymore,
Swimming through the breathing night.
There are now so many artificial lights that
They can no longer find each other
And sail onward, signaling frantically.
A hundred ships passing,
Lost in the glare.
Sometimes I just don't bother with putting on lipstick
Before leaving the house these days.


c. 6/3/10

Making Aphrodite, or, A Recipe For Disaster

"poikilothron athamat Aphrodita,pai Dois
doloploke,lissomaise,me m'aisaisi med onaisi damna..."*

The rooms become aquatic,
High heat and holy days,
Scent fills the house;
A wave cresting and cresting.
Fish explore the furniture,
Pearls set up shop in tea cups,
Octopi move into the dishes in the sink.
It all boils together--
Semen and tears,
That dash of blood salted with the doom of Gods;
Leaving us unmade as the beds we depart,
Smelling of oceans,
The sheets turned to shrouds in their bare awkwardness.



*
"Ornately throned deathless Aphrodite,
wile weaving daughter of Zues,
I beg you, don't overcome my spirit
with pain and care..."
Sappho 1


c. 1/23/10

Gang members steal puppy

This was actually the headline in my morning paper today. Wtf. This is like some made up scenario you'd use to describe what some dastardly gang would do in a 1900's caper. Are they The Riverside Puppy Snatchers? Do they stomp and daisies too? And wear big black mustaches that they twirl while chuckling maniacally? Seriously, who steals a puppy? I hope they take good care of it....

Love and the Chicken

Dear Mr. Chagall,
What does the chicken have to do with love?
It is always there,
Peeping slyly from behind the flowers
While the lovers embrace on their golden clouds,
Or carrying them on its broad downy back.
How does it figure into this high-wire flying act
Or the raveling-up of arms
Against the vermilion night?
The goat is there too,
Un-effacing and debonair,
Musical as well,
With a knack for well timed bouquets.
I'm so confused,
Bumping into birds and fish,
The lyric scope of the moon
And the angels, adding to the clutter;
Wondering why everything's so beautiful,
Even chickens,
And two happy strangers,
The world just wrapping its arms around them both.

c. 11/3/09

Huh

Since I named this blog I've been seeing curlicues everywhere. Case in point.

Because we all write pretentious poetry about our favorite artists at some point:

van Gogh

They say he went mad at the end.
Absinthe,
Or the sting in his paints.
I think it was the world.
The unsurvivable beauty of it,
Air three inches thick,
Stars bursting into bloom,
The incandescence of hay.
Who can survive this blaze,
Chewing and chewing the meat of the sun?

For Love or Money

"Every artist once was an amateur."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

A friend of mine, during a conversation about life in our respective fields, reminded me of the definition of amateur that I'd forgotten. I knew that it referred to someone unskilled or untrained at their craft. A pastime, an unpaid pursuit, a recreational activity, someone who dabbles; such words are frowned upon, or at least looked down the nose at, by most people. They are also often used in conjunction with fun. Hmmm.
My favorite part is that translated from French the word means “lover of” and from the Latin amatorem (nom. amator) meaning “lover” or amatus pp. of amare “to love.” In other words (according to Webster) “one who performs for pleasure rather than money.” For the love of it. We are so rarely encouraged to do something simply for the love of it. We must, excel, or win, or make lots and lots of money, (which hey, who doesn’t want that?)
I’m going to try doing things just because I love them for a while. This means trying to audition for plays (eek), painting (I don’t know how), and blogging ( I now succumb.) And of course trying to write because I like to, not because I want to be J.K. Rowling. Sadly I somehow have to reconcile all of this with obtaining a steady paycheck and winning bread. I’ll attempt to ruminate on that here. Oh you lucky reader you.