The Eternal Critic
The light verses dark
and the smudged
and softened brush strokes
suggests to me it is, as always,
religious propaganda
of some sort.
Whether it is the nihilistic
take on the defeat of the
uncovered soul,
when subjected
to black magic.
(Very Faustian.)
Or, it could be a
nod to the alienation
effect.
This poor man
shielded himself,
but from what?
The naked
top of his head,
the abomination,
is sheltered with
a death shroud.
But, please, sir
Look above you
at the enigmatic
circular, chatoyant,
natation.
Or that hypnotic dance of heaven,
will be lost on every
untrained eye.
Just as it is unseen to
the foolish man who
only looks to his feet.
based on Flight of the Witches, by Francisco de Goya
Friday, April 9, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
-
Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
-
sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
-
Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
-
as I left the waterfront and I climbed up the sandy stair as always his brothers were first; to greet me. I've had past dealings with th...
-
Reminder "You do not seem to understand," they'd say "That rivers are wide, and are not so easily crossed, we fear, they ...
-
Private Edgar Perry for Edgar Allen Poe I reported for duty, a Bostonian, surly, moody, unsteady. Twenty and two, not eighteen, Yes, twenty ...
-
in August for John Keats I didn't die unrequited. I took a wife in August. My wife was wearing silky white shoulders holding out her bon...
-
The Anchor for Joel When love embarks, with its generating propellers slicing through the interminable oceans of imperfection that are, for ...
This poem confuses me and I don't understand it very well, but I do like how you've worded the final bit: "Just as it is unseen to/the foolish man who/only looks to his feet"
ReplyDeleteyeah, it's weird lol.
ReplyDelete