by regina osgood stapledon
pictures by rhoda penmarq
poem
the universe is a fading rose trembling on ballerina toes plucked by invisible hands and tossed upon windswept sands
the sands are our immortal souls disappearing down black holes never to be seen again until the dreamer wakes - o when?
when will the sun return? when will the tower burn? when will the trees walk? when will the grass talk?
when will wise men climb down from the walls and listen to the rain as it falls washing away their prophecies like dandelions laughing in the breeze?
*
the flower
after the storm of passion - after the rainfall of lust - the solitary flower stands still in the shiny dust
the smirking sun is rising - clenching its fiery fist the flower can only await its fate unable to turn or twist
the tiniest bug can scamper away the smallest bird find shade the flower can only await its fate an unchaperoned maid
*
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2 comments:
hmmm... even god himself couldn't be such a fatalist!
:)
is this regina trying to tell something to crow?
crow thinks this new god should have at least three eyes while it's got just one... half opened...
but who can deny the beauty of expression here... both in words and pictures...
Yes, nicely done regina and rhoda - I'll never look at a flower the same. helpless temptress, made of velvet and pollen and paint - what a fate!
Thanks for the poems.
PG
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