It Sounds Kooky, I Know

RDP Friday: KOOKY

Day (Le Jour), from the series, Dreams (Songes), plate VI
Odilon Redon1891

 

My foundation is cracked

my joints are failing

the windows to my soul are growing weak and dim

sometimes when people look at me, they draw back and walk around me

some of them make the sign of the cross, or whisper to their God to help them move

faster along their way.

 

Do you know that they are smart and sensible?

I’m a living, breathing haunted house

who takes the train to work everyday

and faithfully walks her dog, even in the rain and the snow

because he loves it.

Umberto Boccioni, Dynamism of a Woman’s Head

The Voiceless

RDP Friday: Voiceless

Photographer Unknown

 

We were standing, face to face, noses touching at the top of the attic stairs.

 

He could have pushed me down, I could have pushed him to the side and we both could

have been on our way, two determined souls who just wanted to get back to our rooms

where would would be safe and warm

instead standing in an empty windowless hall

whith a chill eating away at our bones.

 

I stood as quiet and as still as one of the cemetery angels

at the end of the driveway outside

and he stood as unmoving as one of the corpses in a box

guarded in all of it’s darkness,  deep underground

by a cemetery angel at the end of driveway outside.

 

Moonlight Path ~ Gertrude Abercrombie

 

Unvoiced

This exercise posted here in part from: Mbarker exercise: FINISH THIS POEM

How would you complete this poem? (Aside from the obvious answer of “I wouldn’t complete it. It’s dribble!”) By the way, I did have a title for the poem as well, which I include with it, though there is not much insight into the poem from this title. So feel free to come up with your own title. Change it anyway you want. This is an exercise. Nothing more.

Yours, etc., Jackson

There on the cloistered balcony he sits, draped in a hairshirt robe with matching slippers, eyes blurred by the pillow primordial, by the visions of brown study, lips even now burning from the coals, potted as a sun-baked fern, feeling his thoughts through quill-calloused hands.

This statue depicts Saint Bartholomew, an early Christian martyr who was ALLEGEDLY skinned alive. If you look closely, you’ll notice that’s not a robe that he’s holding. It’s actually his dissected skin hanging around him. This statute is by Marco d’Agrate, c.1562.

My response:

There on the cloistered balcony he stands

draped in a robe falling gracefully above his uncovered hands

eyes unshuttered by a small dull blade,

lips forever burning from unsent screams

his nightmare captured forever in marble and stone

a tribute to God a horror to some.

Stormy Ocean

RDP Tuesday: LOOK UP

Claude Monet
The Wave

My Dad used to say:

 

Don’t look up

don’t look down

don’t look over there

look at me!

Wipe that look off of your face.

 

Now.

 

Don’t look up

don’t look down

don’t look over there

look at me

and wipe that look off your face

who do you think you are-

smart ass kid.

 

Confusion is a stormy ocean

and all of these years later I am lost in it

and I am still

looking for the shore.

Claude Monet
Storny Sea