Modern Man

Brassaï • Notre Dame Gargoyle-Paris, 1932

Source: afrouif

Brassai and His Conversation with a Gargoyle, 1932

Tucked into Paris between the two world wars

You came to me with the bright lights twinkling on softly rising city noises

And caught me in my common pose rain worn contemplative knowing nothing and everything

Yes, the photographer cried-

I saw this immediately the flash illuminated everything and nothing of you

How can that be old roof top friend that I only think of you in the rain

When in my grainy photo you are always here

-Skye

Artist/Work: Alexander Calder, from the “Circus” portfolio, 1964 Source: museums.msstate.edu

Timing

Catch me like there is no net My dear I am counting on you

I am the first of us to Let go

To believe With outstretched Hands

In the moment One reaches For love

Timing is everything A net will not Stop the fall

Hearts still Break.

-Skye

Image information: Adam and Eve, 1533 by Lucus Cranach the Elder Medium: Oil, Wood Source: lucus-cranach-the-elder

Paradise Lost

It was told that the serpent Tricked the woman And the woman bewitched The man Into losing paradise

In truth the animals were Satisfied With their innocence

The snake likely wandered into the tree To sun itself in the high branches

The woman was not satisfied She was curious and clever She knew the snake was suspected Of many things

Her favorite mouse was missing The blue birds cried over lost eggs

She stole the fruit And blamed the snake for her Nascent sin

She involved the man Drawing him tighter to her Pressing knowledge into his hand

And it was she who smiled softly as God Released them from the garden And gave them the whole wide World.

-Skye

Image credit: Pat Lillich Source:thenightwhisperer.

Two-Faced

Assemblage of bone and sinew Careful crafting Of hide

I see you Looking out of the eye holes

And know death.

-Skye

Source: visualstatic101

Tides

Mooring lost Battered upon the sharp reef I could only be counted as flotsam A bottle with no message Driven out into a howling sea Without a cry

Stranded in this bottle I lost the sea Peering out through the wavy glass I saw nothing I felt nothing So fearful was the loss

The bottle has long broken There are bits of sea glass That can’t cut anyone Even me Scattered now Among my bones

You ask me to examine them now These old hurts and betrayals I see only soft light The kind you find both at dawn and sunset

We are all subject to the tide I suppose, It steals our voice and brings it back again.

-Skye

Image Source: Brassai, circa1946 Source: letaobloquista

Brassai Roaming Paris

After the churning of buildings and bodies After the round ups of 75,000 Jewish citizens After the ovens to the east stopped their burning

The streets were swept The babies boomed And lovely ladies once again wore real silk stockings

You saw them stop for moment

The baby was sleeping

The headlines were posted Every word shouting LARGE FONT BLACK and BOLD

“Francais! Reveillez-vous!” “Aux Hommes d’Ordre et de Bon Sens”

She gave his arm a Contented almost sleepy Squeeze

Politics was politics again Life was life again

The baby woke up and began to cry.

-Skye

Image credit: Stephen Shames, Asleep in Car, from series Outside the Dream Child Poverty in America, c.1985 Source: letaobloquista

American Dreamer

The mist on windows hides the grubby face Lit softly in some dream

Big dreams Among the brown bags And beer cans

The rusty sagging car A leaky vessel For anyone’s dreams Big or small

I turn my head Going by.

-Skye

Image: “Horizons” by Armando Veve   Source: Inland-delta

Viridius

Vigorous with damp And rot Life comes through me

Even yours

Come to the water’s edge And throw in Your virgin

Death and Life Life and Death

Seasons and circles Moon coming and going

Men tremble and fear

Crops fail to come Babies sicken and die Game is spare And the winter long

Men see little

Know less Than I

Come to the water’s edge And throw in Your virgin

Worship how you will It makes no difference to me.

-Skye

Image Source: Mykukla

Defining Cleopatra

Glory of her father Princess Goddess who loves her father Pharaoh Mistress of Caesar Whore Eternal love of Marc Antony Beloved Enemy of Octavian Foe

Framed by the men in your life You are seen most clearly in the Cobra you pressed to Your breast To escape them.

-Skye

Sacrament of the Sick

Somewhere north of midnight the priest’s prayers flicker through the hall a verse for each bead on the rosary twisted in your fingers a forgiveness for each sin real and imagined 

I have morphine and lorazepam I have a few precious minutes to wait with you

Yet It’s the priest with tired old prayers and absolutions in pleasing baritone that stills your thrashing that quiets your moans 

I don’t understand this young man in the cassock who will never wear a wedding ring bathing you in ancient words perfect in their cadence never straying from the book held absently

When you join him your weak voice dragged up from ether

I mouth quietly The relic of childhood Effortlessly bubbling up to join you

Yea though I walk through the valley of death…  -Skye