I'm reliving a page long unturned in my mind.
I'm jerking off in my teenage bedroom.
I had seen my mother naked
in the shower…
just a mistake, a matter
of an unlocked fate - nothing really,
yet that image lingers on
as a gatecrashing life-video.
I have prayed to that blank-faced reaper,
(he with his darkly tinted tabula raza),
for a clean reset,
or at least a selective amnesia,
yet a visual memory will dissolve
only to reform again before my inner eye.
Ever since,
young Oedipus has begun to dig,
determined unto death to bury a vision.
Sixty years later
he is still hard at work.
mother naked oak
oversees pine forest
squirrel grabs plump acorn
twisting shimmering leaves
cottonwood feels magical
silver faerie titters
pine cone plop
fir tree scratches sky
snow lands gently
E mbers smoulder, earth sweats
M an thinks that he made progress
B atters and mauls he, the mother naked
R epreive from where else, does she get!
A tlases many, of 21st century we require, to
C atapult earth back to its pristine splendour
I n the hope to save diversity from extinction
N ature, else capable to rebalance ‘n upturn
G reenhouse gases already choking our breath!
E ach to promise to protect the mother earth
A need to conserve, and give it ‘n us a rebirth
R educe, reuse, recycle, there will be no dearth
T rees each we plant, ‘n protect them to a big girth
H urrah! We then continue to raise our net worth
Date: 5.7.2014
Abstracts hang:
sterling silver frames,
matted in motif,
celebrating Artist.
An exhibit, ten years old,
collects dust, forcing recollection.
The mortuary – Boyhood Curiosity.
Mother: Naked. Stretched. Stiff. Grey.
Tin baking dishes engulfed the counters.
Great aunts and second cousins crowded our sofas.
Somber chatter and pats on the head stung.
Clasping my girl’s hand, I twisted my door knob
quietly. Their chatter continued.
I escaped into her for my first kiss:
tear salt and cherry lip gloss.
Tuna casserole and ambrosia slopped
into lunch boxes. The cold steel of fresh
cut key tapped on chest, pulled the string around
my neck, leaving a rash. I walked into our empty house.
The walls echoed. Odor from cold spiral ham
replaced aroma of fresh cookies and oil paint.
Art followed Artist. Canvases were laid on the autopsy
table, framed for their wake.
Dressed in their Dynamic Blue,
Electric Lime and Habanero Red,
the dirging dead
hang on wall.