these radiating, seemingly
endless rows of dust-choked porticoes
in the bustling Roman forum.
Receding to the vanishing point:
sun-drenched streets,
Ways to, hours for due mythology;
busy temples; gleaming marble columns;
massive, stone arches rising through
the wafting dust, through climbing, curling
shafts of dark, fragrant incense;
a general push and shove;
all the chaos and clamor
that any self-respecting business man
could ever hope to bring to bear.
But then, suddenly, an uncanny silence
descends upon all and sundry:
resultant astonishment, utter amazement
on every upturned face around.
Then a deep, mighty rushing.
Sound and fury, to be sure,
but those like the fearsome clapping and
booming of rolling thunder itself, like the
wild, uncontrollable crackling of lightning itself.
A deafening wind howls and wails.
Eyes finally see.
Unstopped with lies,
ears finally hear.
Warmed with love and reason
the human heart once again
beats with human feeling and compassion,
with perspective and saving Knowledge.
Categories:
porticoes, philosophy, religion, symbolism,
Form: Prose Poetry
Barren of People
Some people are so empty within
Do they hear the echo of the fallen footfall
There are museums without many statues
Grande they are standing with outstanding
pillars, porticoes and rotundas.
In the courtyard a fountain leaps and flows
back into itself
Some say they are nun-hearted and are blinded
to the worlds;
Like their marble lilies as they
Exhale their pallor of an enchanted scent.
I have envisioned myself with a great public eye
of style;
Many mothers were of Nike and saw
several bald-eyed Apollos.
In view of the dead can sometimes conjure
and injure me with furrowed attention
Thus, nothing had happened
Alas, the moon lay a hand upon my forehead,
So they can blank-faced and mum as a nurse.
Written: Oct. 16/14
Theresa Marie C.
Categories:
porticoes, appreciation, art, beauty, mum,
Form: Free verse