A journey rendered, framed, and set
as plaster comic book panels.
Flip through the Way of Sorrows.
Peruse condemnation to sepulchre.
No matter the church, I found and compared
each episode through ten-year-old eyes
that scrutinized every detail.
Digested the mechanics of suffering.
These fourteen were my first gallery.
A restated traffic jam of nudity and frozen
sadism that floated above me as priests spoke
of love, faith and doing unto others.
I recognized violence when I saw it, the cruel
slapstick in the mortification of the flesh.
Thorn in brow, nail in palm, scourge on back.
Gladiatorial voyeurism. Masked in reflection.
A harmless window peeper
That is what Madeline thought
She gave the man many chances
Kept his voyeurism to herself
No sense in bothering others
Not worried, she continued working in her home
On Tuesday she disappeared, due to the window peeper
He is peeping into another woman’s window now
In shadows unseen,
Eyes seek forbidden secrets,
Curiosity's gaze.
Sparrow sneaks up on worm in wet grass
Oak watches, tries not to smirk out knothole
Spring is such a marvelous season for voyeurism
Bright yellow daffodil leads the parade of flowers,
Pushing up two seconds after last bit of snow left.
I am careful to mow around her, not wanting another death
Tonight we will be listening to Roger’s folk songs
The neighbors will congregate on our stoop
We will be sharing food, and laughing
Lettuce salad will be the main course
I will not add meats, but they will be available
I like being a good hostess
We never thought April would arrive, and here she is.
A fat robin hops up to the railing, stealing Shark’s food
Watch out, I think. Shark, our cat, has earned her name.
My willow tree branches wave a friendly hello
I begin to garden, not planting yet, but tilling
A red tulip nods to me from the corner.
Before I know it the lilacs will be in bloom.
They are already budding
I can hardly wait until tonight. Let the dancing begin!
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXIII
IF ever I had a country re-made by the Revolutionary
And if ever I were that Corsican Napoleon who appropriated the Apollonian sanctuary " gymnase " and the " lycée "
I'd let no fifteen-to-eighteen year old lycéen or lycéenne barricade the portals of their holier than holy Athenian lycée to camp on rubbish bins en grasse matinée
Luscious objects of voyeurism for the highly titillated TV-public and the uniformed police and grande armée
But, believe me, I'd stuff these nubile kids in the plastic garbage cans and seal them all air-tight with searing burners, yes, Sirée
And then let their cohorts yellow-jacket teachers all products of the Sexual Revolution generation torch the bins and choke in the resulting chemical fumée
Yes, Sirée, that's what the present Philosopher-King ought to do before he too joins or already joined the ranks of the revolutionary sexually-emancipated lycée
And even if I never ever were tutored in no lycée blessed by Apollo of Lykeios in gaie migrant-purée Paris
© T. Wignesan - Paris, December 8, 2018
Don't buy it,
Scatter the wishes,
However (desperate and maligned),
For all of them,
The (murmur) and the (mesmerized),
Youth-paid homage,
Ill-afforded, unattended and
Graciously subversive,
By aged animals nodding
Approval against the (backdrop)
Of their worst intentions,
Hope that eloquence, depth,
Perceived connection and
Immersions of familiarities
Will get everyone laid,
Plush boy smiles, admits his
Voyeurism needs polishing,
(Languishing),
Sip from scourge's
Crystal goblet,
Teardrops by the glassful,
Ah, the epiphany,
It's a gay quorum,
A foreign swath of fashion sense,
Pickled on the petunia,
The green, sunny willow,
Swaying, to drunken breeze,
And smiles, complacencies,
At least they have
The good (sense) and fortune,
Rouge, textured rhythms,
Bass-plucking fires,
Snapping horns dotting the air,
Straight mutes coddling
The wicked goods,
And snare and pound,
The beat drives straight,
No need getting off,
When you're on baby!
(6/27/05)
It is self tormenting
and arguably a case of poetic voyeurism
I do not like muses
I like them closer than that
no definition, just being there
the style, the perfume
and art of a persona
sitting next to me, talking
while I, for a brief span of a second
close my eyes and reopen
in an intellectual daze
Two shadows collide with passion
Under the watch of a luminous eye
Trees sway back and forth to hide their voyeurism
The wind whispers to the sky of this affair
Chatty Cathy crickets gossip to the stars
The earth is listening
Nature knows a new life will soon begin
Incognito.
If I could travel the world in shadows
Think of the things I could see
A fly on the wall incognito
A chance to re write history
Shall I sneak through the corridors of power?
Listening in on our leaders so true
A ghostly knight of shimmering honesty
A sense of clarity for me and for you
I will spend all day at the fun fair
Sneak in the hall of mirrors for free
A thousand different reflections
But not one of them ever shows me
I could parachute straight into a circus
Camouflaged as clown or a bear
Perform all the tricks for a roaring crowd
But no one would even care
I shall run naked through the streets of my city
All laughter and joy to be free
I will mock all the crowds in the rat race
Bound up in their clothes and misery
The temptation to peek is a strong one
Must be wary and always take heed
Do not take advantage of others
Voyeurism not part of my creed
When I travel the world in shadows
Ill tell you all the things that I see
No need for a cloak or a magic ring
Because nobody ever sees me
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