Love dragged its tail of pain,
its train of static thorns behind it,
and we closed our eyes so that nothing,
so that no wound could divide us.
- Pablo Neruda

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Shades of Waiting

Reclining Nude ~ Edward Hopper (1924 - 27)
Creative Commons

The woman has slid from bed to floor
as if her legs could not hold the burden of alone –
her head is bowed, she is still
waiting in shades of green and blue.

Or seated in a blue armchair near a window, 11 a.m.
she leans toward her view of the street below,
waiting in lemony sunlight, oblivious
to the grey shadows falling behind.

And the sky is blue with waiting,
While the end of season grass withers from green.

Now she is wearing a hat, drinking coffee
in a Laundromat, dark outside, a line of lights reflecting
and the empty chair is black, like the collar
and the cuffs of her green coat.

But later, she will curl her nakedness like parchment
around a pile of pillows in every shade of earth,
abandon her back to the onslaught
of lonely air, and wait for sleep, for death.

And the house is patiently peeling white,
As the curtains blow beige through an open window.


Meditations on the art of Edward Hopper, most specifically, the following paintings:

Summer Interior (1909)

Eleven A.M. (1926)

Automat (1927)

and Reclining Nude (depicted above)

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Love, herself, lay dying ~ A Sonnet

Day after day, day after day the same, — 
A weary waste of waters! still the breeze 
Hung heavy in our sails, and we held on 
One even course

The Voyage, Robert Southey

The Waste of Waters is Their Field,
Albert Pinkham Ryder (c.1880)
Photographer Margaret Bednar

Love, herself, lay dying, washed up
in the shallows of a false bay,
and we looked to find her traces
in the shells of our discarded days.

How wasteful seems the ocean,
how tasteless seems its salt,
when Love lies pale and forgotten,
weeds around her throat.

We once dreamed the voyage
could carry us, far away from all dispute;
our eyes once scanned horizons,
blind to the grievous promontories.

Love knew the uncertainty of truth
Before she flung herself in so deep.


Inspired by the art and poetry shared by Margaret Bednar in her Play It Again, Toads Mini-Challenge.