
“Storm Warning” by Marjorie Cathcart
the storm comes
wind roars in the ears
heart afraid
of itself
we all make our own weather
and suffer the tears
(my first attempt at shadorma)
“Storm Warning” by Marjorie Cathcart
the storm comes
wind roars in the ears
heart afraid
of itself
we all make our own weather
and suffer the tears
(my first attempt at shadorma)
Stage Backdrop – Image by EveyD
born in the theater wings
baptized in greasepaint
brought up to believe
all that mattered was
ever the play
learned her lines every
nuanced direction of script
trod the boards tripped
the lights earned applause
from the play
died among rose bouquets
taking her curtain calls
makeup run ruined by tears
missed a genuine life
for the play
“Sacrifice” by Yvelise Holopherne
velveted sword
ceremonial murder
arranged in a
drama of dreams
hoary beards
catch the chants
of robed secular priests
dour figures
fulfilling old prophecy
black moonless sky
drips its ink upon
penitent heads
writing futures on
tonsures of time
each tattoo of tomorrow
a warning
burned into the skin
of the psyche
which one will rise
to the challenge
of ritual
take the soft blade
to the neck
laying claim to
the title of sacrifice
saving his brethren
from trial of judgment
(Regarding the play by Peter Shaffer)
tangled irrational
worship of godhead
a madness of manes
leaps from Homeric
dreams of pathology
hoofbeats of midnight
sleek flanks handsome
naked and glistening
gallop the portentous
path of the moon
immature ill-informed
boy-king passions
libido and liturgy
twisted together reins
fouled by psychosis
played out beneath
twelve equine
innocent eyes
misperceived in
dark mirrors of guilt
baleful judgment
deserving the strike
of a spike as the blind
violent price for their
view of the soul
high drama of dreams
raising heroes unable
to stand light of day
bold fictions of bravery
written at close of
desultory hours in
gushes of wishfulness
subconscious figments
arranged in a storyline
wanting of flesh-blood
experience something
beyond the ephemeral
meekness embarrassed
by mark of its virtue
how fine it would be
to feel courage surge
up with a fiery urgency
burning real bones not
mere props of a play
that would have them
performing a sleep-dance
of valor in face of that
deepest of fears the one
holding forth death in the night
every man needs his dreams
they instruct him allow
him to practice becoming
then being some other man
someone who somehow
is higher and more than he is
(Regarding Anton Chekhov’s “The Cherry Orchard”)
succulent orbs
all at once
sweet and sour
in serfdom
of orchards
both comic
and tragic
hardwood soft
with pink
blossoms
disturbed by
white frost
warm affections
confuse cold
resentments
the arrival of
lonely departure
attuned to sharp
crack of the axe
microcosmic
idealism faced
with futility
harvesting change
transformation
mimetic of
social upheaval
a clash of passé
brittle intellect
stoic pragmatic
with uncertain
interlude leading
toward no one
particular vision
of what could
emerge from
the arable soil
of rich discontent
the ‘new man’
ancient dysfunctions
free will and family
accursed by fate
kings and killers
move blind to the truth
their sharp limitations
the weakening flaws
human character
suffers in every age
eyes as useless for sight
as the mind is for wisdom
the soul for its grace
when abuses of power
ensue tragic politics
leaving no path to
redemption save exile
life among myths offers
no one the hope for
catharsis in irony
we are part of the play
even as we hide
alone in the shadows
candled footlights reveal
our mind to the ten
thousand eyes of the room
our unspoken speech
heard in heads
nodding knowingly
actors often perform
most profoundly
when silent as stone
stories tell of themselves
upon faces who live
unaware of the show
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
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I am where the valleys are deep, the mountains are high, and the wind moans through trees...