Psyché et L'Amour ~ William-Adolphe Bouguereau
To the core of the tree where remains the husk of onetime seed
Etched between rings zero and one the memory of need
Come knife-marks of lurid lovers exuding sap to flies
their bordello bodies writhe in funk and fecund fire
At the centre of the mind sleeps the all-seeing eye
While wide awake the reptile core lies coiled to justify
All our deeds and sowing seeds and ideas set alight
Poised to launch the wound-up spring of supernatural flight
At the centre of the world lies the soul of the last whale
Magma red in inky sea the eye that clocks the sail
Dragging in its frothing wake the crimes of all our futures
Propeller blade reminders, wounds not fit for suture
But the sowing hand is random like the leaves in autumn falling
And what stands now as fact was once a children’s rhyme
With words that wander in and out of sleep’s magnetic calling
and leave the pumping blood to mark the drumming time
down the winding stairs to where the waiting spectre whittles
effigies of you and me in honey sap entwined
tethered to the tree defined by chlorophyll and time
and all the whirling stars that mark our ancient sacred signs
and the bark that solidifies to blind the lovers’ heart-shaped hack
…a flesh wound healed too quick too late to warrant looking back
Etched between rings zero and one the memory of need
Come knife-marks of lurid lovers exuding sap to flies
their bordello bodies writhe in funk and fecund fire
At the centre of the mind sleeps the all-seeing eye
While wide awake the reptile core lies coiled to justify
All our deeds and sowing seeds and ideas set alight
Poised to launch the wound-up spring of supernatural flight
At the centre of the world lies the soul of the last whale
Magma red in inky sea the eye that clocks the sail
Dragging in its frothing wake the crimes of all our futures
Propeller blade reminders, wounds not fit for suture
But the sowing hand is random like the leaves in autumn falling
And what stands now as fact was once a children’s rhyme
With words that wander in and out of sleep’s magnetic calling
and leave the pumping blood to mark the drumming time
down the winding stairs to where the waiting spectre whittles
effigies of you and me in honey sap entwined
tethered to the tree defined by chlorophyll and time
and all the whirling stars that mark our ancient sacred signs
and the bark that solidifies to blind the lovers’ heart-shaped hack
…a flesh wound healed too quick too late to warrant looking back
The title for this piece comes from a sign I once saw in a Bookshop in Glasgow
7 comments:
The butterfly effect through time seems like the natural cake upon which civilization slathers its corrupting crust and calls it decoration. Fortunately civilization cannot decore-ate nature, it doesn't delve that deep.
Mirror Mirror...I love the way this works: it took me a few reads to get your digested interpretation of my half-baked idea... Spot on Dood! - I guess this is a good example of communication on a deeper level.
At the centre of the world lies the soul of the last whale ...
Yes indeed and the last dolphin too.
I've always liked that photograph of Dali you use as your avitar.
Welcome Sphinx - the full picture depicts Dali using his mustache as a fishing rod.
very talented. i'm still laughing at your comment just above. and you are right, the dude's comment was cuttingly insightful and regenerated your verses to a whole new level. now another layer of that funk and honey sap. in the final word of the final quatrain, i first read "sighs" for signs. don't know if that will move you in anyway, but i thought, it's another possibility, l'ennui that follows shallow sex.
If it reads that way to you Moineau then, once again, mirror mirror - interpretation is 90% of any work.
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