In my faltered house
Valentine Melody Two
None of this will matter in a few days. The shape of curves corralled in a collar of seized love, the yoke of burdens better left to workers who show up well before the sun rises on their sorrowed break of fast. No one wants to be late for their own suffering, no matter what we call it: love, desire, token, the brittle things we learn to expect that come to mean something else. So who shall realign the wayward stars? You? Will you steer by the fat light left untended on the rocks to press your tender course against promises abandoned by an absent hand that once trimmed the lamp?
In a few days, none of this will matter. The excellent service, the muted resentment of waitpersons who check on your table as a viper checks to see if the poison has taken, the prime rib breathing its last in a shuddered foot. With luck, your eyes might catch a spill of fire and be fondly remembered in another woman’s in Sevilla, perhaps, or Verona, and it will all come back on brief legs that slide silently down the inside of a wineglass to dissipate and be swallowed by whatever kiss has then come calling. I did not make this so and you may well accuse me of being romanceless. But I would inconcur for this is romance with all its tenuous encryptions for which there is no primer, which one may yet speak with such broken eloquence as to excuse such barbarisms in a heathen bed and still praise hayworn gods in the dark. Let us call this a kiss.
Spit chocolate and sport blossomthorn for this is the only way we can ever say we lived it. Passing through it is not enough. We must allow love’s spider to strum its thin silk; find the trebled rivers of our deepest marrow and extract whatever wet light may yet remain. When I sleep, I want them all out; not a candle or a star left lit to arouse me. If you’ve practiced well, then you know this is the only way love may be summoned. A confection of silence sings sweetest on the willing tongue. This bitter poem then to prepare the way, for in my faltered house there are many sugars. None of this, in a few days, will matter. But today it does. Today, it does.
Joseph Gallo
February 14, 2007
post-time 3:34 PM
9 Comments:
I've come accross your blog at random clicking on the next blog bottom. And I'll come back to read much more when I get more time. Your list of links under the heading word is delightful!
Thanks for stumbling in, Jonice. Many of the links listed in my blogroll were found quite by serendipity and accident.
You wake up in the morning and your purse is magically filled with twenty-four hours of unmanufactured tissue of the universe of your life! It is yours. It's the most precious of possessions. No one can take it from you. And no one receives either more or less than you
receive.
[From Jonice's blogsite, "English Is Cool." Click on her name, folks--she's from Curitiba, Brazil].
Please visit again and thanks for your kind comments, Jonice. :-)
Joseph, the photos are stunning and lovely - what a treat.
And "a confection of silence" is the best thing I've read lately. It conjures up so much with just those few words.
billie
"A confection of silence sings sweetest on the willing tongue." Amen! That cloud photo is incredible!
To Billie & Sage: Thanks for your comments. It's nice to read what resonates and what just zaps. ;-)
None of the photos in this post are mine (which I usually don't do here), however, I've tweaked & tricked each one out in Photoshop, some more than others. I have images of my own, but these were handy and easy from my collected file.
A confection of silence: I don't even know what that means, but it was one of those many things that inserts itself into my work now and again. You both know what I mean, I'm sure. Good writers do. ;-)
A confection of silence... the beauty of it is that you have captured the essence of something many of us know but haven't put words to - I wouldn't try to explain what it means b/c you have placed it so perfectly in a phrase that I am not likely to forget.
You do this often in your writing - but sometimes one really really strikes me, and this one does.
billie
And they say jello doesn't stick to a wall. LOL Thanks, Billie. We do what we can do. (((hugs)))
Beautiful Joseph.
Thank you, Joni. :-)
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