(see the earth didn't turn upside-down with seven planets in Taurus [May 2000]) last week's romantic poem of the week (see the earth didn't turn upside-down with seven planets in Taurus [May 2000]) last week's romantic poem of the week
weekly (
philosophical of sorts) poem - http://neuage.info/textuality/poetry/weekly.html|
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As far as I could imagine
was never far enough
to place me here.
I was prospecting in a small town up north
(Papunyu in the Northern Territory)
The circus had left a small tent behind.
I peeked inside, looking for adventure.
There was a gypsy sitting naked in front
of a crystal ball she was fondling.
She had my portrait tattooed on her breasts...
it was impossible not to notice - even for a man.
She said my future was mapped in my hands
would I put them on my portraits
to know.
I remembered her from some distant shore
(when we were children it was her dolls
I had sacrificed to Aphrodite
during mass and she never forgave)
I didn't want my future told
I knew where all the doors were
AND THAT IS ALL ONE NEEDS TO KNOW TO GET OUT
As I left the tent
I felt Chiron's hot laughter behind me
and turned just in time to watch the tent
disappear into the screaming mist
Before long I did forget it all
until tonight when my concupiscent concubines
came home and said a gypsy was looking for me
to tell my future
she was no longer smiling.
Now I know it is my end because I sacrificed
to the wrong god so long ago
like all men do to bring about their end
Storiette #7 4-17-94 Victor Harbor SA
NEXT PICTURE POEM http://neuage.indiko.com/racehorse.html
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That rusted moment
too long in the rain
No shelter could be found to save it for now
When she said good-bye
I thought she was just going
to the afternoon's feminist rally
I even baked you some tofu cookies
('sorry the bottoms were burnt')
and ironed your culottes
('excuse the hole dear, I'm just a man')
But there was baseball on the television all that day - and football to follow
Of course no real man would join them
The beer was cold, the guys were over
the ladies were paid for...
How was I to know that their rally
was opposed to men taking a bite of life?
And that she would never return
Now I think of her and the '60s
the rallies, concerts, beliefs, rebellions
and our explosive experimental youth.
And those rusted moments
left too long out in the rain.
4-15-94 Victor Harbor SA
I crossed the border
under the cover of the storm
while nature battled herself.
Humans were not to be part of this possessed night
Her house sat past the clearing
I could hear her voice above the storm's scream
singing an old out-of-tune '60s melody
Between the shadows of the lightening
I could see her dancing in front of the window
She had thrown her clothing into the night
She looked as if she was having sex with the storm.
As I ran through the meadow a bolt of lightening
crashed through her window
and in her final moment
she caught sight of me and sang out
'Not tonight my dear
Not tonight
for now and evermore I belong to the storm'.
9-20-94 Victor Harbor SA
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I was surfing the local diabolical billabong
when first I saw her
sunbathing in the naked paddock
Her breasts like
two thirty-cent ice-cream cones
from a drive-through eatery
beckoning me to cloak her
with my righteous soul
to protect her from a rude mouthed sun
trying to melt her two thirty-cent ice-cream coned breasts
Then I awoke with my dog licking my face
and whining to go outside
Is this the legacy of Jung or Freud?
9-20-94 Victor Harbor SA
these and 700 other poems/songs/chants/lies/stories/fantasies etc. are in the shortened 700 thingie+ addition of THOUGHTS IN PATTERN copyrighted 1994 Saint Terrell (writings prior to becoming the respected academic socially corrected role model that I currently am acting out as Terrell Neuage here in Adelaide - The City of Churches)
this picture poem is 8 by 10 inch and is available from Terrell Neuage at terrell.neuage@gmail.com
To view a list of picture~poems now on line please go there
http://neuage.indiko.com/all.htmlOther poems:
COLLECTION ONE ~ COLLECTION TWO ~ COLLECTION THREEBegin World Wide Web poetry journey
~ BEGIN
Terrell eating corn in Clilfton Park New York 1952
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