ctheresa
03-21-2008, 11:58 AM
PRAISE
With no praise, it can seem
the sun only rises part way,
painting the sky with shy light,
and it seems that so many children
too soon forget how to play, when
there is no praise. Because, with no
praise, couples uncouple, trees are leafless
in Spring, the woman never finds her keys,
the man never dies peacefully. With no praise,
every dream drifts in search of its dreamer,
every breath fears for the next, every pearl
sticks to its bed. As with no peace, and no dream,
without praise the table remains cluttered
with yesterday’s news, dropped sugar,
the single crumpled napkin. The crow
waves only black-winged cynical views,
while the misunderstood friend won’t return
the girl’s favorite brown dress because
there’s been no friend. In a country where
newspapers are sold for bread, and hands
hang by a thread to the arms they belong to
because the instinct for belonging has
faded from the pages of people’s minds,
scarcity reigns. This morning I woke
inside this failure, this fractured bowl.
I felt the dismissal and lack of wonder
like beggars at my feet. Like infants
that won’t leave my dreams, because I keep
forgetting they are mine to feed—some know
how to speak, walk on their own,
appear as devil, or just a newborn with teeth.
I am waking late in their bed, the sun near
scorching the sky—its constant light
bleeding hopelessly along the untended yard.
Centa Theresa
www.centtheresa.com
Centa Theresa and C D Collins will be reading 3/30th
click link below for more info.
https://www.waccobb.net/forums/showthread.php?t=33468
------
Eclipse
Tonight a shadow covers the moon,
The shadow, just a shadow, the world.
The moon is full and singing its familiar song of O’s.
The voice vibrates in the hard cavities,
Until the planet seems to live.
There is a woman walking under the moon,
In the barren streets of the town,
As the shadow bites into the bright edges.
You could say:
This woman traverses the sky,
Long trails of light years,
Weaving themselves into her hammock.
You could say her heart was the moon,
Cold and bright,
Or her eye in one-quarter view.
Yet these are only images.
The light of the moon is a dust of glass,
Reflecting a distant star;
The moon’s surface slippery, like silica,
Faintly reflective, like volcanic sand.
You could say the moon always shows the same face,
As it revolves with the earth in the light of the home star.
You could say,
Yet this is only science.
The shadow muffles the light like a hand of smoke,
Until the voice is small, a reverberation.
She steps into a doorway out of the wind,
Listens as the voices rise from the craters:
Sea of Clouds, Sea of Showers, Ocean of Storms.
She hears the song about hushed deaths and persistent shadows,
The song about the seed that must grow,
To the size of a galaxy in one lifetime.
So that it may contain this:
Astonishing, temporary, illumination.
CD Collins
From her forthcoming book
Self Portrait With Severed Head.
www.cdcollins.com
Centa Theresa and C D Collins will be reading 3/30th
click link below for more info.
https://www.waccobb.net/forums/showthread.php?t=33468
With no praise, it can seem
the sun only rises part way,
painting the sky with shy light,
and it seems that so many children
too soon forget how to play, when
there is no praise. Because, with no
praise, couples uncouple, trees are leafless
in Spring, the woman never finds her keys,
the man never dies peacefully. With no praise,
every dream drifts in search of its dreamer,
every breath fears for the next, every pearl
sticks to its bed. As with no peace, and no dream,
without praise the table remains cluttered
with yesterday’s news, dropped sugar,
the single crumpled napkin. The crow
waves only black-winged cynical views,
while the misunderstood friend won’t return
the girl’s favorite brown dress because
there’s been no friend. In a country where
newspapers are sold for bread, and hands
hang by a thread to the arms they belong to
because the instinct for belonging has
faded from the pages of people’s minds,
scarcity reigns. This morning I woke
inside this failure, this fractured bowl.
I felt the dismissal and lack of wonder
like beggars at my feet. Like infants
that won’t leave my dreams, because I keep
forgetting they are mine to feed—some know
how to speak, walk on their own,
appear as devil, or just a newborn with teeth.
I am waking late in their bed, the sun near
scorching the sky—its constant light
bleeding hopelessly along the untended yard.
Centa Theresa
www.centtheresa.com
Centa Theresa and C D Collins will be reading 3/30th
click link below for more info.
https://www.waccobb.net/forums/showthread.php?t=33468
------
Eclipse
Tonight a shadow covers the moon,
The shadow, just a shadow, the world.
The moon is full and singing its familiar song of O’s.
The voice vibrates in the hard cavities,
Until the planet seems to live.
There is a woman walking under the moon,
In the barren streets of the town,
As the shadow bites into the bright edges.
You could say:
This woman traverses the sky,
Long trails of light years,
Weaving themselves into her hammock.
You could say her heart was the moon,
Cold and bright,
Or her eye in one-quarter view.
Yet these are only images.
The light of the moon is a dust of glass,
Reflecting a distant star;
The moon’s surface slippery, like silica,
Faintly reflective, like volcanic sand.
You could say the moon always shows the same face,
As it revolves with the earth in the light of the home star.
You could say,
Yet this is only science.
The shadow muffles the light like a hand of smoke,
Until the voice is small, a reverberation.
She steps into a doorway out of the wind,
Listens as the voices rise from the craters:
Sea of Clouds, Sea of Showers, Ocean of Storms.
She hears the song about hushed deaths and persistent shadows,
The song about the seed that must grow,
To the size of a galaxy in one lifetime.
So that it may contain this:
Astonishing, temporary, illumination.
CD Collins
From her forthcoming book
Self Portrait With Severed Head.
www.cdcollins.com
Centa Theresa and C D Collins will be reading 3/30th
click link below for more info.
https://www.waccobb.net/forums/showthread.php?t=33468