In Deep

Source: visualstatic101

Tides

Mooring lost Battered upon the sharp reef I could only be counted as flotsam A bottle with no message Driven out into a howling sea Without a cry

Stranded in this bottle I lost the sea Peering out through the wavy glass I saw nothing I felt nothing So fearful was the loss

The bottle has long broken There are bits of sea glass That can’t cut anyone Even me Scattered now Among my bones

You ask me to examine them now These old hurts and betrayals I see only soft light The kind you find both at dawn and sunset

We are all subject to the tide I suppose, It steals our voice and brings it back again.

-Skye

Bioluminescence by janey-jane on DeviantArt

Source: deviantart.com

Milky Way

Hera

There is an old story of you Concerning one of the many slights Heaped upon you By that husband of yours

Cavorting with the mortals Sowing seeds in the dirt

Proudly he loved those mud children To your face

Once he even pressed one of his Bastards to your breast To feast upon you

You pulled away Your goddess milk spraying across the heavens New rivers of stars tangling in your hair

-Skye

Image information: Noonday Rest, 1877 by Rosa Bonheur

Midday

The midday sun breaks over the oak four cows and one black horse doze lightly in dappled hides

The crickets are quiet the breeze is drowsy leaving each cloud in its place

Everything waiting for the slipping sun to fall

A little

For the breeze to freshen

A little

Then farmer will emerge sleepy eyed from the cool root cellar and call his cows (and the one black horse) home for dinner.

-Skye

Brassaï • Notre Dame Gargoyle-Paris, 1932

Source: afrouif

Brassai and His Conversation with a Gargoyle, 1932

Tucked into Paris between the two world wars

You came to me with the bright lights twinkling on softly rising city noises

And caught me in my common pose rain worn contemplative knowing nothing and everything

Yes, the photographer cried-

I saw this immediately the flash illuminated everything and nothing of you

How can that be old roof top friend that I only think of you in the rain

When in my grainy photo you are always here

-Skye

Source: Darren Almond Refractive Index I, 2018 aquatint 18 ¾ x 16 inches edition 25

Refractive Index

Waking in a rumple of bedclothes With you And the morning sun

The suncatcher Spins slowly on radiator updrafts

Bending light Into broken kaleidoscopes That travel across our Mingled skin.

-Skye

Image Source: Headless-Horse

Early Morning Milking

Miguel Is there Turning on lights Cleaning teats

Full Udders Need to be emptied At 4 and 4 again

The farmer comes With the hay and the grain As his father did when he was The boy who cleaned the teats

At present he feeds the cows And Miguel Empties their udders

The farmer loves the barn The cows And his children Away at school

Miguel loves the barn The cows And his children so young and Far away In Caracas

Two men working together In the well-lit barn.

Image Source: Mykukla

Defining Cleopatra

Glory of her father Princess Goddess who loves her father Pharaoh Mistress of Caesar Whore Eternal love of Marc Antony Beloved Enemy of Octavian Foe

Framed by the men in your life You are seen most clearly in the Cobra you pressed to Your breast To escape them.

-Skye

Virtuous Love

Jean Ducamps, Allegory of Virtuous Love

On the American Gun

Bullets Chambered Rolling down barrels

Mowed down At desks covered in Transformer and Hello Kitty pencils Mowed down Behind the counter of a corner store Mowed down In the living room TV a flicker   Mowed down At a traffic stop bathed in blue lights

Everyone packing violence and old glory Red on White and blue

Our thoughts and prayers Raised up Respects paid in full

On the altar of the American gun

Broken dead Are everywhere Tangling on the On the wind Like flags at half mast Splashed in bright paint on grimy bricks Piled among wilted flowers and teddy bears Wet with rain

Unalienable rights Ravenous appetites Arms raised to the sky

Sacrifice Thoughts and prayers Sacrifice Thoughts and prayers Sacrifice

Bullets Chambered Rolling down barrels

-Skye

Plague Doctor

So here in the shining city on the hill we watched the broad plain with its shifting grasses always thinking the trouble would arrive at the gate announcing itself.

But no, it crept in in ones and twos broken glass lungs etched in X-rays seeping in under the gate.

We could not fathom the wave of misery that broke us open.

The burbling cry of wet breath that choked the air filling every corner.

We wailed for answers.

The plague doctor came surveying the heaps of dead plying us with platitudes and potions crying “Let them inject bleach!”

Pushing out the dead early in the morning I saw him shambling down the hill.

Empty eyes behind his mask and blood on his hands.

-Skye