Posts for June 29, 2021 (page 6)

            –    A cento, after Howard Ashman’s Beauty and the Beast

Once upon a time, in a faraway land—
 
The Prince sneered at the gift;
he tried to apologize, but it was too late.

                 ~~~   ~~~   ~~~ 

Little town—it’s a quiet village;
every day like the one before.
No matter what the pain
we’ve come this far.
That’s not a nightingale, and not a mating call:
You are a part of this idyllic scene…

all that love implies:
To have someone understand
I want so much more than they’ve got planned.
But I know that I can’t
solve my problems going back. 

Is this home?  If anyone
can make the most of living here…
everyone’s awed and inspired by you
and it’s not very hard to see why.

Now the wheels in my head have been turning
and right now I’m evolving a plan:
I simply made one careless wrong decision
suddenly those good old days are gone.
Flabby, fat and lazy,
you walked in and oops-a-daisy!

              ~~~   ~~~   ~~~ 

Long ago I should have seen
all the things I could have been…
a few days more…
there may be something there that wasn’t there before.
The day we have waited for may be at hand!
I’ll be human again. 

Your check-in time’s noon;
the time is opportune.
Ever just the same—ever a surprise—
ever as before—ever just as sure; 
no spell has been broken,
no words have been spoken. 

So it’s time to take some action, boys.
Say a prayer, then we’re there
(if only I’d come here sooner).

This is all that I need
and all that I need to say:
Don’t you know how you’ve changed me?
Certain as the sun
rising in the east. 

        ~~~   ~~~   ~~~

Beauty is found within
for all time.

Praise to the rat-king spiral,

When gray replaces
Blue
Sky through the chapel window,
Reset
Happens over mountains,
Over desert,
Over heart,
Seeking in silence—
Through thoughts that cloud
And jostle in the mind—
What the gray might
Mean.

Loose ends tied.

Tripping over strings hidden in the dark.

Turn on the light, turn into the light,
And the frayed ends knit together into a more beautiful tapestry.

Needle stick finger pricks,
Blood-letting over patterns that can only be seen when held up to the Son.

Shed the tears.
Shed the fears. 
Shake it all out and breathe.

Half-dollar in size,
baby slid-
er turtle—oh my!

This was the day of the lost earring,
my favorites I’ve worn everyday
for a decade, silverbeaten discs
from Oaxaca, which I’ve prized
like breath itself.  Last night
one fell off the table, and no
amount of feeling under the bed
turned up anything but dust.
During the night, re-living
Ellen’s irretrievably lost Mikimoto
ring bouncing on the kitchen
floor, I feared this too, like Ellen
and her ring, would be forever gone.

After my all-night restless plotting how
to replace it, next morning, lugging
the heavy terracotta lamp, then emptying
and scooting the Mexican table, down
on hands and knees, sliding my palm
over layers of lint, there it was,
glowing like a treasure.

I am like the moon
My heart a dark circle
Full of longing for the light
Causing even my face to shine
Into the night which can barely
Contain its stars

cotton flapping in the breeze
a single white handkerchief on a clothesline
a scrap of hope for the long summer