Three Versions


Take one   [sonnet]

I set out riding once at dusk, by bike

riding a cemetery’s tranquil trails.

God’s wonders peeking forth from evening veils

I mused along vague themes:  Life—and suchlike…

Rounding one swift curve a vision assailed:

three nubile maids in nylon, fresh from the pool.

passing this trinity, I—the mad fool,

Beheld three graces; reverie prevailed.

Midst sepulchers I wondered at such sights…

Was I Paris?  dazzled by their beauty,

my mind’s eye grew distracted in duty.

The resurrection glimpsed: angelic sprites !

(the third go-by my thoughts fell down to earth;

carnal, I scanned their suits of flesh for worth…)

              

Take two  [rhymed couplets]

While I rode out one summer eve through a cemetery’s peaceful  cheer
I chanced upon three suburban maids in Lycra swimming  gear
fresh from the pool among the tombs… or fresh from the tombs to revisit earth?
Arrested now my thoughts, I passed in resurrected beauty’s birth.
My sight and mind strange tricks did play. I couldn’t believe my eyes
amidst the dead, upon green paths, I lingered on their graceful thighs.
I pedaled fast and asked the Lord: what brings such lovely damsels here?
Around I rode, then passed again. As visions surged, the heavens drew near.
A little further now they’d strayed from where I first had seen them. Then
their brightening smiles stopped time.  And so I passed them yet again…
Distracted now from holy thoughts  I mused upon their girlish faces
[Thus Paris faltered before the three, confusing goddesses with graces]
What led them thus to flit so much alive among the verdant graves?
A thousand questions surged that verged on blasphemy. Still Paris raves
of lissome bodies on the grass, the bright-eyed smiles of lovely lasses
naive in nylon innocence, like Botticellian trespasses
But they were simply walking home, and took a shortcut through the grave
and they were young, but now I’m old—and a dying renaissance knave.


Take three
 [haiku]

Early dusk graveyard:

Three nubile girls, wet swimsuits

Life resurrected 

Waiting for Resurrection

Waiting ForMagic

And when he came into the house,
he suffered no man to go in,
save Peter, and James, and John,
and the father and the mother of the maiden.
And all wept, and bewailed her:
but he said: Weep not; she is not dead, but sleepeth.

And they laughed him to scorn, knowing that she was dead.

And he put them all out, and took her by the hand,
and called, saying: Maid, arise.
And her spirit came again, and she arose straightway…

[from the Gospel of Luke 8:52-55, KJV]
Waiting for magic…
A man of the world, but lost in a dream / You look at something from a different angle
But I exist – I’m waiting for you / In a coffin made of glass
Kiss me baby I’m attractive Baby get to know me / Show who you are
Give me that music, baby I’m eternal /Lying in a coffin /Waiting for you
In your dream a girl is dancing close to you (that girl is me)
Once a witch made her sleep but a prince will wake her up (it’s you)
Kiss me baby I’m attractive Baby get to know me / Show who you are
Give me that music, baby I’m eternal / Lying in a coffin / Waiting for you
Waiting for magic… ♪♫♫
Kiss me baby I am Snow White sleeping in a coffin / waiting for you
Waiting for magic, baby I am Snow White sleeping in a coffin / Waiting for you
Waiting for magic  (it’s what I do…)
Waiting for magic…  (for me and you, ohhh – kiss me baby wake me up !)
Oh, Kiss me baby – wake me up
Oh, kiss me baby wake me up – come on baby…
Kiss me baby I am Snow White sleeping in a coffin / waiting for you
Waiting for magic, baby I am Snow White sleeping in a coffin / Waiting for you
Waiting for magic…

Why I like this text:
This song plays with themes of Snow White/Sleeping Beauty and enchantment but it can be taken further – to ideas of eternal recurrence, resurrection from the dead and the power of sublimated desire searching for the eternal feminine… all happening in the virtual discotheque of your mind.

I love Ace of Base. There is haunting melancholy in their lyrics, and depth to their songs under a seemingly superficial techno surface. It is conducive to a Nietzschean reading – but also lends itself to a Christian interpretation… in a disco sort of way.

Drowning vs. Dead

Rescue

It’s not  being given a lifeline at last;
bobbing in the swell, latching onto hope,
grateful the well-meaning rescue ship passed,
half-dead, but floating when they threw the rope.
It’s a different scenario—more vast
more madly stupendous, worthy of awe.
It’s a cosmic miracle unsurpassed:
completely defying your grasp: love’s law.
You were dead on the seafloor, waterlogged.
Crabs had drawn near as you rolled in the weeds.
Your heart was long cold, every chamber clogged;
the scavengers tearing where darkness feeds.
The first metaphor can be misconstrued
when God hauls you up, alive and renewed.

 

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