Picture source: Salvador Dali 1904 – 1989
Majestically striding to the edge of sun baked
sand like an hourglass held up by time,
she became still; her long legs equidistant
man lay heel to toe with a savage sun –
humanity encrusted with parched earth,
it had partially eaten him –
a dried out white dove clung
to an exposed ribcage; a much needed perch
for a wasted observer
tired of flying,
tired of singing,
lost in his search for peace.
Its feathers, etched from
fine, dried clay – were fissure
like veins devoid of faith – baked
outside of death,
badly in need of rest.
Her elongated shadow buried
them both before she knelt on the earth
for water to pour from dainty,
silver rivulets
that ran her body,
which was smooth
and flowing sand
he watched her rise,
striking the sky
with her cool, black silhouette
but on the floor it lay
outstretched – as an amber pool
of honey;
he placed in it his hand
to taste her
immediately, he was quenched, fed. Arid skin
of dust and clay fell away as did the shell of the dove,
which had replaced his heart –
its wings shattered
into a thousand pieces like baby soft powder
dusting the gritty, sparkling floor
in the breeze, billowing white clouds
conjured a magnificent
topaz bird; its plumage was a thousand lights
of peaceful nights held in its tail eyes
of beautiful iridescence –
tail eyes that had once glimpsed peace
in a thousand colours: turquoise, ocean green
and gold …
quill feathers wafted the zircon grains
of the sand, writing new rules,
posturing and reshaping –
beautiful but cruel foundations of peacock ore
too brittle to walk on, created swank waves
of peacock blues,
and it strutted till a thousand feathers
fell on the sand
to rise again as blood red poppies
that poured in an avalanche from the gaping
mouths of soldiers still inside tin helmets –
grown men like babes still fighting
inside their dreams
he tried to pick the wild flowers for her
but barbed, razor wire snagged
his crumbling fingers,
and hidden behind those were children’s faces
pressed against wire mesh
on the shores of green, unpleasant oceans
that gulped and gagged; force fed a rigorous diet
of helplessness and hope
each time sand was flipped inside the hourglass
he gripped her waist
but as his reflection caught on her glass bosom
it shattered her hourglass frame
she was released
a thousand more grains of sand
flowed like the salt
of his tears – sprinkled gently
from a watering can’s wise rose
trying to feed the presumption of green
leaves between his toes
his flaking sinews were drawn
to his chest; he wore a small hole
where the dove had nestled –
dust stung his eyes
before his tattered hand rose to form a bridge
that the sun rode across
to join him at his journey’s end
red jewel fish swam ahead of her
in shoals of beating hearts –
riders corralled the sand storm’s cloth
approaching like a whirling dervish;
her titian hair draped those black, almond desert eyes,
and their glinting sunlit flecks
consumed time in their frenzy –
she placed the convergence; a plump,
red heart
within his rib cage,
she was a belly dancer for a while
on the sand’s hypnotic gyrations
prompting creatures with a spin of time
to play music
inside of their shells
her lips were kissed by
one thousand butterflies, and her open palms
let loose a chorus of small white doves;
all of the notes to harmonise man’s discord –
all willing one more time to fly away
in a relentless search for peace and to sing
for another one thousand years –
time enough, she thought, before they’d need
a place to rest
In the 60’s, reading that would have constituted tripping. Dare I say, surreal?
Really nice, Anita
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Well surreal was what I was aiming for inspired by S. Dali. Thanks, Michael.
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Both he and the style his art epitomizes are favorites of mine. You definitely tripped the lights fantastic.
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Cool.
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I am more van Gogh and Klimt..oddly enough I never liked dali much but he seems to be growing on me, or at least the concepts, I prefer to read about than see lol…sometimes.
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I have enjoyed Klimtz without knowing it and just learned recently when I watched the great film, Woman in Gold.
But I love Dali & Escher.
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Yes I am a fan of Escher too. My sitting room has van Gogh and Klimt and if I was rich enough I’d fill the house lol
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Enthralling, Anita, and (yes) surreal. I enjoyed reading this.
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Thank you, Margaret for reading and glad you enjoyed it…given your skills.
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I loved the phrase “she came striding to the edge of the sun baked
sand like an hourglass held up by time.” It pulled me in. Beautiful.
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Lovely. I am glad of that. Thanks for reading, Rose.
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I see why your mother called you a “painter of poetry” — a title well deserved!
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Wow, thank you so much, Mary.
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This was a great read
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Thank you, Morgan. Glad you enjoyed it.
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You are quite welcome
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This is a very well executed poem, Anita: you have woven these surrel images together to create a poem which stands on its own merit. A difficult challenge and an enjoyable read.
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Thank you, Chris. I am glad it has been met with such good opinion.
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Amazing. A wild ride filled with incredible imagery!
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I was hoping for that, to do the concept justice. Than you.
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So beautifully penned. Speechless
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Thank you very much. I am glad you stayed with it.
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I admire Salvador Dali and his art is always so unique! Smiles, Robin
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Thank you for reading, Robin and glad you enjoyed it.
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Big fan of Dali’s work and your wonderful poetry! This one in particular! 🙂
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Thanks, syd.
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