poemimage

The visual & the poetic.

Tag: mythology

The authorities & Mythical Zeus (a prose poem)

The authorities said we have your fingerprints.

Mythical Zeus said I am certain this is impossible.

The authorities said beyond any shadow of a doubt.

Mythical Zeus said I have no memory of being here.

The authorities said you have been here thousands of times.

Mythical Zeus, in flux like a wavery obsidian shadow, said I am certain this is impossible.

The authorities said we constantly retrieve your fingerprints, alongside other evidence.

Mythical Zeus said perhaps I know this location by another name.

The authorities said possibly you have forgotten, an easy mistake to make.

Mythical Zeus said why do you – how strange – you would speak to me of memory.

The authorities said possibly you have have been deceived.

Mythical Zeus said why do you – how strange – I am not aware of mistakes or deception.

The authorities said we can be of great assistance with this – with you – with clearing your name…

Mythical Zeus said I am on a search-party mission to rename & reactivate thought-forms previously declared abandoned & lost. And I am not lost.

The authorities, concurring, said we wish to save you from your illness.

Mythical Zeus said I am not aware of any illness.

The authorities, concurring, said please sign the form giving consent.

Mythical Zeus said what will be done based on my signature if I sign.

The authorities said whatever we deem consequently necessary to deactivate the current situation.

Mythical Zeus took a deep breath, diving like Johnny Weissmuller into the multidimensional ocean, on his search-party mission to realign & reassign thought-forms previously declared abandoned & lost. Alone, he did not feel abandoned.

The last line of the poem places the images in context. A figure in motion as if underwater in a multidimensional ocean. A figure suspended like an angel above a medieval landscape, swimming through the air.

It’s All Too Beautiful

Across the years I return again and again to hear The Small Faces sing Itchykoo Park. It all seems such a dream. Steve Marriott’s pleasure and Ronnie Laine’s pleasure and their back and forth expressions. Their Carnaby Street fashions.

I argue with myself and contrast realities. The rebellious joy in Itchykoo Park juxtaposed with Joos de Momper the Younger documenting great Babel. Soon to crumble. Soon to fall.

The laboratories & the madness of Babel. Soon to crumble. Soon to fall.

Orpheus, Eurydice, Hermes by Rainer Maria Rilke

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