I have plagiarized myself to create this poem. Some of the lines come from other poems I have written.
The river tumbling south, a bluesman,
his guitar mutters to lovers under an August moon.
The sun rising, a red hand sliding up the dress,
sky blue tights over downy thighs.
Mist, water suspended, a spider stringing diamonds in the air.
The peppered sweetness of mango in curry.
The resonance of the Muezzin’s call to prayer – Azan,
the first call to a new day.
Bare feet in air-cooled grass.
The soothing swing of laundry on the line.
The final scene of La Boheme
the bittersweet beauty of death as art. . . .
great collection of imagery, unique but seem to have bond of commonality, maybe due in part to the poem’s consistent rhythm, pleasing to the ear, which even makes it seem reasonable that death as art has a beauty.
also: in the ongoing sychronicity of things: i was talking with another a few days ago about stealing from others, which i took from the film maker Jim Jarmusch’s quote, which is also a quote I use when talking about authenticity of one’s art:
“Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery – celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from – it’s where you take them to.”
LikeLiked by 1 person