Underneath her checkered vest
she wore blue velvet
to the county parade.
The urchins cursed and stole
the holes in their pin-stripe suits
patched with tin foil,
little portraits of Jesus
being baptized by John
in the river Jordan
were painted
on their wingtip shoes.
If the masses prove less docile
more stringent measures could be applied,
the connection of the eyes
to the teeth:
a film noire
in which the elephant died
could be denied
Just before the storm troopers
landed in electric blue,
the old Woman donned her shawl
in the hot sun and said,
"who are they to tell me what to do?"
then continued on her way to the shed
where she poured the apple cider
into brown jugs
even as the black smoke rolled;
Maximilian's jails were full anyway
upon this fifth of May.
The members of the Club
adjourn,
discussing legal fees.
Genius lies drunk in the slum
of London mortified.
Hegel's redundant dialectic.
The diseases made easy decisions.
She borrowed the money
to bury the baby. At last rites
for the old man,
eleven people came
to stand abject in the rain.
There is much in the vault
unseen by the garish world
the mirror is tarnished
the reflections faded
arboreal transmutations,
harlequins without sound
drumming on concrete puddles
parasites pound on pores
promising Paradise.
distracted temptation
wretched flowers
comatose wrapped in paper
the hideous sound of disrepair,
yet Death itself is none of those.
the young children clap their hands
the old men forget their mortality
for a while,
young girls catch the eyes of boys
and smile
while conclusions
congeal
in the detritus of the county parade.
Author notes
Urrr. Among other things, the 5th of May is Karl Marx's birthday. Not that that has a lot to do with this particular poem. At least I don't think so, but I may be wrong. I Often am.
Written May 9th, 2006
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What Marx actually said:
"Religious suffering is, at one and the same time, the expression of real suffering and a protest against real suffering. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people."
for more, check "Opium of the people" on Wikipedia
I've bookmarked this for further reading, and will be back to say more. Just for now, I found it very interesting. -
She wore blue velvet...Maximillian, Cinqo de mayo, Mark...quite a mix. It rambles like a parade. Stand on the corner watch each section come by like floats.
Okay, I can't figure it all out. Is there an ALL to figure out? Or like a parade does the enjoyment come in segments...
Hey look at the urchins with the Christs baptism painted on their wing tip shoes!
D -
Loved it all except the third strophe (if the masses proved...). In my opinion your ideas here could be made clearer.
Regards,
Maria -
Is that true that only 11 people showed up? -
Gets better sounding with each read - and more sinks in though probably not about Karl Marx (though I do really like the new Springsteen Seeger sessions) cause I really don't know lots about him but still, you can feel it. Funny when you first read something and go "I can't get it - its too much" but then if you say breathe open and relax - read it again and BOOM stuff seeps right in -- through the eyes, nose, mouth, ears. And the words kinda get smoother or washed or maybe that is One's understanding of what they are reading, I do not know.
I'd like to be the first to thank you generously for your very clear Author's Notes. Most helpful. Definitely.
Lisa -
good poem
In regards to your author's comment. Karl Marx was an atheist famous for the qoute of "Religion is the opium of the masses." I think that qoute applies well to your poem.
en.thinkexist.com/quotation/religion_is_the_opium_of_the_masses/213259.html -
very nice use of imagery.
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