A Nod to Shropshire & how to gather ribbons

in #poetry11 months ago (edited)

A star,
a cross, rises,
true map to up.

2-1, 1-2,
watch the flames,
our towers,
trod God.

What is black,
becomes white,
cut-off Egypt?

God in Queen,
makes a boy of him.
53rd is 8 stood up and not yet under-

stood as the racetrack,
to heaven if one will only,
lay down with her,

and be a man.

Image credit: Digital Commons c/o URsinUS college ;) See the cross, the eight, the ribbon too? Man's math's.


I think we are right on (the same) track: not only do I see the cross, the 8 and the ribbon, but the wings, too. (I was looking for a diagram of angel wings all day - surely some Leonardo-metaphysician must have got that down?- and the rest spun off from that imagining for today's post).

By the Grace of God or some miracle working its socks off, the boy can become a man for just long enough for his woman to remember one or two things that write the poetry we need to survive that which (just about) didn't kill us. More soon sent per Blaue Reiter horse in Goethean fashion through the Valley of the Pearls. I think most of the men we know were kidnapped as boys by the Erlkönig. How many beatings does it take before the fiend will let them go again?

Franz Marc, Little Blue Horse

henri de toulouse-lautrec

I think the pony must only turn the other way and realize he is but the father of himself and there he can meet the sisters in command of both his steeds. Allowing his little boy aLIFE, rescued within and fathered by he himself.

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