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Aphrodite's Daughter: the history of the world Part 56

To the Muse

“ if you have nothing, you have this . . . “

(inspired by The Muse of The Book of Blue and photos
of the aftermath of war torn Chechnya)

God blows out over the world

and then breathes in

the beginning and end

all in one breath . . .

on some cold and winter Spring

the whispers, breath on Summer

soon, the warm

melts the snow

the water runs sweet

through my hands

sweet the days run.

In the memory of love

they say in Paris,

the flowers bloom in Spring.

Somewhere he waits . . .

for a sac of oranges

a kiss

the perfect kiss

under Summer skies warm . . .

you were the bells of watersong

all one Spring

we stayed in

we, the dog, you and me

all asleep

in the bed

all one night

spoons under warm.

The Lute in its case

waits by the door

an invitation to coffee

“love is sweeter than wine”

come Roby

come Roy


and scallopini pasta

a tempest in a pot.

Alexander Gervais Montmartre

Kit Koby Creole

and mixed blessings

Alien, Alien, Alien alert

the Pining prayer

the taste of pine,

and the ground is dead.

The old war video plays

through the newsreel from Hollywood

the black ski masks

“stay out of the movie”

the silence from the next room

in grey, the static

somewhere he waits.



to dream the night

the alpha and omega

into the river

of forgetfulness

in sleep we drown.


in the dance,

she sang into the quiet:

“If I loved you perfectly

some lost and distant song

sang a perfect lovesong

past a lost and broken sky

would you still be mine?“

She covers her hair

the light

through the bride’s veil

falls over her face.

In the quiet

she dances by the window,

“leave a rose against my skin

in the morning

to remember you

until the night.”

(a red rose on a white tablecloth)

bright the oasis

three people at a table

drinking tea

in a courtyard

against the darkness,

the broken landscape

the burnt-out buildings,

the skeletons

rot in the sun

the empty faces, the quiet

looking for love

“sometimes you become used to losing things”

“there’s nothing there”

the market

the ribs on a scale

the place that does not rest.

The winter

by the river

a park bench

2 lovers sit at opposite ends

they sit, they watch

the trees bare against the sky.

“what you cannot own”

“a heart”

“a place that does not own love, owns death”

“hearts for sale”

“someone’s waking the dead”

“love is sweet”

“death is sweeter”

still the night.

Over a blue black canister

not when people know you

and a Krushchev tailgate

the cube that keeps revolving

free basing, so her thoughts never land

“a mountain out of a mole hill”

they think they can eradicate her like a weed

but honey is sweeter then vinegar

and in all things love.

The sun of morning

through the knotted white sheet of window

“some 40 percent of newborns

had some kind of genetic defect”

“it’s very powerful to tell the truth . . . it fixes things”

hope at the end of daylight.

Just look into our eyes

you know us

the diamonds in the holes

of our shoes

the river and blue the dance

Bonne Fete

blue, blue by night

and Carnivale

on the island

by the light

and the singing goddess

where her tears fell

forget-me-nots and sweet elecampane.

The large orange cat on a windowsill

behind a broken glass window

disappears under a table.

The subtle blue calm of water

we are missing

in the arms of the river,

my home

peace is like a bird

all things are given

Somewhere he waits . . .

In the memory of love

they say in Paris,

the flowers bloom in Spring.

Rebecca Anne Banks

Tea at Tympani Lane Records


© 2011