Time's Up

The witching hour grown heavy
with its customary anticipation,
takes its tiny minute hand
to tap gently, persistently
on my sleeping body
causing the cat to stir,
purr and stretch
Time
into manifest destinies
with whispers of sound
like padded feet
passing under doors.
Air is moving all around
us making vertigo
an entrance.

The body is moved
by the mind.
A cauldron steams and hisses
acrid blackness
and while all the other
heavily burdened bodies
are tucked deep down
in the sand,
weighted by breath
and erased by tide,
an inside voice
gives rise to words
that lie
in the subconscious
and spell
Magic
with only the thinnest lucid air.

This hour
witch made
alone
disappear
as fast as you passed through
the fear of flying Time.

Macbeth Act IV Scene I

FIRST WITCH

Round about the cauldron go;

In the poison’d entrails throw;

Toad, that under cold stone

Days and nights has thirty-one

Swelt’red venom sleeping got,

Boil thou first i’ th’ charmed pot.

THREE WITCHES

Double, double, toil and trouble;

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

SECOND WITCH

Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting,

Lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing,

For a charm of pow’rful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

THREE WITCHES

Double, double, toil and trouble;

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

THIRD WITCH

Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,

Witch’s mummy, maw and gulf

Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,

Root of hemlock digg’d i’ th’ dark,

Liver of blaspheming Jew,

Gall of goat, and slips of yew

Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse,

Nose of Turk and Tartar’s lips,

Finger of birth-strangled babe

Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,

Make the gruel thick and slab.

Add thereto a tiger’s chawdron,

For th’ ingredience of our cau’dron.

THREE WITCHES

Double, double, toil and trouble;

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

SECOND WITCH

Cool it with a baboon’s blood,

Then the charm is firm and good.

Enter Hecat and the other three Witches.

HECAT

O, well done! I commend your pains,

And every one shall share i’ th’ gains.

And now about the cauldron sing,

Like elves and fairies in a ring,

Enchanting all that you put in.

Music and a song: “Black spirits, etc.”

Exit Hecat.

SECOND WITCH

By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes.

Knocking.

Open, locks,

Whoever knocks!

Enter Macbeth.

MACBETH

How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags?

What is’t you do?

ALL WITCHES

A deed without a name.

MACBETH

I conjure you, by that which you profess

(How e’er you come to know it), answer me:

Though you untie the winds, and let them fight

Against the churches; though the yesty waves

Confound and swallow navigation up;

Though bladed corn be lodg’d, and trees blown down;

Though castles topple on their warders’ heads;

Though palaces and pyramids do slope

Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure

Of nature’s germains tumble all together,

Even till destruction sicken; answer me

To what I ask you.

---

MACBETH

Infected be the air whereon they ride,

And damn’d all those that trust them! I did hear

The galloping of horse. Who was’t came by?

Copyright ©2005-2019 by PlayShakespeare.com.
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Copyright ©2005-2019 by PlayShakespeare.com.
Visit http://www.playshakespeare.com/license for details.

Painting by E.R. Hughes, 'A Witch' c. 1902 in Public Domain. 

Foretelling

The tower of Babel crumbled
close to Heavens Gate
under the weight of words
being tossed across
crooked beams of Meaning,
colliding with brute force
like wrecking balls or
oblong Egos
characters fell
one by one.

The virus spread viciously
devouring breathless bodies
whose lungs collapsed
in fevered white surrender
making trespassers doubt
ownership.
Perhaps by taking flight,
the wingless mammals
mistook their own shadows for
Angels
of Mercy.

Maybe, like Icharus
we flew too close to the sun
singeing and singing our victory
songs. Hymns and hers
breaking the speed of light.
He resurfaces atop the rubble
of Babel
only spread his sickly self destructive
wings around the globe
suffocating us with immortal
whims and wicked winds.

None would dare say
aloud
it sounded like
lightning
a curse
or zero in zero chance
our earthly eyes
would adjust to this light.




Artwork by Sergey Solomko (1855-1928) 'Icarus' Dream' in Public Domain. 

Reflection

A daughter is a distorted mirror
Image
of her mother
in a different light-

She reflects tiny scratches
caused by sharp objects
hurled at the surface
not hard enough
to break this concentration
of silhouette
and deformity of depth.

Only an Impression
too light
to stay in one body
fills the frame
out toward its beveled edges.

And all that cannot be contained
by Image is Imagination.

The daughter does not recognize
Herself
as better than
as more than
a mother could bear.

A swift movement of time blurs
the point
when the daughter draws her sword,
and the mother caps her pen.


Image credit: By Marcantonio Raidmondi (1480-1534), 'Justice personified' Engraving circa 1515-1525 in Public Domain. 

Laven sus manos

Gone viral,
we wanted it to spread
and get (over)shared
causing compulsive comparison
to Others without knowing each Others
weaknesses and whereabouts
for certain-
Nothing was True.

Meanwhile,
Happy Hypochondriacs
sanitize and vocalize
worst-case-scenarios, collecting
those contagious conspiracies
which only produce worries,
conduce anxieties,
and make base greeds
of basic necessities,
like Shelter in Place
of Touch.

Subtle desperation
severs nerves, a cough creates
a panic-an evil eye blinks
and there is scattering
demonstrated
by the invisible nature
Here
hypothesized by Heisenberg;
Evil was everywhere
and No-where in between.

Empty shelves, service interruptions,
bleeding bank accounts, children with
nightmares, 'we are here for you-
remotely' notes abound
like spam and cans stockpiled
pantries
the little things
settled in-

Contagion like credit is Everywhere
and Nowhere
at the same time, in principle
Paranoid Pandemic Preaching
echoed inside idiot boxes inside
dwellings
lined with blockades formerly called
mending walls.

And out of busy-ness
(Safer than apologies)

the world pauses its somatic play
another day, another showing
and it was never the same-
This intermission
This time
on our soiled hands
must have been stolen.

Where?
Where is it?
From where?
Invisible enemies.

No-body will say-
None could say-
for certain-
times-
like these,
I imagine in no time
it occurs
like the poles flipped
the world-over-all the while,
the atmosphere remained
negatively charged
and all seemed the same-
the opposite was true.

None knew what to do
in reality
with all their excess of pluses and minuses
too many took stock
for themselves
renumerating and yet still
remembering to carry the One
higher value
all the way to The End.



Painting by Maximillien Luce (1858-1941) 'Man Washing' c. 1887 in Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons. 

Off the shelf

The panic button was pushed.

A paranoia pandemic 

encircled the globe

like storms on Jupiter,

ominous and ionically charged

propigating and intending

malice and malaise.

Under the thumb of gravity, 

our species 

sees a-head

and worries-

Empty shelves and

idle ATM's

had nothing

to offer 

escape.

The bottom line

supply and demand 

Tottered instead of teetered.

Consumerism consumed

thoughts, dictators dodged

questions and regurgitated 

gossip. Useless garbage in, 

makes for rich compost out.

At least, 

It smells that way. 

Some of the mess we have made

cannot be broken down

in a lifetime.

And what was 

Disposable

was defined as-conveniently

placed within arms reach 

and whose sole purpose

goes down the drain

after use.

We all became less

flushed with the shameful

and frequent

ease of letting go. 

Adaptations aren't always

fine tuning, streamlining or

ameliorative animations.

Out of mind, out of sight, they assumed,

they were the last ones.

There was no TP, 

the people forgot the times

Before

being told-crap-

What to do 

When empty store shelves meant

No more-

control.

I too, fell hard.

Off the shelf, lastly,

I had been teetering at the 

Tip-top too long,

Dust settled

On my broad shoulders

everyone was afraid

to Touch-

Until this one time 

and occasion called for a round, 

ceremonious and rite

whereby church and state agree

the sheeple will never see

a way with out.

There is no more TP

But a surplus of crap.

There is too much TV

and not enough to

entertain

idle hands.

After all,

happily and 

Finally, 

some one, 

like me, be-

comes mysteriously 

Married 

and off the market 

for good-

ness sake,

Mass hysteria

May Be

chronic infections of fear

closer to the heart 

of survival and dependence

as if equal to or greater than

quantity signified security.

Image dated 25 September 1968

Taken in Brazil

Description: Manifestação estudantil contra a Ditadura Militar

Cut, color and clarity

Been programmed to feel,
like all little women,
small, incomplete,
naked without-
a veil,
and in total transparency,
I have no doubt, I will
never wear a white gown
in this life-time
I do
not be-come worthy
un-less, there is more...
                            Diamonds are numerous
                            as faithful friends
                            I have-family-bloodlines
                            circumstance and choice,
                            opportunity and onus
                            promises and pure white
                            lies, thule veiled truth
                            All                           
                            under an abundant umbrella
                            called Love
                            the ceilings will keep you
                            dry.
To be good-enough
for special occasions
with honor and rite,
is to be-have as
fortunate for the gifts
be-stowed upon our vessels
pulled by current and tide
toward each other
we shall always meet
                            Here, untouchable
                            amid this journey underway
                            outside of ourselves
                            we become found
                            reassured and rescued
                            from each other's line of sight.



Painting by Auguste Toulmouche (1829-1880) dated 1866 in Public Domain. 

Flash point

When ideas
hit air
they turn from blue to red,
originating from the short wavelength
inside
to form long low rollers of crimson tide
depositing turbid drops
of inklings.

The idea
tries to crystalize
along the smooth open facet
trying to adhere to open wounds
only to become
solid and reformed.
Ages ago,
raw material was re-collected and
re-presented as pure, a commodity
of our invention.

A single blinding glimmer,
like a square grain of sand
may find itself
a fully rounded pearl
over time and under toes
we find this same potential
scattered across elemental
boundaries.

Carbon in cubes
could become a diamond,
coal, a mote of dust, or Us
bearing the weight
of six million atmospheres
while making light
of such intense pressure
to create beauty
from conception.


Painting by Karel Dujardin (1622-1678) , 'Allegory' c. 1663 in Public Domain.