ON a slightly less dire note, I give you a bit of verse that came to me, unasked, this evening. Perhaps, as time permits, it will benefit from several rounds of revision; but here it is, now, in its raw ethereal form.
I feel a tightness as I walk, and wonder
what so itches and stiffens my gate
and I am greeted by a stranger, one
of the ragged black-feather birds of our day.
A grackle, cackles, yellow eye stare
quick motion and flitting tale she glares
her eye directed at a stiff-packed rash of flesh,
there, undetected till now she points it.
Only a scale of the skin, I pick, curious, and the bird flits
and no, oh no that hardpacked hill of flesh splits
dry skin scratched and seeds scatter;
seeds drop from the rash rend, my wound.
Never would I bring these ragged birds
upon myself, though there is beauty I suppose,
the quicksilver glisten their wings, bright coins their eyes,
but feed one and bring them all, I know.
And seeing spelt pour from my wound
The first of these black wings, my guest begins
to fill her craw, caw, a harvest of spelt
should be shared with friends.
They flood the air, scratching, screeching
for love of the feast, damned beasts!
Rake aside flesh, and such precision, their beaks
honed, for naught but the rich seed concerns them.
In their raking scattering slaking cackling cawing
the excitement of carnival, they miss some grains
I suppose. And left in the rends of the rest of my flesh,
by careless claws, focused eyes, forged beaks, forgotten seeds grow.
Carved, caricatured in ruined lumps I lay, spent
from spewing spelt; but perhaps these ragged black glistening
quicksilver wings will be sated, less ragged for the feast.
But no, as dark wings descend on the last of me I know
they are ever more ravenous.
Bargue drawing study done with charcoal on watercolor paper - I picked back up on some Bargue drawing exercises in order to help train my eye for precision and accuracy. These drawings are a true test of patience. B...
1 day ago