Silent Sunday
Month: October 2021
Under Cover — a poem
With half our face obscured
we cease ourselves to be
with others.
Diminished
are we — made less by lost
transparency.
No smiles come
through paper or cloth. Saving
our lives we lose our souls.
Cast
aside by a veiled, threatened
ill, our ability to interrelate
rots
under cover.
Ravenous by Charles Lyman
Thank you to Terveen Gill and masticadoresindia.wordpress.com for publishing this poem!
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before….” — Edgar Allan Poe
Nietzsche didn’t get
virtual reality, the benefit
of mirrored aviators when fighting
the demons of oneself.
Becoming
monsterly while combating evil shows
a decided lack of lyrical aesthetic. Dance
in toe shoes around the edge of the whole.
I spend
hours opposing monsters that lurk
within me. The worst that happens
is that I build up a terrible appetite.
Appease the beast or at least get
out of his way in the kitchen.
-CHARLES LYMAN
Charles Lyman studied Fiction and Poetry (and a lot of other cool stuff) at the University of Minnesota. He teaches English in Orlando, Florida where he resides with his favorite poet and their disdainful dog.To read more of his poetic and creative writings visit –
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Silent Sunday
Speed Chess, Central Park — a poem
“When the men on the chessboard
Get up and tell you where to go….”
— Grace Slick
“…it’s time in time with your time and it’s news is captured….”
— Jon Anderson/Chris Squire
The rules have changed since the time
of chess club after school; a game
of speed in the park.
click
Staunton laid aside, no more draws,
by FIDE — NewChess has become
Calvin Ball.
click
It’s my pieces you’re swiping
when I’m not looking — erasing
squares.
click
Threw the looking glass ‘cause of untruths;
it’s lying now, in pieces
on the floor.
click
“Red Queen’s off with her head”
in the clouds, perhaps —
or elsewhere.
click
Not much for current events gone stale,
mate! Let me play the classic rules.
If we tie, we tie.
* * *
A Picassoed frame… — a poem
A Picassoed frame
of reference — still
a compact truth —
lips over eyes except
before cries… or sighs.
A snapshut case
of paradigm missed
shift. Double clutched
in a clutch; doubletimed.
Two-timer in a clutch.
You don’t see things
my way.
You can’t.
* * *
Ekphrastic response to image posted for The Sunday Muse.
Life in Portofino 