The Scream by Edvard Munch

 

Notes on “The Scream by Edvard Munch” by Gonzalinho da Costa:

https://poetryofgonzalinhodacosta.blogspot.com/2022/09/notes-on-scream-by-edvard-munch.html

Crucified Woman by Almüth Lutkenhaus-Lackey

  

CRUCIFIED WOMAN BY ALMÜTH LUTKENHAUS-LACKEY 

Who do you say that I am?

You are the woman without property or inheritance rights, without the right to vote or to freedom of movement, to employment, health, or education, who is discriminated against because you are considered intrinsically inferior to males—

The object of controlling and manipulative behavior by males at home, school, or work, wherever gender discrimination exists,

The object of their verbal bullying, threats, isolation, or blame, of physical, sexual, or emotional abuse,

The object of harassment by stalkers—vengeful, love obsessed, erotomanic, psychotic—

The wife, daughter, girl, or mother raped or forced into sexual slavery during wartime, the victim of a state strategy of aggression,

The victim of human trafficking, kidnapped, imprisoned, and then coerced into commercial pornography or prostitution,

The victim of forced marriage by kidnapping, of forced pregnancy, of state breeding programs,

The victim of the honor killings undertaken whenever a woman resists a prearranged marriage or wants to divorce her abusive husband,

The widow killed by ritual suicide or murder,

The child compelled to marry against her will,

The child victim of rape, traumatized for life,

The young woman assaulted by female genital mutilation,

The female infant put to death because of religious, cultural, social, and economic discrimination, killed by drowning, suffocation, starvation, exposure, neglect, physical abuse, poisoning, whatever works,

The fetus aborted because of the obnoxious cultural preference for male children,

The poor and elderly woman convicted of witchcraft, drowned, hanged, or burned at the stake,

The woman demeaned by body shaming, fat shaming, all forms of sexist ridicule— 

 

You are the Christ.

Crucified Woman (1976) by Almüth Lutkenhaus-Lackey

Homenaje al Orlina

OUR LADY OF THE PHILIPPINES

Trappist Abbey

When the moon climbs the cloudless sky and stillness pours into valleys pooling waters of silence, I rise from sleep to dress, shuffling off loose dreams like a sack.

Stepping outside, I inhale brisk air like snuff—suddenly, I am wakeful, a clock about to spring. I toss out bags of sand to rise more quickly.

In the early chill the mountains stand as guardian shadows and night gleams like dragonfly wings.

I am eager for the work of God beckoning at the end of a solitary path just beyond a row of trees bristling at wind snapping like a flag.

Bits of gravel bite at my soles as turning the corner, I lift up my heart at the sight of light spilling gently from the entrance to the church.  

 

Stepping inside, I am greeted by the bright echo of kneelers knocking the stone floor, and softly rustling pages of stapled paper hymnals.

Gradually, ethereal plainchant rises like a river, gathers itself, solidly transforming into one long sonorous brilliant golden bell.

 

 

Virgen Maria (2007), detail by Ramon Orlina

 

HERMITS OF BETHLEHEM

Chester, New Jersey

Beyond the threshold is silence.

Stillness suffuses like light.

The world outside is spinning.

Summer flames at its height.

Solitude is a boon companion.

Self-knowledge climbs like a sloth.

The bed is spare, a thin beard.

The rocking chair is a moth.

Dig in a cave in darkness.

Toss out handfuls of soil.

Bake bread in your heart, an oven.

Bring steaming thirst to a boil.

Listen for the least word of power.

Pierce yourself with a sword.

Afternoon deepens day shadows.

The sun is a violent lord.

Dusk emanates blood-red rays.

All trials in an instant will pass.

Gaze upon woods colored jade.

Dream dreams of emerald grass. 

 

 

Into Green Pastures (2020) by Ramon Orlina

Icarus

 

Icarus 

 

Proud Icarus soared too close to the sun. 

Heat melted the wax, his feathers shed. 

Wings disintegrating, he fell from the sky. 

Smashing in the sea, he landed, dead.

 

 

The Fall of Icarus (2005) by Sebastian Seiffert

The Day Laborer

 

THE DAY LABORER

Fraying at the brim,

A hat with holes

Darkens his face,

Folded and lined.

Beneath long sleeves,

Torn and shabby,

A dirty cotton layer

Shields his arms,

Dusky branches, wizened.

Swinging a pickaxe,

He hacks the ground,

Digging out dirt and rocks

To pay the debts

Of an elephant,

Animal he resembles

As it clambers out of water,

Dripping, shiny, wrinkled.

Filmy, perspiring,

Resting on the long handle

End of his standing tool,

He is almost motionless,

Inert gob of smoldering

Lava in deep time,

Blackened, steaming.

He sighs, heaving for

Ages and ages to come.

Untying his kerchief,

He mops his brow,

Tilts his head upward,

Blinks, fluttering eyelids, 

Tremulous insects…

Sees nothing

But the sun.

 

Coffee Farm Worker (1934) by Candido Portinari

Solitude is a healer...

Solitude is a healer…

Solitude is a healer of memories.

Gently, he rubs liniment on bruises inflicted

By verbal assaults, sharp words.

Cooling menthol soothes and spreads.

 

 

The Wounded Healer (2014) by Marija Gauci

Five Rain Poems

 

THE ISLAND

Bobbing atop the prow of our slender boat,

I spy the shadow of a dark green island,

Ill-defined smudge in the misty rain, the sky

Opaque and filmy, snakeskin freshly shed.

Slicing forward, our front beak is whipped

By waves both sides, spray flying about, rude little explosions.

Drenched fireman, shirt glued to my skin, wet bird,

Shivering, I lick my lips, tasting salt.

My flip-flops float in a shallow pool at the bottom.

One of my companions bails out water. Serene,

He must be an angel because he smiles at sharks.

They patrol these waters, grinning at travelers like us,

Fretful, riding wooden planks rattling to a rickety motor.

Beneath us dark green water rushes, shadowy leviathan.

One with the sea, the wind whips up a tempest,

Brows of storm clouds glower, gray veils of rain.

Swiftly landfall approaches, half-moon beach beckoning,

Welcome pie. Solidly, our bow hits the shore,

Bulldozer grinding into raspy grit…leaping off, 

I dig my toes into the sand, an ardent missionary.

 

 

 

 

 RAIN

 

Rain is pushing fingers into the soil, murmuring like winnowing rice. Daylight grays perceptibly.

Water twisting down roof runnels collect in drainpipes shooting bullets at pools expanding rapidly.

Splashing grows louder, runners slapping puddles. Waterfalls spill down steps.

Lightning jabs his blade, lunging at the ground. Thunder loudly slings his whip. Cloud cohorts rumble a war cry.

Rapids swiftly forming in the streets transport dead leaves navigating rudderless around stones and branches.

Rain hammers the roof, rattling construction site. Springing, a leak begins a steady countdown.

Chaos invades the sky, clouds battling the wind. Dislodged by strong gusts, a rain gutter swings wildly, banging repeatedly against the wall.

Water rises all around—canals and rivers surge as dams spew forth streams. One side, the ceiling drips, a coffee percolator.

Electricity goes dead. Whirring fans wane into lifelessness. Hush joins hands with dread. We can only sit and wait in darkness.

 

 

TAG-ULAN

   

Earth dwells in a tent, suffused in light weakly estranged from darkness.

The lowering sky is a mordant mangkukulam, invisible. He eyeballs anxious passersby chary of tripping bolts of black magic.

Moisture wafting from the soil lingers indefinably like fine confection melting between the teeth.

The wind rises and falls. Stillness settles into a corner, waiting, a dog curling opposite the front door.

Expectancy is a recurring dream—pregnant storm clouds, the space between breaths, promise of a child, the moment before crossing over, hope that rises to heaven.

When the rain arrives, it bursts into flames.

The spectacle is electrifying: a flash flood, a sprinter bounding forward, a dog barking excitedly.

 

 

 

 MELANCHOLY

 

The words of a rainy day

Drift incessantly, sighing.

Clouds wander about, homeless.

Soughing water vanishes.

The earth melts, insensate.

Shiny rocks rise in assembly.

Silence bends a strong arm.

Belief sits, quiet as bread.

 

 

MONSOON RETREAT

 

We waken to a musical world—

Rainwater pigtails

Spiraling downward,

Bright choral after a storm;

Tiny gales, whistling ghosts;

Birds warbling a capella,

Spherical notes sliding down

Sides of a glass of ice water.

For Lilia Tantoco