mirrors and theurgy by Nadia

some eyes made for a poor adventure.

his did. perhaps. certainty? maybe—

no scrap of an argentine promise, none but the screw-and-bolt carcass of

a cimmerian centipede—
laid in the worst shade of death.

.

x }
“who said eyes were divine in the heat of love
again?

.

they played a game of mirror, mirror

each time proximity proved

beyond an opiate eidolon (guzzling fire in the water—

heroisms, metagraphic hooks- –
storebought sleights to make up for nihil.
.
( how’d they. how’d they
turn to blooming tether in the noir-factor

anyway

.

I took your naught for a nectar
( by some sorcerous error; a chant in murky sugars-deep- –
why’d the lull of your wasteland
key itself in?

. 

and now
now   can’t you see that
all I want is mirrors—

for my falsehood sun.

---

Written by Nadia Sim
(originally featured on her writing blog at http://soulgrade.wordpress.com/)

Aevum

The Taylor’s Book Club is pleased to showcase yet another submission courtesy of Kari H. (in response to the prompt “The End of the Earth”)!

---

ah, sister,

what a place you have chosen to meet me

{as the world crumbles}

this ocean, this cliff —

it drops into a black hole and yet

here you are, calling my name;

you say i belong not in the abyss?

 

ah, sister,

what a place you have chosen to say hello

{even as the universe exhausts into farewell}

this lighthouse, this planetary cadaver —

it cripples our zero distance and yet

here you are, reaching out a gentle palm;

you say i deserve still to live?

 

ah, sister,

what a place you have chosen as our blue sky

{even as we teeter on the end of the earth}

this forest, this great tree —

it pours into this nebulous world a vivid green and yet

here you are; it belongs to you;

in this shattering transience,

bright defiance,

i think i have come home.

---

For more works by Kari H., visit her writing blog at http://aoirie.wordpress.com!

Recommendation: The Nightingale and the Rose by Oscar Wilde

Artwork by emmahuntington @ Deviantart

The Nightingale and the Rose is a timelessly beloved tale, strung together with the poetic finesse of Oscar Wilde, a renowned Irish playwright. It centers upon a nightingale who, after overhearing the lament of a pining, lovestruck student in his garden, strives to acquire that which he so direly desires — a red rose to bestow upon the girl he loves, in exchange for a dance.

---

‘Why is he weeping?’ asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.

‘Why, indeed?’ said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.

‘Why, indeed?’ whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.

‘He is weeping for a red rose,’ said the Nightingale.

‘For a red rose!’ they cried; ‘how very ridiculous!’ and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

---

The Nightingale and the Rose is a work of unremittingly lyrical pathos, depicting the willing, heartfelt sorrow undergone by humble crusaders of sacrificial love. Nevertheless, a sharp undertone of criticism comes intimately packaged with this symphonic telling, revealing the insidious banality of a “love” that is touted all too-loudly in a self-serving light.

– Posted by Nadia Sim, Assistant Head of TBC Public Relations

a void’s longing ; { pragma & the afterlife }

Our first entry for this month’s “Heart” theme, this poem was inspired by the prompt “Put on your favourite love song/playlist, and write whatever comes to mind.”