Sanges, Tea and Sestina

Marco-Sanges-Big-Scenes

Marco-Sanges-Big-Scenes

I took your tea
To you.
In a bone china cup, painted pink and gold, mesmerizing shining, numbered,
one piece of a large collection

A chocolate donut that had bright blue melting frosting and puddles where sprinkles had been
On a white napkin, that had seen better days.

We sat in the front yard and the heat sat on our laps,
Whispers we meant to share stayed inside our overcooked brains some more

I felt sorry for the dog who couldn’t raise her head to bite the flies

Not even creaking from the tire swing rope rubbing the limb clean, today
I took your tea
To you.
In a bone china cup, painted pink and gold, shining, stamped, numbered, and
a chocolate donut that had bright blue melting frosting and molten puddles where sprinkles had been,
On a white napkin,
You thanked me.

ª

Lady Gaga by Teaboat

Lady Gaga by Teaboat

Moodus, Vogue, September 2009

Moodus, Vogue, September 2009

I am trying on all of these clothes for a man I’ll never see again.

ª

Marcos Sanges - Home at Balthes-  1998

Marcos Sanges - Home at Balthes- 1998

So she is undone. And her hair like stomped spiders.

Languish.

So she has come straight to you
tears streaming

Anguish.

You did not answer the phone
Like she was a stranger

a stranger
did not recognize the caller

The caller

ª

Marco Sanges - Late Afternoon - London, 2001

Marco Sanges - Late Afternoon - London, 2001

The table is laden and all things there are waiting and waiting, for you and for me.

ª

Marcos Sanges - Dinner is Served, 2002

Marcos Sanges - Dinner is Served, 2002

ª

Marco Sanges -  The Forest Surrey - 1998

Marco Sanges - The Forest Surrey - 1998

the pond is ice
it is black glass
beneath the thick blood, all things there are still and waiting, waiting
one last elegy for all things cold;
i knew you from your silence
one must have a mind of winter* wind

the wild winged ones glide upon the wind
they say the angels gaze grew to ice
when God made them, grew jealous grew silent
stripes of bloody hope and shattered glass
blood runs cold
waiting

a man waits
for me
* smells my perfume on the wind
his kiss will not be cold
he is glacier ice
clear as glass
strong and silent

and you neglected me with silence
kept me waiting
would not even let me peer in through the glass
blow away in frozen, burning, arid winds
you turned my heart to ice
my bed is bitter cold

on the hills, ruthless cold
black birds search the ground, silently
peck the ice
soothe yourself waiting, waiting
for the spring wind
to crack the infirmary’s glass

drawing true-love-always and hearts on frosted glass
sucking on our fingers when they get too cold
trying to warn the others about the changes in the wind
soon it will be gone, it will be vacant, it will be silent
i will not come, but i want you to keep on waiting
frozen as ice

your lips are ice. your eyes like glass.
for you I have waited. i have grown cold.
you remain silent. i howl like wind.

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  1. #1 by Ms. Smart on March 10, 2010 - 2:36 am

    me likey

    great show
    words + images = still art movie, yet movement on the inside

    • #2 by La La on March 10, 2010 - 4:46 am

      thanks it was inspired thank you thank you ~ the muse is nice

  2. #3 by AE on April 12, 2011 - 2:25 pm

    Not “Home al Balthes”, but “Homage to Balthus”…

    Based on this painting: http://en.wahooart.com/A55A04/w.nsf/Opra/BRUE-7ZABU4

    Nice post!

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