T.S. Eliot Homage (a love poem) Looking, now, at myself, do you think of me, later? When the tropical sun and high waves wash across my thin ankles? White-haired and crazy with spider-like legs, stumbling over small sand dunes— dunes I shall call memories. Should I be calling: — More champagne? Hashish? Incense? Should I be laughing: — Why have you forsaken me O Lord? Looking, then, at myself, and you, seeing you over my Paper-Mache shoulders— brittle, like old bird bones, these once worldly shoulders. Do you think of me? — And the angel of the Lord declared unto Mary that she was to be the Mother of God . . . White-haired and crazed, red bandana and erotic music. Original, native paintings upon my clay walls, so modest— The Mother of God . . . dear me . . . — Christ, you shall say from our breakfast table of oranges and melon: Christ, is it really you? O Lord have mercy . . . White trousers, rolled and pleated, red stained with angels’ tears. —Mother of God, have mercy . . . Do you see me then? Zooey, Please Don’t Cry Life has become a photo album without frames. Calls that can’t be made . . . A constant busy signal . . . forever on hold. Memories that aren’t recalled, Blood that never dries. Sure, I can still laugh holding up arms without hands, though feeling fingers that should be there . . . like a vapor in a windy space— In short, a wound. So, what of this loss, this love? This smile that can’t find a face? This voice without a throat? This brain without a head? This cloud without a sky? Dual Culture The one that is, and the one that tries to be. Why does money always roll in the wrong places? She said, she said, she said: - I'll come down for lunch, and her voice leaped anxiously toward hope, like my desire to be a poet of a personal nature— aware that writing was not enough. I could only answer that I was leaving leaving leaving. Nothing ever seemed so large for one — much less two. Now . . . there's just one with only these words as proof.
Timothy Resau has published in the U.S., Canada, Portugal, and the U.K. Recently his work has been in Adelaide Literary Magazine, Sideways Poetry Magazine, Sylvia Magazine, The Beautiful Space, Rat’s Ass Review, Loch Raven Review, Rye Whiskey Review, Better than Starbucks, and forthcoming in Scarlet Leaf Review, and Native Skin. He’s just completed a novel, Three Gates East.
Thank you, Mike. That’s nice to read
“This cloud without a sky”
That particularly got me.
Great line. Thanks for reading, Lisa!
Thank you, Lisa.
Thank you Fictional Cafe for letting these poems escape out into the world.
Thank you Timothy! We loved your work.