Tag: GloPoWriMo

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This Door, Palacios Nazaries, The Alhambra, Granada, Spain

Keyless Entry

Some doors are open
Some are closed
Some doors should never be opened
Some should never be closed

Some doors are plain
Some are ornate
Some doors are simple
Some technically replete

Some doors are an invitation
Some are a barricade
Some doors are a celebration
Some are made to be despised

Some doors lead to adventure
Some lead to retreat
Some doors reveal a treasure
Some are thought to hide a treat

Some doors are made of steel
Some only of the mind
Some doors are eternal
Some have so little time

One door enclosed your heart
The door that stands before me
A door I’d love to open
This door without a key

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Mosaic, The Alhambra, Granada, Spain

Mosaic

I marvel at the mosaic
Its intricate tile work
Follow the lines around
On their dizzying journey

Then notice the shapes
How each tile had to be cut
Individually
By hand
Just so
Or it would not fit

The precision
It’s astonishing

I draw back a little
And see the larger forms
Shaped by the small tiles
The lines weaving their way
Through the forms
Linking one to another
Delineating them

Then notice the star
In the lower left corner
Or is it a sphere?
How do you create the sense
Of a soft round orb
With nothing but straight lines
And hard edges?

But neither my eye
Nor my mind
Can linger there long

Follow the trail
Walk the maze
A lazy, meandering drive
Through rolling country

Up to the chains
All interlocked
Each link with its own form
Peanuts and hearts
Circles and infinity

Then the letters
Is there any written language
So beautiful as Arabic
In the hands of an artisan
Filigree relief in plaster
Harmonious
With the sweeping strokes

I understand the grace of Rumi
With such elegant script
As a medium
And wonder at what beauty
The translated words
Might speak to me

I step back
Take in the wider view
Such conscious beauty here

But I cannot hold all of it
Not in my mind
Not all at once

The lines and shapes
The forms and individual tiles
The curling words
All of it intertwined
In space and history and culture
A tapestry of ceramic and plaster and time

A small rectangle of wall
Is all so much larger
And beautiful
Than my ability to hold it all
In consciousness

So I open my heart
Let my spirit become my senses
Let experience touch my being

And there it is
All of it
Not contained by me
By my mind
Or my heart
Or my spirit
But I contained in it

It is not the mosaic
Through which the white lines flow
But myself
And so become I
Part of the mosaic
And the mosaic is me

As suddenly as it came
The awareness passes
Though my memory of it
Remains

All such epiphanies
Great or small
Prove to be
Both ephemeral
And eternal

I stand there
Manifest again
Looking upon a mosaic
On a wall
In a fabulous structure
Built centuries ago
Occupied by many empires since
A mosaic of existence itself

And I wonder
If all along
That was the message intended
By artists and artisans
Who designed and created
One small mosaic on a wall
In the Alhambra

Life
Existence itself
Is a mosaic

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Empty Cafe, Museu de les Ciències, Ciutat de les Arts i les Ciències, Valencia, Spain

Something a Little Bit Right

It was great when I heard
My favourite cafe opened up again
Hadn’t had a decent cuppa in over a month

Can’t afford an expresso machine of my own
Just the bodum I picked up at the grocery
The day I also found yeast

Yeast!

Rarer than toilet paper

Rarer than a kiss for a single bloke like me
In this freakin’ pandemic

Anyway, the bodum
If you double the usual amount of grounds
I suppose it’s OK
If you got really good beans
Real dark, the Tanzanian is the best
Ground to the perfect chunkiness
But it ain’t nuthin’ like Frank’s americano

I suppose even if I had an expresso machine
It still wouldn’t be nuthin’ like Frank’s

I dunno
The guy’s magic

And a good guy too
We get on
I’ve followed him around for a while
His fourth cafe in five years
“I get bored if I stay in one place too long”
He told me once

So anyways
I hear the cafe’s opened up again
An’ I rush right out there

I see through the glass
Frank’s on today
Sweet!

I also see inside there’s a bit of a queue
And the tables and chairs are all set out
Lined up tickety-boo
Sparse and empty
Like a display in an upscale furniture store

Every time I walk in here
I get the same tingly feeling up my spine
Heat on the back of my neck
That cringe you get
When you feel like you’re in the wrong place

I like Frank’s last cafe better than this one
It has armchairs and a fireplace
All warm and cozy
Like a family room
I’d hang there for hours
Chattin’ up regulars and whoever

This one’s all artsy as fuck
Greys and blacks
Angular and hard
Not the kinda place you go to hang
I almost always take my java togo

I got no reason to hang
People come here to confer with clients
Whine to their colleagues
About their stock market woes
Suit and tie designer shit

“Aesthetics”
Frank told me once
“Looks over comfort”
“Image over presence”

Ass thet icks

Fuck that shit