If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away---Henry David Thoreau

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Madonna of the Stars: a poem and painting by Leo Hartshorn

into the tohu emptiness
She swirled her spangled dress
covering the blushing face
of squalling space

silverdusted Medusa hair
cuts the black air
orange dawn cracks
daylight through her back

earth a lightbulb thought
floats above what She has wrought
El Shaddai, God of mountains, of breasts
She creates the world, then rests

spinning on brown toes She whirled
flinging off a new world
into Copernican dance
with metered chance

O moonfaced maiden sweet
we fall at thy wet feet
prostrate under thy jeweled hair
raven black and satin fair

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