Cross My Heart and Hope to Write
INCLUDING ORIGINAL POETRY, SHORT STORIES, ESSAYS, AND NOVELLAS, ALONGSIDE ARTWORK AND PHOTOGRAPHY
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Friday, December 16, 2011
Porphyrogenitos and Wyld Chyld Tattoo Studio
This past Thursday (December 15th at 7:30pm), I had the pleasure of sharing my work with a small group of individuals in the back of Wyld Chyld Cafe and Tattoo Parlor in Merrick, NY. I attended the event on a whim, which was supposed to be hosted by another poet. Upon my arrival, however, I was told by the small group of 6 strangers that the poet was unable to host due to personal matters. Seeking the opportunity, I was kindly asked to take her place and to share some of my work, including some pieces from the blog. It was an incredibly intimate and pleasurable experience; I am thankful for my decision to contribute. I was told that such events are held Tuesday and Thursday of each week, in case anyone in the area is interested. The parlor itself is lovely, quaint, simple, but unique. Perhaps I'll have to stop in for a tattoo sometime...
Let's move onto the poetry, shall we? This weeks entry is very, very important to me, and should be heeded by anyone who considers themselves an admirer of my work. The poem is called "Porphyrogenitos" and is Latin for "born in the purple room". During the Byzantine Empire, the heir to the thrown of emperor was customarily born in the Porphyry (Purple) Chamber of the Great Palace of Constantinople. Later, the term "born in the purple room" came to mean someone who was born to prominent parents, such as royalty or in possession of wealth. The title (as always) contradicts the rest of the piece - it is my own personal elegy. Keep this in mind, ladies and gentlemen, should anything happen to me. Of course, I very well may write another one before my final breath, but until then, please enjoy this farewell. I hope it leaves a lasting impression.
And if I were to die someday,
How selfish it would be
To erect an epitaph
That concerns only me.
As a courier of mankind,
As a cradler of life,
To dwell on such fickle things as death
Would be a futile strife,
For the median between
The first cry and the final breath
Is the majesty of the cosmos;
The opportunity to exist,
To awe at tearful memorials,
Monuments and structures,
That twirl about our azure balloon
And hinder us at our junctures.
The beauty yond that is eternal,
To live and cherish every view,
That may caress and harbor gently
The soul inside of you.
We do not lounge beneath your feet,
We enthrall the very deed
That brings about new consciousness -
Fuel for the life-giving machine!
Do not walk on in darkness,
Questioning what lingers above,
Profess your immortal souvenirBy drowning the world in a sea of love.