What is a tableau? Quick searching Google brought me a surprise; expecting paintings, all I got was graphs exploring data.
So the world has changed, words have new meanings. I wanted pictures frozen at a time of great importance, to inspire a write.
Shared with dVerse MTB – tableau. I know what a tableau is but went searching for something in particular to write about. I guess, in one way, I found it.
Bright lights shine, eyes glittery, all silvery struck.
So, stage mirrors life stories, untold, often repeated, become
so real?
The mask, the role, mask the real.
So
become repeated often, untold stories. Life mirrors stage, so
struck silvery, all glittery eyes shine, lights bright;
applause for fortune forging fakers and royalty!
Real people playing actors? Curtains rising,
ending joyous with satisfaction. The
words of weavers. The
people need stories.
Reality shapes
dreams.
What a headache! A palindrome poem that is almost a double etheree. I gave up at the tenth line and had to enlist AI to give me ideas to connect the two etherees. It kinda works. I think the theme here is apparent but due to the structure of the palindrome, the specifics are a little bit lost. Does the formatting help or hinder? This poem was prompt #10 for the Chimeric Poetry Scavenger Hunt, which I’m slowly working my way through. No more palindromes for me!
Inspired by the parable of the Useless Tree and shared with Poetic Bloomings #571 – Nothing But Trees: Carpenter Shi was travelling through the countryside with his young apprentice when they came upon a village shrine built around an enormous oak tree. The tree was ancient beyond measure, its trunk so vast that a thousand men holding hands couldn’t encircle it. Its branches spread like a green cathedral, offering shade to the entire village square.
The apprentice stood transfixed. “Master!” he called excitedly. “In all my travels, I’ve never seen timber so magnificent! Why won’t you even look at it?”
Carpenter Shi barely glanced up from his path. “Worthless wood,” he muttered dismissively. “Make boats from it and they’ll sink. Make coffins and they’ll rot before the bodies do. Make tools and they’ll break in your hands. Make houses and they’ll be eaten by worms. It’s completely useless—that’s the only reason it’s lived so long.”
The carpenter continued on his way, but that night the great tree appeared to him in a dream.
“What are you comparing me to?” asked the tree. “Fine trees like cherry and pear? Those trees that bear fruit are attacked the moment they ripen. Their branches are broken, their bark is stripped. Their very usefulness makes their lives miserable, cutting short their natural span. This happens to all things.
“I’ve been working for ages to become perfectly useless. I nearly died several times in the attempt, but I’ve finally succeeded. My uselessness is now my greatest usefulness. If I had been useful, do you think I could have grown this large?
“Besides, you and I are both just things in this world. How can one thing judge another? You’re a dying man who understands nothing—what could you know about a useless tree?”
When Carpenter Shi awoke, he told his apprentice about the dream. The young man was confused: “If the tree wants to be useless, why does it serve as a shrine?”
The master smiled. “Quiet! It’s simply taking shelter there. Those who don’t understand it might harm it otherwise. If it weren’t a shrine tree, wouldn’t it be in danger of being cut down? Its way of preserving itself is different from ordinary trees, so using conventional standards to judge it will lead us far astray.”
On the surface, this story seems to be about different definitions of value—the carpenter sees lumber, the tree sees survival. But dig deeper and you discover something revolutionary: the tree has found freedom through strategic uselessness.
What if our quirks, our imperfections, our refusal to fit standard molds aren’t bugs in our programming but features? What if the very things that make us “unemployable” in one context make us invaluable in another?
Standing as a shrine, the carpenter carves his maths into my bark, deciding I’m worthless of even a spark.
As a boat, you’d drown, a coffin would soon rot; a tool soon broken; in use, it’s better not.
As they dressed for compliments all my friends became stripped bare; miserable lives soon utilised and no longer standing there.
If I were useful I’d no longer stand. We are just things. What could you know about me? I’m a shrine, just as I planned.
Sweet like a peach, tough like a man; Dirt spins free.
Ears are wet, arms are wide, Dead nerves jolt.
We want signed concussions.
Written for an AllPoetry.com contest, choosing a painting by Jane Davies, whose work reminded me a lot of Trumans Water’s album covers. So inspired I scoured their lyrics for clues and indeed, this work is completely a cento of lines take from their 1993 album Spasm Smash XXXOXOX Ox and Ass.
Daily hits At my favourite morning spot; Rock ’n’ Roll utopia Killer caffeine, cranking tunes.
So, what’s up, Floyd? Is it stuck on repeat? Do I need to hear Money Every single day?
Oh, Syd – I wish you weren’t still here, Falling down and on fire.
The show must go on, I suppose. However Even madcaps have their limits.
More Money? Overplayed, this lunar cartoon; Obliged to orbit this sound; No more, no more, I say!
This was another attempt at Day 16 of GloProWriMo, though I didn’t get into the details so much as previously. Utopia is the name of my local coffee shop where I often sit and write. After a year or two, though, I had to request that they not play any post-1974 Pink Floyd while I’m there! Oh, this is an acrostic.
1994ever 