The art of meditation

constructive criticism always welcome. Monologue for theatre play, The Murderer

Sit down,
If possible,
Softly,
Not like this,
Softer,
As if the autumn
In your melancholy
Drifts
In wind
Yes, exactly there,
In wind,
That runs like river
Under ice.
MUTE.
So, sit down
If possible so,
A soundless tune
In that winter’s
Shiver.
Then,
Sit STRAIGHT!
Brown arm-chairs
Require respect.
Don’t sigh,
The marble floor
Absorbs any sound
Mostly those
Inexcusable gasps
For air.
Yes, I agree,
That’s the misery,
Of living

 

 

In an aristocratic
House

 

Hands on your knees,

chin up

and

hush

 

 

Ah, a goose-bump
Crawling on your skin!
Mon Amour,
What an honour!
I will torture

you
With silk care

 

 

(your shriek

rivers

down

in ornaments)

 

 

 

So, don’t sigh,
Don’t look up
And
Down
In frantic spasms
For a knock on the
Front door
By a stranger.
We are locked.
The aristocratic
Sense for danger
Is not a scream.
Closed mouth
And a choke
In orgasmic
Silence,
I deem
Art.

See,

that resonance

on marble floor

of

your scared

breath of air

paired

with

mine.

What a

sublime

fresco

of horror

 

 

Remember,
You are a sound
In a tune,
Or a word
In that write,
No, not a muse,
Be mute
In your daring
To assume
You are the fire
When,
I suppose,
You are just an ember
And my desire
To burn
is what ties you
up to the chair,
softly,
and yes,
slowly,
and yes,
with aristocratic
taste for blood.
A muse is
An ancient
Excuse
for cheap art.

Baroque

curse.
So, sit straight
And learn
The art of meditation.
For example,
Stare at the curtain,
And learn to adore
With vile lust
The lack of light.
Its heavy dirt,
And heavy fall
Right there,
To the floor
Is,
Yes,
Mediate
And forget,
That there is,
The death of hope.
For you, not for me,
Don’t worry,

I have a good sense

for detail
I close the eyelids.
The soil
Is an noble end
To nightmares.

 

 

Now, I tighten
The rope.

 

White skin
Decorates dark rooms
Like autumn wind.

MUTE

 

 

be thankful that my hands

are clean

***

Red skin,

blue sin,

guess who 

always

wins

Reviews

[Circe]

I would love to know what inspired this one, read this a few times and it's as if the words together are helping me to meditate and breathe steady, it is therapeutic reading even though there is something very deathly and final about the ultimate deed. I think you added that last stanza at the end recently? Don't remember that being there last time... not only is it great rhyme, but I love the colour references, red for blood, blue for corpse it seems to say. I love so many parts to this... the marble floor absorbing sound.. your keen observational imagery is so outstanding, and from then on, I adore every word, the goose-bump, such a delicate detail! the curtain's heavy fall, love that, feel like I'm being draped by your words... the soil is a noble end to nightmares... the sweet macabre imagery... makes me glad of heart to read this strangely enough... and those themes of aristocracy, art, muse... very interesting, ties in with the setting, perhaps part of the initial inspiration? the tightening of the rope.... that made me gulp... you evoke strong emotions and reactions with just a small snap of an imagery... a fragment as you would say... all the words give an impression of something vital........ absolutely brilliant piece.

[Marri]

Last week we did a theatre performance...there was a Czech boy, very talented (on the picture above), and I wrote this as a kind of monologue for him, simply because I could imagine him acting it out, first calmly, almost romantically sentimental with a taste for exquisite in art or architecture or beauty be it crystalized in a baroque chandelier or the body of a woman. And then, I imagined him talking like this, almost like a guru about the acceptance of life or situation the way it is, the dark ones even more, with acceptance that is almost transcendental. Of course, it doesn't really make much sense, but the features of his face are such that I imagine him uttering exactly this words, in an obsessed, overtly theatrical manner which reveals madness...or dedication at the same time. The aristocratic house...it comes from the way he moved in the room, as if he had blue blood, as if the world was in his feet and he could kick it if he wants to or step on top of it with a dancing step....

[Marri]

Last comment full with mistakes. Forgive ignorance. Exam period. Brain operates in German. Hair disheveled. Mariya a cave monster.

[Circe]

you make perfect sense.... I understand now.... you truly have incredible artistic vision... and he must be one superb performer... did you show him this that you wrote? I really hope so... you capture everything and don't miss a thing with the way he moves and commands a room... these details blow me away!

[Marri]

your understanding of things always lands where it should...in the middle of my heart

[Circe]

I'm so glad for that!! :)

[Ken Simm.]

What a wonderful evocation. Rich, dark and plural. I could see shafting light and disturbed dust. Unashamed as well which is good.

[Marri]

Thank you very much, it is a goal to reach the level of plurality which is so dark that begins to sound unashamed. It's a warm feeling to see that you found in it what I am aiming for, encouraging....