buried antiques

Drop of Sea

Hey kitty cats, here’s some new poetry.  Enjoy.















Drop of Sea

She’s bitter at the root;

a bit rebellious, my beloved.

A trove of secrets,

buried like antiquities,

lay sleeping beneath her innocence.

Her skin, soft, pallid, plush,

under curious fingertips,

Her neck, reddening like a brush fire,

signals itself, an offering,

unable to remain hidden.

She is dichotomous;

her crown resting

between scarlet and indigo,

a drop of sea,

upon my eager tongue. 




Anglo-Saxon Sword Pyramid from the Stafforshire Hoard, c. 7th-8th century

The Staffordshire Hoard is the largest hoard of Anglo-Saxon gold and silver metalwork ever found. It was discovered in a field near the village of Hammerwich, in Staffordshire on 5 July 2009. The items, over 3,500 in all, date from the time of the Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Mercia, c. 7th-8th century.

The sword pyramid is one of a pair. These pyramids are hollow inside, with a bar across the opening rather like on a belt buckle. Pyramids like this have been found in a number of Anglo-Saxon graves, lying beside sword scabbards. The pyramids would have adorned a leather strap that would have been attached to a scabbard (which is a cover for a sword).  Straps like this are mentioned in the Viking sagas, where they are called ‘peace bands’. They could be tied around the handle of the sword, securing it in place in the scabbard so warriors were not able to draw their swords suddenly in anger.

The Staffordshire Hoard is remarkable for the extraordinary quantity of sword fittings. Most are of gold and many are beautifully inlaid with garnets. Such elaborate and expensive decoration would have marked out the weapon as the property of the highest echelons of nobility. The discovery of a single sword pyramid is a notable event - to find several pairs together is absolutely unprecedented.

Hands In The Dirt.


My spirits and I have been quiet, resting. 

These past years have been a journey walking down the crooked paths, by church yards, then temples, then crossroads, then to the very heart of the industrial forest of towering pines and even taller sky scrapers. Sitting in the foliage shadows of modern meets antiquated. Burying offerings then talismans, finally taking up all that I have given, and crowning myself in my own achievements so that now I am here, battle scars stretching over my body, bloody then cleaned up, and here.

Now what? Like the anticlimax that comes after the rush of completing a chapter, I was in limbo, waiting in lull of what is yet to begin. 

Like the Avengers eating shawarmas at the end of the movie, body sweaty in their battle suits, dirt encrusting on the sides of their faces, in silence.

Or just the stage blackening when one story has ended, the lights dimming until there is nothing. 

Now what?

I look at my companions, and I ask.

Now what?

Nothing, not much is said back to me except that the internal work continues and congragulations on all I’ve learned and the triumphs and yadada as I’m sitting there bewildered.

My hands grapple and fidget before me, making shadows against my face.

No but, really now WHAT? I gesture helplessly as my whole summer enfolds like a never ending cruel comedy of nothingness before me. 

They take my hands and fold them back onto themselves.

You decide.

That was new. I decide. No one is necessarily telling me I need to go anywhere this summer. I actually have the whole summer to myself. The whole summer?!?!?!?!

Some of them chuckle at my exasperated attempts to grasp the concept. 

Well I mean I always wanted to learn how to make cocktails.

Then make cocktails, you got those alchemy books lying around right?

Tomorrow I’m going thrifting for chemistry flasks and bartending tools.

And then they remind me, we agreed, after this, I am exploring the world remember, and stars stretch out before like an infinite sky of mysteries waiting to be reached in ways unique to each and every one of us.

Once America turns a corner like that, it tends to move on. We don’t make a habit of looking back at our history if a social injustice is thought to have been fixed. […] But then you loo k at a film like Carol, and peer through the windows it opens onto both cultural history and actual history, and you realize how much we don’t know about a past that unfolded in the shadows until not very long ago. You also start to wonder how many cultural treasures and figures are buried in that antiquity, invisible to most of heterosexual America and perhaps to much of younger gay America, too. Highsmith’s “lesbian book,” its million paperback copies of six decades ago notwithstanding, is just such a case.

Frank Rich in NY Mag, “Patricia Highsmith’s Carol and the Enduring Invisibility of Lesbian Culture in America”