Reflections on The Lady of Shalott

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often thro’ the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
       And music, came from Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead
Came two young lovers lately wed;
‘I am half sick of shadows,’ said
       The Lady of Shalott.

She left the web, she left the loom
She made three paces thro’ the room
She saw the water-flower bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
       She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
‘The curse is come upon me,’ cried
       The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
       Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
       The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross’d themselves for fear,
       All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, “She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
       The Lady of Shalott.”
They cross’d themselves, their stars they blest,
Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.
There lay a parchment on her breast,
That puzzled more than all the rest,
       The wellfed wits at Camelot.
‘The web was woven curiously,
The charm is broken utterly,
Draw near and fear not,—this is I,
       The Lady of Shalott.’

 

 

elevated perspective

Raised, especially above the ground:

First of all it is not a discreet writer, but about the reality of numbers.

I will always drink Wednesday to sleep with you.

Life speaks.

 

Myth of a rabbit –

Look, there, beauty and fame seems to be in the news.

 

We are attached wines of society, the amount of wealth we are seeking.

We only have to pretend.

“From a fool, we crazy crazy”

– The existence of convenient lucky characters,… for many people raise towers.

Music Source:

Louis Jordan & His Tympany Five II

 

Rooftop View

 

Emily Dickinson did not reside here, where leaves kiss shadows and eaves whisper about summer to the remains of grit that gets washed away in the rain of cloud convictions. Yeats never told her about the window that looks back at the reflected trees. So why is it that they seem to be waving at the camera in a poetic frenzy of twisting line breaks, like an uneven stanza, a stratification of emotional confusion ?

 

Here are Pareidolia Parasols

for high wire walkers

&

roof repair workers

in the bright sun,

as rays of certainty hurl down upon their heads,

with the verity of gravity’s grasp.

Unwanted facts, quickly approaching –

from the shouting horizon –

brings on vertigo in existential deniers .

 

Too much emotional distortion

rises in the air,

as the refractive index

causes truth to bend

when it enters and exists in opinionated thoughts –

unsteadily seated on peaks & gable corners,

angry convictions shout

at laughter running across the green lawns.