Tuesday, January 9, 2007

The Significance Of Ceremonialism

Ever been to a ribbon-cutting or ground breaking ceremony? I think most of us have at least once. If I had my way, I'd want to wacth some invited dignitary violently smash a large bottle of champagne against the steel hull of a newly-constructed ship and then stand-by as the white foam flowed like spittle down the vessel's side, just before it began a life at sea. Now that would have been something really neat to see if I'd lived near a shipyard as a child. As an adult though, none of it makes any sense. Fact is, it only makes me wonder how rediculous traditions like those have elbowed their way into our lives with any amount of middle-class respectability. Could these celebrations turly be the foundations of our rarified and priviledged existences or did I miss something while I was having an attack of hic-cups? And while we're at it, have you ever wondered what goes through the minds of the shipbuilders as they witness a perfectly good bottle of bubbles stream down a tiny portion of their creation? One of my vivid memories of my paternal grandmother is her teeth smiling in a jar of clear water at me on the window sill. Does that mean I have the ability to learn advanced Albanian quickly or that I can rise in the ranks of the military any higher than colonel? Do you see where I'm coming from because I can't with this faulty headlight. But I'm determined to "keep it real", even under this forced house arrest. And sometimes I wish I could wave like a Union Jack. Now, here's what you've been dying for:

I Do I Do I Do

It's unnerving just how natural.

The frenchiest kiss. A blur of crimson
love unfocused. Her laugh. She comes as
a winged sorcerer & I as a matte-haired wolf.
Two pieces of fruit plucked from the earth.
"Let me be your baggage", she blurts out,
with pillows & eyes for breathing...

a toss of jungle sheets
a bigh-hand marking the hour

(knees elbows ears lashes)

Too much rain could spoil paradise.
When the monsoons are over, one & one
one & one still equals fourplay. Now go
to sleep for tomorrow...

And the rest is fate.

This poem first appeared in print at: MEGAERA
Anthology - Volume 1
Copyright 2007 by Maurice Oliver. All Rights Reserved.
Also visit his literary E-Zine at: www.concelebratory.blogspot.com

1 comment:

saltyfeline said...

somewhere along the way we become bananas
turn and slide off on our sides, not only nuts but half naked
I can feel our voices forming into
one strawberry
shooting the chill away
while others need operations to remove endless sheets of ice
from their hair



is for another time