My Shadowed Mind.
Tear off the glossy surface of the idyll
And there beyond the birdsong
And the flowering bed
Beyond the gilt and gold of my existence
Where I would wish to stay,
I am led off
And dragged away to be in parallel
With something else
My fugitive and shadowed mind
Cannot escape
The stricken eyes
That come with every massacre
And every global war .
The slaughtered
Scattered in their mortal parts.
Women with outstretched arms are broken hearted
Wailing at their broken child.
Those soldiers poised for carnage
Shoot along the wires of the daily news...
Men ...raging Bulls and tyranny
Swathed in glory of the kill.
When Aeschylus gave power to the Gods
By glorifying Zeus..the Myth was born....
And mimicked without cease
The Sun Gods do not shine
They burn
In massive atmospheric lines
As a collective type
Becoming just as one...
Without affection in the index of their hatred
That they are born of woman.
Raped ..
She has been shot
Her lungs are gone and it she is dead...again
Goya has painted them..
Kokoschka captured it
Picasso made it Weeping Woman
...in a Hat.
Forever and a day.
Kristine Byrne...April/May 2013