Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Calamity is coloured yellow - quince deep, pear shallow - intervining yellow of narcissi palms and morning rise, connecting crusty sunbeams of past, present -----------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------
yellow is this line connecting what one may choose, as Latin connects meaning of smart words, and Greek of relevant.
Calamity - yellow - meaning. Yellow holds fullness between, as it is cut off from the glorious star. When we pass through calamity, our meanings will merge and we will dream yellow, for there will cease to be difference among us. Shakespeare - Goethe - Poe: who shall set apart?
Such is nature in yellow that real and unreal may collide in its shape, and make all sense. For I have bled yellow when she weaved her last and sunk beneath Canal Grande - like a candle in autumnal sunrise - hundred and twenty years ago. For I have cried yellow when the fire - ignited lighthouse rose from seas of amber, twenty seven years after. For I have laughed when fungal trees closed on million - lighted city (jewelled and lonely island), today.



And so yellow is sewn to make an etching.
To M. Q.
Keith Mitchell Dec 2018
the one
precious thought
unfounded possibilities
unimaginable imagined
unassuming figure
crushed perception
beauty hearts desire
with just a glance
deep stare etching
hearts scarred tattoo
touch so gentle
gentleman’s dream
turned upside down
heart falling echoing words
manipulative skill lonely girl
picture left behind
presentation of facts
keeping your secrets
trust yourself
trusting no ******* possess me
till out of sight
among my mind
pirouette effect
leaving me flat footed
starring at the same moon
you gaze upon
******* plots of love
Maggie Emmett Nov 2015
~ Otto Dix Plate 22 ~

Each night I meet myself in nightmares
I am my own enemy fighting in No-man’s land
I am material and real, yet I barely exist
in my imagination.

There is nothing whole and complete
nothing has retained its shape or structure
everything is splintered into surfaces
in my imagination.

There can be only shreds and shards
only textures, hard lines and spaces
where white light can dance free
in my imagination.

Each night I crawl through ruined houses
along dark passages that close me in
dropping to bottomless depths of myself
in my imagination

There are only axons and dendrites in my mind
electric sparking, all atoms in a crystal night
a grasping hand, a gaping eye disconnected
in my imagination.

Each night I try to find myself in nightmares
I am my own enemy fighting in No-man’s land
I am dark energy and matter, yet I barely exist
in my imagination.


© M.L.Emmett
This is a response to Plate 22 Etching by Otto Dix, who fought in WWI and was haunted by his service. He was despised by the Nazis.

— The End —