Mag 146

the female cyclops is watching,
but her hearing is better.

she has the measure of your footsteps,
so regular, so rhythmic.

soon you will be in her belly,
unless you destroy her first.

/ / /

This poem was written to the visual prompt at Mag 146 at The Mag.

Advertisements

A Man

He looks out at me.
He doesn’t seem angry,
but some will say he is.

I look at him.
And what I see is wisdom
and beauty.

(Tell me what you eat
and I will tell you what you are.)

What I do not see
is flesh,
raw or cooked.

But life, abundance,
and color.
A vegetable world.

(The woman saw that the tree was good
for food and desirable to the eyes…)

We look. We see.
We make the world
from what we see,
from how we look.

(We don’t see things as they are.
We see things as we are.)

In all of this looking and seeing,
what of thought inside?
The truth is within us.
Do you see it?

/ / /

This poem was prompted by the visual above from The Mag.