Happy Birthday Michelangelo!

Though the day is nearly over, I could not let it pass without acknowledgment. Today is the birthday of true Renaissance man, and fellow lefty, Michelangelo Buonarroti. He has been my favorite artist since high school. One of the most exciting days of my life was the day I stood inside the Sistine Chapel. He was not only a painter and a scupltor, but also an architect and a poet. It is this last mentioned of his talents which did not gain him notice during his lifetime. This is because his poetry was not written for public consumption.

 Here is one of his unfinished sonnets. This one was written to his former love, Gherardo Perini.

Over here it was that my love stole from me,

In his mercy, my heart and, farther on, my life.

Here with his beautiful eyes he promised me help,

And with the same eyes here he stole it back.

Over here he bound me and here released me;

For myself I wept here, and with infinite sorrow

From this rock I saw him leave,

He who stole myself from me and never turned back.
 
It has such a note of pain and abandonment that it is difficult to read and easy to see why he must have left it unfinished.

Soul Shards

Ooops. I just realized that I forgot to post a link to Agent Query in my "Websites for Writers" section. It's there now. :-)

Oh, and BTW, I woke up at about 1:00am and this poem popped into my head. It's unedited, but thought I'd share anyway.


        Soul Shards


I’ve sifted through the shards
of who I once was found anger, despair,
a tiny sliver of happiness.
But innocence is nowhere.
I left it with you, wedged between
the daylight and the darkness.
Layered with dust – forgotten.
In its place, a hole, jagged and tender.
Slowly filling with indifference
To keep me from the same mistakes
I made by giving my soul
into the care of an invalid.

Dormant Creation

Can you feel them?
Just beneath the surface, struggling.
Breathing in counterpoint to reality.

Can you hear them?
Echoing in the emptiness, beckoning.
They howl, they scream and beg release.

Can you see them?
Whispering in corners, pointing.
The words in your mind that wait for inspirtion.

(c) 09/2009 K. Looney

Poetry in my soul.

While "the eyes are the windows to the soul" is widely accepted, I truly believe that poetry is a window into mine.

“Set the world on fire,” he said.
So I did.
I lit the match,
and watched the grasses
catch their last breaths
as the flames
ate away at them.
And I smiled.
I smiled, at what I had done.
I danced in the
ashes of what had been.
I became the glorious Phoenix
on wings of gold
soaring high.

© Kaycee Looney 7/15/00