ZITA ZENDA

WORDS

vincent

for Starry Night

Amid the dark and light, there is a tree

whose very shape depicts the chapel’s spire

centered in the distant town below.

Above this province with its vale a’swoon,

the wind is shown to have its own esprit...

It reels upon itself with mad desire,

commiserating with the stars that glow

in self-concentric circles as the moon.

His wind, and stars and moon of Saint-Remy

encompass all the realm as they conspire;

gaining might, they mean to overthrow

his World entire --all but that cypress tree.

The turmoil of this Starry Night is set

on canvas, dried, and dampened of its threat.

the pleasure is mine

... eye gazing ...

A happiness prevails within me that you can plainly see
through my eyes, as airless pupils funnel you down
into my replenishing well. I stare deeper—
my black and hollow cones widening
so as to catch and direct the flow
of your glances —my boundless
downspouts to the bottom
of my fluid source
of Joy. Dive
into Me!

Like Minds

“The only Zen you find at the tops of mountains is the Zen you bring up there.” ~Robert Prizig: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

I am not on the tops of mountains!
I’m swimming a wide civilian stream
whose currents are insistent
on racing toward the looming falls.
My toes touch bottom —barely,
while merciless surges guard the shore...
They push my weak resistance,
but bide just enough. I catch my breath,

in moments when postponing
that ultimate plunge into the deep,
and I scan the rushing surface
for others whose toes have touched the bed;

and I hope, that they are breathing
as I am, and looking out for me...

PHOTOS