Observations of life through the eyes of a poet, and the heart of a hippie.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Friday the 13th

history has tainted the day of my birth
Jesus was crucified on a Friday
after being betrayed by Judas
his thirteenth guest
at the Last Supper
a coven of witches
when joined by the devil
equals thirteen
Adam and Eve were banished
from the Garden of Eden on a Friday
well-known serial killers
have thirteen letters in their names

the date instills an uneasiness
in the minds of otherwise rational people
who wear amulets of protection
to ward off lurking evil
and live cautiously for twenty-four hours
taking no unnecessary chances with fate
the number alone instills such fear
high-rises and hospitals skip the thirteenth floor
airports omit both gates and aisles
bearing the unlucky number
giving fear credibility
in a superstitious society

did Jesus not rise from the dead?
does Jesus plus twelve apostles not equal thirteen?
did Eve not gain the gift of knowledge?
are there not thirteen letters in the name Mahatma Gandhi?
Friday, ruled by Venus, the day of Freya
goddess of love and fertility
the day of my first breath of life
thirteen is the extra cookie in a baker’s dozen
an unexpected gift of sweetness
my number of luck and good fortune
just one of many oddities
characterizing the uniqueness of my life


* first published in Poesia in July 2006

my Sanctuary

upon entering your doors, I inhale deeply

breathing in the smell of paper, ink, the glue of bindings

at once I am at home and lost

unable to decide where to begin my quest

within your vast walls of knowledge

I want to learn Italian, ancient ceremonies,

the name of the flowering tree in the park,

how to use my new camera, new vegetarian dishes,

the type of hawk that circles above my woods

hours slip by unnoticed as I drift between shelves

often sprawling out in the floor with my treasures

trying in vain to decide what I cannot leave without

choosing carefully the nourishment for my mind and soul

I leave with a sigh of satisfaction and regret

hurrying home with a feast as large as my arms can carry

already plotting the course of my next escape

first published on www.strondes.com in September 2005