SurVision Magazine / Joseph Ellison Brockway

The Lovers

An ekphrastic poem based on Man Rays's Observatory Time: The Lovers (1936)

Your lips hover over my existence
among the consuming clouds of my memory...
A cold headless body, naked, lies before a lake of fire
and brimstone.

Hot! You stare flames of lust.
I touch even though it burns.
I should retreat, I know, I think I know...

The freezing burn of misplaced physical desire,
my chest tightens.
I am overcome by a sense of confinement,
like the chess pieces engirdling the queen,
in a quest to overtake her.

I want to be queen, but I am pawn;
sacrificed for the good of the game—
pawned off.

Life is all around a frozen pond.
I thirst.

Beautiful Shimmer

Drawn by the siren's call,
I limboed under the yellow tape,
pretending a game,
to be safe inside the circle,
escaping the tragic reality outside.

Impervious to danger,
I watched a viscous puddle of blood
resist the desiccating sun and wind,
holding on for relevance.

The oil from the pavement seeped into the puddle,
becoming an estuary of life and death.
Its iridescence danced with the blood,
swirling into marbled designs
and red marvelous pearls,
reflecting the precious life cut short.

Oh, the puddle,
its shimmer,
face of the innocent,
name inscribed in the pavement,
hiatus of life...
selah.

Joseph Ellison Brockway is a poet, translator, and Spanish professor from Connecticut, USA. His poetry appears in Burning House Press, L'Éphémère Review, Moonchild Magazine, SurVision, Surreal Poetics.

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An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English. Issue Seven JOSEPH ELLISON BROCKWAY The Lovers An ekphrastic poem based on Man Rays's Observatory Time: The Lovers (1936) Your lips hover over my existence among the consuming clouds of my memory... A cold headless body, naked, lies before a lake of fire and brimstone. Hot! You stare flames of lust. I touch even though it burns. I should retreat, I know, I think I know... The freezing burn of misplaced physical desire, my chest tightens. I am overcome by a sense of confinement, like the chess pieces engirdling the queen, in a quest to overtake her. I want to be queen, but I am pawn; sacrificed for the good of the game— pawned off. Life is all around a frozen pond. I thirst. Beautiful Shimmer Drawn by the siren's call, I limboed under the yellow tape, pretending a game, to be safe inside the circle, escaping the tragic reality outside. Impervious to danger, I watched a viscous puddle of blood resist the desiccating sun and wind, holding on for relevance. The oil from the pavement seeped into the puddle, becoming an estuary of life and death. Its iridescence danced with the blood, swirling into marbled designs and red marvelous pearls, reflecting the precious life cut short. Oh, the puddle, its shimmer, face of the innocent, name inscribed in the pavement, hiatus of life... selah. Joseph Ellison Brockway is a poet, translator, and Spanish professor from Connecticut, USA. His poetry appears in Burning House Press, L'Éphémère Review, Moonchild Magazine, SurVision, Surreal Poetics.
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