Strangers by Joseph Etchingham
Trial by Fire
So in return, be fire storm,
be Blake’s blaze of sun’s wow
over an open market of pushcart fruit;
be the fruit’s colors heaped in rows ecstatic
as warm tongues on Parisian bricks, on roof
lozenges, & distant skies of Prussian;
be Hiawatha hills & St. Joan surreal
with symphonies of gentleness
machete-spread, fine-tuned
to the spirit’s shine of a quiet testament
in stone.
So winds swirls flames while glory learns their strength,
enters that secret & turns to rain, immutable
even as it descends.
So the trials fall & ascension is believed in –
weather of faith feeding the green stream of just standing
in stillness, as if taller than it all.
Cascading Dogwood
Here is a fountain of blossoms each perfectly star-shaped
as cream-hued Irish linen cut out for needlepoint
in an overabundance of luck from more rain
than Spring expected when starting so hot.
How our lives are such weather reports
for what is fortunate here elsewhere comes as floods
that we notice in hushed but for the grace of,
stopping on the lawn’s wet beads
given pause in a rush the heart melts with
when finding that Thuja tree there,
miraculous Asian art leaping from canvas
to become the whole yard’s point.
Genuflect or crawl lower to lie under. Gaze up.
Why these constellations bunching from bark
against falling greenness?
Do not question splendor, Nature says,
charting the focus of Providence found
now, now, now – for it will shift
wind-tossed at our own peril
& quite suddenly be lost.
Noctilucent Clouds
(Noctilucent roughly means “night shining” in Latin)
This stills the mind, even without a moon, though tonight too,
there is that fat knob the sky is a door for.
These white shining breaths, now sketchy, now crimping curvier,
are more than decor though. These clouds are singing
the chant in enchantment rare with chemicals
but not just of nature.
No, the ozone’s changed all, bright but with a thinning
from below where heaviness rises.
Yet the soul grows lighter, spark-transfixed with such heat
as cool horizons lose gravity to hold the ground afloat.
Beneath, feel long grasses quivering & oak bark a luminous tin
with its leaves as hands upturned.
They are filled with prayers unable to be uttered
but awe is everywhere a visible sound.
Nautilus Reminiscence
This melting is tremendous—–
head against shoulder, a Roseland Marathon of a dollar-a-dance
for hungering months, fearing homelessness the incentive
to keep vulnerably at it in such crepe paper streamers,
all those exhausted ribbons.
Tenderness can be fatigue too, blending top to toe,
breath a shimmer on cheeks past the ear,
the holding collar bones’ hollow, a respite,
dimly heady as the mellowest of wine.
What sweet sleepwalkers we were to such steps
circling the music as a blurred carousel’s rush
going on in the motion of slowing endless news reels
of dust storms, Depressions, war’s ticker-tape footage.
Armistice was success, yes, to find ourselves back at the home front,
the fires still burning, & your cigarette’s orange tip
a magic wand throughout the sooty room’s crushed velvet chintz
of “follow-the-bouncing-ball” singing Happy Days.
We can again pay the rent.
Dearest, remember that melody snow-globe clear
in our mind’s shining rosebuds for the homes made of frostiness now
& our silver hair wintry with some enchantment dancing still
past Venetian blinds, the private canals, the heart’s warming chambers,
& us old but alive to toast Venice sunsets.
About the author:
Stephen Mead is an Outsider multi-media artist and writer. Since the 1990s he’s been grateful to many editors for publishing his work in print zines and eventually online. Recently his work has appeared in CROW NAME, WORDPEACE and DuckuckMongoose. Currently he is resident artist/curator for The Chroma Museum, artistic renderings of LGBTQI historical figures, organizations and allies predominantly before Stonewall.
thestephenmeadchromamuseum.weebly.com
In the artist’s words:
Joseph Etchingham: I got into photography, by way of filmmaking, which was my first creative outlet. In late 2017, a friend and I did a photo session inspired by the old film noir lighting techniques of the late 40s. From that point on, I switched my focus (no pun intended) to photography. Beginning in March of 2020, however, I started taking photos in the street and documentary style. I’m inspired by photographers like Robert Frank, Diane Arbus, and Saul Leiter.