I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

7 April 2010

Goya's Flying Witches

How fat they are, I think,
these witches. And what
are they doing up there
without brooms? Perhaps
they’ve already ingested
that psychotropic stuff,
that flying ointment,
through the skin
and there they are flying
in spirit? But the man
on the ground looks real enough!

Why is he hiding his head
under his coat? Why is he
trying to scurry away? Why
is he dark, when their garments
are bright — what few they wear?
I think he is Goya,
and Goya is dreaming
fearful dreams of witches:
shameless, fleshy, light creatures.

But who, then, are they carrying?
Is it innocent Goya, a victim?
Or some friend they’re taking
for healing? He painted it,
Goya, so it is his dream,
a conscious dream of witches,
of flying with half-naked witches.

April PAD Challenge 6
Prompt: Write a poem in response to a painting.
Given two choices, I picked Flight of the Witches by Francisco de Goya.

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