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“It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances.
The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
“All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others.”
“I don't know why people are so keen to put the details
of their private life in public; they forget
that invisibility is a superpower.”
of their private life in public; they forget
that invisibility is a superpower.”
― Banksy
“Through you we learn to be invisible, through you inaudible;
and hence we can hold the enemy's fate in our hands.”
and hence we can hold the enemy's fate in our hands.”
“ I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in a circus sideshow, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination- indeed, everything and anything except me.”
“The people stared through her as though she were invisible until she thought she was, and walked more easily then, just a cloud reflected in a stream.”
Midweek Motif ~ Invisibility
(The motif you suggested.)
Your Challenge: [ ]
in a new poem, please.
Palladiums
IN the newspaper office—who are the spooks?
Who wears the mythic coat invisible?
Who pussyfoots from desk to desk
with a speaking forefinger?
Who gumshoes amid the copy paper
with a whispering thumb?
Speak softly—the sacred cows may hear.
Speak easy—the sacred cows must be fed.
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Excerpt from Ghazal: America the Beautiful
1Imagine a big room of women doing anything,playing cards, having a meeting, the rattleof paper or coffee cups or chairs pushed back,the loud and quiet murmur of their voices,women leaning their heads together. If weleaned in at the door and I said, Those womenare mothers, you wouldn’t be surprised, exceptat me for pointing out the obvious fact.Women are mothers, aren’t they? So obvious.Say we walked around to 8th or 11th Streetto drop in on a roomful of women, smiling, intense,playing pool, the green baize like moss. Onelights another’s cigarette, oblique glance.Others dance by twos under twirling silver moonsthat rain light down in glittering drops.If I said in your ear, through metallic guitars,These women are mothers, you wouldn’t believe me,would you? Not really, not even if you had cometo be one of the women in that room. You’d say:Well, maybe, one or two, a few. It’s what we say.Here, we hardly call our children’s names out loud.We’ve lost them once, or fear we may. We’re carefulwhat we say. In the clanging silence, pain fallson our hearts, year in and out, like water cuttinga groove in stone, seeking a channel, a way out,pain running like water through the glittering room.2I often think of a poem as a door that opensinto a room where I want to go. But to go inhere is to enter where my own suffering exists. . . .(Read the rest HERE.)
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Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community. AND: please put a link to this prompt with your poem. (Next week Sumana's Midweek Motif will be ~ Hyperbole ~ Stretch the Truth)
