Today, I want to talk a bit about surprises in our adult escapades. Sometimes, you’re just standing around thinking that that adult world has passed you by (you’re no longer the target market, so it’s time for you to take up knitting or stamp collecting to fill the void), time to rot on the vine. Then someone comes along and reminds you that you are still alive, full of juice, that the world is still a sensual place for you.
Where there’s life there’s hope, some say – we hope that that’s true even if it seems at the moment not to be.
These little strange adventures always come straight out of left field, like a comet streaking across the sky or lightening bolt knocking you in the temple (sending you straight to temple to pray), it’s never what you think it is or is going to be. Sometimes the future is predictable and things tumble out the way you expect them to, and it is never satisfying only ever disappointing (I mean, yeah, sure, you get a moment of “see I told you so” but that reward never lasts and there’s never a good story to tell afterwards).
Perhaps these moments are temporary, but you remember them always. Perhaps bad may follow good, but you had a bright point to counter your low.
This poem seems to come out of left field, surprising and strange, it takes you on a visual journey of the sensual (not quite sure why it’s dedicated to Ezra Pound – don’t know his career well enough to say). Each image that follows seems to peel a little more of the grape until it’s left naked at the end. It uses simple language to construct an image then deconstruct it down to its bare essentials. It’s a moment in time where we look closely at the mood and the physicality of it, shall I say, the heat of the moment or is that too cliche?
A Sensual, For Ezra Pound
by Emanuel di Pasquale
A girl is feeding
grapes to three leopards.
The leopards are black.
The grapes are also black.
And the girl is naked.
Like ripening grapes,
her breasts, her small breasts,
lean lightly into the air.