A Poem a Day
Apr. 4th, 2014 03:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
riotheclownI just finished reading “The Cellist of Sarajevo”. It made me think of this poem that I wrote in response to another terrible event, but it could be applied to so many events in history. We are growing to understand our shared humanity. The only way to undermine the terror caused by those who would motivate people to do harm to others is to assert our every day humanity.
If you can find “Una Giornata Particolare” I would highly recommend it.
Everyday People
I saw a great movie, it went like this:
Sophia Lauren’s fat ass walking up and down stairs whilst carrying laundry to the roof. She is wearing shoes with the backs worn down from slipping them on in a hurry and running after too many children all born out of her sloppy twat and a housedress that smells of the meals she has prepared and toilets she’s cleaned and the floors she scrubbed, a dress that is long enough to hide her knees and ugly enough to defeat calves that could make Michelangelo weep over their perfection.
Alone in rooms that sigh when her family leaves, she opens the window to let in the air. Breezes, that don’t know what Fascism is, know what loneliness is.
On this Special Day, this Una Giornata Particolare (One Particular Day) she has sex with her doomed homosexual neighbour while crowds welcome Hitler to Italy.
It is always the same, every time I watch it.
Today, the day after another disaster, broken hearted people mop up the mess while others cobble something together that reminds them of love.
Small acts of forbearance and enormous acts of fortitude hold the truth of everyday people.
If you can find “Una Giornata Particolare” I would highly recommend it.
Everyday People
I saw a great movie, it went like this:
Sophia Lauren’s fat ass walking up and down stairs whilst carrying laundry to the roof. She is wearing shoes with the backs worn down from slipping them on in a hurry and running after too many children all born out of her sloppy twat and a housedress that smells of the meals she has prepared and toilets she’s cleaned and the floors she scrubbed, a dress that is long enough to hide her knees and ugly enough to defeat calves that could make Michelangelo weep over their perfection.
Alone in rooms that sigh when her family leaves, she opens the window to let in the air. Breezes, that don’t know what Fascism is, know what loneliness is.
On this Special Day, this Una Giornata Particolare (One Particular Day) she has sex with her doomed homosexual neighbour while crowds welcome Hitler to Italy.
It is always the same, every time I watch it.
Today, the day after another disaster, broken hearted people mop up the mess while others cobble something together that reminds them of love.
Small acts of forbearance and enormous acts of fortitude hold the truth of everyday people.
