Primavera, 24×24, oil on panel by Richard J Demato
He dug so perfectly well and worked very hard, but as soon as he came to the water of life, he went from being so good to being very bad. He took to his heels as fast as he could, and lost the nourishment that all his work was supposed to bring. Isn’t it unfortunate that a well-digger is dying of thirst because of his fear of water?
Brief Analysis: When a man hops from woman to woman, he lives a very empty, unfulfilled life. “Digging through a well” is used as a metaphor for having sex in this short poem. It’d be silly, of course, or stupid, to think that is all a woman- a whole magnificent being- is good for. If you are lucky enough to get a woman who loves you and is willing to be and stay with you, it’d be unfortunate to not appreciate that, and recognize that with her by your side, there is nothing you can’t do.
Lady Justice’s husband is a White supremacist. He grabs her breasts and bites her ears, slaps her buttocks and wipes her tears, tells her he loves her and calms her fears, and in the mornings, she does whatever the hell she’s asked to do.
He wants to be my knight. I have noticed his random displays of might. He gazes at me seductively whenever I’m in sight, but all I can predict is a sorry plight. How can you be the one that I’d keep warm at night if you don’t think everyone should be treated right?
Poverty in the Midst of Plenty (1939) by Gerard Sekoto
A poor man wakes up feeling hungry and useless. A rich man prefers to have his meat boneless. The poor man eats out of the rich man’s bins, homeless. The rich man blames him for it, but the poor man is faultless.
Poor man only wants some food; he’s harmless. He has told rich man many times- it’s countless. He needs rich man’s attention; he’s helpless, but rich man doesn’t care, he’s loveless.
Does wealth make a person heartless? Someone, tell me, ’cause I’m clueless. Does it kill a person’s sense of fairness? Does it make a human being think less?
Her words are deep, and perhaps, far too deep, because they do not come from her heart. She writes and speaks with passion only because her words come from the pitch of her stomach. As these words travel up her torso, they avoid her heart like a plague.
“Yemoja” [Artist Unknown]
Her heart is severely wounded, so she strives to protect her words from blood stains. She chooses not to release the words that live in her heart because they are filled with pain.
She is hurt and she is weak and she is dying slowly, but it’s not for her listeners who need healing to see…
I hope you’ll see sooner, that I am your other, that we ought to be together, that we can make each other stronger. I can be your healer, and you can be my lover, and vice-versa. I’ve loved you since I was much younger, and I’ll love you forever.