On spectres and spectacles
Tuesday, January 13th, 2015 02:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
luna_virgoSpectral
January trees
rise like dark skeletons
from the fog, shrouded
as half-remembered dreams.
The mist is alive
with ghosts and bones
in this dead season.
(In the last two days I've watched Black Swan, Memoirs of a Geisha, and Elizabeth: The Golden Age. This haiku is the result.)
Spectacle
A geisha, painted.
A queen in her finery.
A ballet dancer.
Each acting a role,
precisely costumed, movements
all choreographed.
Each in control yet
rigidly restrained by the
part that must be played.
January trees
rise like dark skeletons
from the fog, shrouded
as half-remembered dreams.
The mist is alive
with ghosts and bones
in this dead season.
(In the last two days I've watched Black Swan, Memoirs of a Geisha, and Elizabeth: The Golden Age. This haiku is the result.)
Spectacle
A geisha, painted.
A queen in her finery.
A ballet dancer.
Each acting a role,
precisely costumed, movements
all choreographed.
Each in control yet
rigidly restrained by the
part that must be played.