'Oil Waves' is the writing blog of Wes Viola, a pen name of Wes White.
A Glastonian now living and working in London, Wes is an Elder Bard of Ynys Witrin (Glastonbury), having won the title in 2015.
He is an alumnus of Goldsmiths' Creative & Life Writing MA and was the 2013 poetry winner at Wells Literary Festival.
The Heart Secretary [Teresa; May] for the Home Secretary, Theresa May 1. The Heart Secretary On the wall of the Heart Office there is an embroidery in patriotic colours, faded since 1905 to pink, cream and baby blue. It reads, ‘I SHOW ME HERE THE EARTH IS.’ It’s a famous phrase, but broken up; letters apart that should be together, together that should be apart. A few metres in front of the work, at a simple desk, sits the Heart Secretary. She is sorting the beating organs that are her concern, hands stained red with their juices. Here are two that cling to one another as if seeking to merge into one, their valves and ventricles becoming inextricable. They are symbiotic. But the Secretary coolly assesses their monetary worth; finds one of them, in this case, lacking - its mass just shy of the scales - so sets to with her scalpel, slices through their sinew, severs them. The first is sent home. Then she wraps the other heart, still beating, in an application form, places it with show of care in a small wooden crate packed with sawdust, nails it shut, and marks for shipping to a single-occupant apartment in a foreign city four thousand miles hence over oceans.
2. Teresa Santa Teresa is stuck through the heart,
in a moment eternally captured in art: the angel is thrusting his hot golden spear, right here, and right here, and again again here.
Bernini has rendered the mystic nun’s marvel in a chapel in Rome in dramatic white marble and has captured the rapture in each downcast lid of our saint, and the sting she’d “not wish to be rid of” - for Teresa revels in the exquisite pain as her cherub inflicts it again and again and she moans and she groans and she gasps and she sings: “It is love alone that gives worth to all things”.
We married on the 18th, in a vineyard in Nebraska.
Matched cummings to Breton in our vows: “i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)” stood next to “My wife whose wrists are matches Whose fingers are raffles holding the ace of hearts” - In yellow sun and yellow dress you looked like Disney’s Belle made flesh. And you do. You carry and hold that card from my deck, my darling. But this game was written by a joker, and the hearts are trumped by diamonds
every trick. -----------------
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