To Declare

I need a chariot with a pair of wings
which won’t be mistaken for nuclear fins,
a name, 
an address,
which will impress
the police and customs at Heathrow’s check-ins.

I declare an independent mind
but lacerated with grief, 
a worn-out body
seeking relief,
some hard-won savings
but not in sterling
which would take me as far as Grasmere  
or Stirling.
 
To Cross or To Cross

You stroll on lawns matted with flowers.
We tiptoe our way with half-closed eyes.
What acrobatic feats could elude timed fire,
waiting to burst from maiming mines!

To cross or to cross, 
no not to bar us
from the traps of death 
that lurk underground.
Some say a prayer. 
Some curse the hour
that decrees the fate of blighted men.

And Diana reprobating such techno-power
that instantaneously severs legs and limbs
could not defuse the flames and horrors
which would erupt from lunatics’ toys.
 
News Headlines

Another peace accord
has brought discord.
Clamors for war
reverberate through the globe.

Human rights issues 
as frail as tissue: 
oceans will seethe 
with refugees. 

Religious error 
is yoked to terror. 
Commercial wedlock 
inducing deadlock.

Straggling economies  
conceiving poverty. 
Desertification 
with certification. 

Ambassadors of mettle 
unable to settle 
where their presence can heal
political disease. 

[Dedicated to Dr. Janet Gardiner, former Ambassador to Syria]
 
Nereid

She roams the water in search of her beloved 
whom Polyphemus had banished, incensed by lust
that covets frailty in a blooming sea-flower,
whose lack of deference would make her sob. 

Timorous fish swim through her tresses,
inhaling the brine of entangled weeds, 
sorrowfully making many random conjectures
at possible causes for lachrymal trails. 

A translucent string of hyacinthine bubbles, 
profusely flowing from saddened eyes, 
foreboding havoc and vindictiveness, 
inscribing in water defiant love. 
 
An Onomatopoeic Stance

A patter.
Is it feet that chatter
over things that matter?

A splutter.
Is it drops that gutter
from eyes that sputter?

A clatter.
Is it hooves that shatter
the former and the latter?
 
Reticence

The rose that froze at the tip of your tongue
had chosen to repose frost-bitten and numb,
deflecting a flight into the unseen,
inducing an untimely winter scene.

Its pollen lay deep writhing in sobs,
longing for a birth, for dreamt-of buds.
Each curling petal had gone to sleep
suppressing the scent I yearned to keep.

Describe the allegorical and symbolic significance of the Old Man in Christopher Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus

The Old Man, despite his physical vulnerability, is a resurrectionist Christ like figure who is a visionary form of divination externalized by the symbolic appearance of allegorical context.  Orthodoxy and conventional social doctrines of Trinity and Catholicism beliefs and institutions are embodied by this allegorical manifestation. The decrepitude of the Old Man- ‘that base and crooked age’ reflects Faustus’ poor opinions of the chances of survival of society for which the Old Man advocates. Through Old Man’s annihilation Faustus wishes to justify abjuration of scriptures, social condemnation and sense of transgressions that has tainted his egocentric peace. When Faustus asks Mephistopheles to torment the Old Man who has tried to dissuade Faustus from his wicked ways, Mephistopheles replies:

“His Faith is great; I cannot touch his soul;
But what I may afflict his body with
I will attempt, which is but little worth.” (Act V Scene I Lines: 79-81) 



Furthermore the Old Man hears Faustus’ lusty conversation even at the brink of despair; while Faustus speaks to the phantasm, emphasis folly and blindness of Faustus’ plea by saying with epigrammatic repartee:

“Accursed Faustus, miserable man,
That from thy soul exclud’st the grace of Heaven,
And fliest the throne of his tribunal seat!” ( Act V Scene II  Lines:  112-114) 


In conclusion, the Old Man is a representation of the Christian theology with themes and motifs associated with Biblical faith and holy scriptures, prayer, repentance and contrition as well as salvation and damnation. We might be intrigued to take the Old Man as the phenomenon of virtue and conscience in the soul of Doctor Faustus rather than the externalizations of his voice of conscience. In Faustus’ foul, wretched and heinous crime of committing suicide, the Old Man’s prudishness casted a heavy cheer fearing Faustus’ downfall preyed to the ruins of helpless soul.
 “I see an angel hovers o’er thy head,
And, with  a vile fill of precious grace, (Act V SceneI Lines-56-57)

These lines infer exemplification of bounties of graceful benediction which is in store of Faustus if he chooses the path of salvation and atonement. 

References and Further Reading
1.	Green, Clarence, Doctor Faustus Tragedy of Individualism, Communications, Jstor

2.	David C Webb, Damnation In Doctor Faustus: Theological Strip Tease and The Histrionic Hero, Critical Survey, 1999, Vol. 11, No. 1, Culture, Custom and Belief (1999), pg: 31-47

I remember what I dream

I remember what I dreamt
I dreamt what I wanted to be
I ask myself who I am and why
Am I a full time dreamer boy
Dream is mystery 
The mystery is in life
Life is itself a mystery 
I dream what I remembered 
I Remember, I remember
I dream, I dream all day long
I know what is dream
I know who I am
I am a freewill agent of nature
I live in my dream
I dream what I can
I remember what I dream.

~Money is the root of evil~

He is the Devil's tool,
Like when Eve was fooled
purchasing Death with an apple,
and breaking ground for thorns 
and thistles 
He is an empty space
in the heart of Judas Iscariot,
whose longing will never be
           satisfied.


He holds grudge against
peace and love,
but yet promises Heaven and Earth;
He speaks of himself as the greatest treasure.
In his bosom is an abyss of
pleasure,
can you decipher his cunning
desires?

He led Joseph into slavery,
Sending the Israelites into
       captivity
like a bird trapped in a cage.
He is a wolf in lamb's skin,
whose embrace is a snare of 
brokenness and pain.

A Delilah of corruption and
frustration,
whose kiss breaks down
even the palace of
King Solomon.

Struggling with Uncertainty

The shadows on my bedroom wall are growing dark and long.
I hear the voices rise and fall, their language harsh and strong.
Do they know I can hear their fight? Maybe they just don't care
that their child is locked in fright, heart pounding in both ears
With commotion in the mind.

Someone standing at the mouth had
the idea to enter. To go further
than light or language could
go. As they followed
the idea, light and language followed

like two wolves—panting, hearing themselves
panting. A shapeless scent
in the damp air …
Keep going, the idea said.

The wild-
life seemed wild and alive, moving
when someone moved, casting their shadows
on the shadows stretching
in every direction. Keep going,
The truth about this struggle
Is merely to survive
From the moment you arrive
In birth, to the end of death

In Case You Thought Being a Creator Was Easy


Giving everything for the sake of your art

Requires a vulnerability and rawness

That tears you up inside

The misconception is you’ll always love what you do


When the truth is

A lot of the time you’ll fucking hate it


Who’d willingly cut themself open and pour themselves out?

Sharing what’s in your heart and mind with the masses

Leaving yourself open to critics and scrutiny

Who often have no idea what they’re talking about, by the way,

Deciding if you’re Good Enough


An arbitrary decision that determines

If you’re choosing between rent and food this month

Or can pay for both, and maybe other bills


And the danger of Making It in your chosen scene?

If you cater to the masses, you risk becoming beige

A mediocre shell of your former brilliance

Kissing ass, bending over, and down on your knees


The two hardest things about being in the arts:

Giving everything you have for your passion, and

Having the strength of conviction to stay true to yourself

Skaja Evens is a writer and artist living in Southeast Virginia. She runs It Takes All Kinds, a litzine published by Mōtus Audāx Press. Her work has been published in Spillwords Press, The Dope Fiend Daily, and The Rye Whiskey Review.