By: Marco Etheridge
Atlas shrugs a solipsistic shoulder at the notion
come unbidden from another and thus suspect,
beyond pale, past seal hermetic.
From the void flung as a pebble novel thought
strikes titan holding high our sacred orb
balanced like a salad bowl.
Iron resolve of stillness shaken only for a moment
he makes minute adjustment to his planetary
burden borne on brawn.
Shift begets a spasm, oh so slight, a brushing
feather, gossamer wing that tremors bedrock,
ripples ocean, puddle, and pond.
Sways the walk neath a child's footstep, soft as
silk small hand is shifted, cone is shaken,
ice cream falls to Sunday's shiny toe.
Marco Etheridge is a writer of fiction and CNF, an occasional playwright, and a part-time poet. He lives and writes in Vienna, Austria. His scribbles have been featured in many lovely reviews and journals in Canada, Australia, the UK, and the USA.Author website at: https://www.marcoetheridgefiction.com/
"Earlier this year, there was a reoccurring theme tugging at my mental bedcovers, a small, jangling refrain that nagged at my brain. The nagging little voice had its roots in the outside world, the global world. The refrain was that we are all in ‘This’ together, whatever ‘This’ is. We are all of us rowing the same tiny boat, even if some of us cannot (or will not) see the ocean. Sad, so sad, to not acknowledge the ocean when it is drenching your face in salty water.
From that insistent refrain came the notion of someone or something believing they can stand aloof from the messy business of living. Absurd, of course. Even hermits have smartphones these days. And so the image of the titan Atlas holding the globe aloft, and with it a chance to give Alice O’Conner a poetic poke in the eye. Who could resist?"