Paraskevidekatriaphobia: Part I (note: “parskevidekatriaphobia” means “fear of Friday the 13th”)
A Poem for Today
“Friday The 13th”
by Nadia DeLevea
All throughout History,
It’s always been a mystery.
The most unlucky of days,
On this day we change our ways.
Careful what we do,
Careful when we tie our shoe.
Stay in and lock your door,
Don’t get up off the floor.
Black cats and spilled salt,
The broken mirror is not my fault!
Avoiding ladders and a sidewalk crack,
Being on guard we do not lack.
Some say it’s a day of fun,
Others shiver, hide, and run.
Some say it’s black magic that comes out today,
Some say that it’s demons here to stay.
Whatever your superstition on this very day,
Everyone’s wits will shred and fray.
The day of bad luck comes only so often,
Let’s just pray it doesn’t lead to a coffin.
Below – John Seabury: “Bad Luck”
Paraskevidekatriaphobia: Part II
Contemporary Danish Art – Rene Holm (posted especially for today)
Below – “It was only a dream”: “Conclusively”; “The bells in the little church started to chime”; “she just wants to be accepted in this place”; “holding on”; “it happened right here.”
This Date in Art History: Born 13 November 1930 – Benny Andrews, an American painter and printmaker.
Below – “For Colored Girls”; “Utopia Study #15”; “Black Beauty”; “The Reaper”; “Janitors at Rest”; “Flower.”
This Date in Literary History: Born 13 November 1850 – Robert Louis Stevenson, a Scottish novelist, poet, and travel writer.
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will
This be the verse you grave for me:
‘Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.’
Below – John Singer Sargent: “Robert Louis Stevenson”; Robert Louis Stevenson’s tomb on Mount Vaea, Samoa.
Contemporary Romanian Art – Nicoleta Nicorici
Below – “Landscape 7”; “Garden II”; “I’m fragile”;“Landscape 4”; “Landscape I”; “Landscape 10.”
by Karen Gottshall
Sometimes I say I’m going to meet my sister at the café—
even though I have no sister—just because it’s such
a beautiful thing to say. I’ve always thought so, ever since
I read a novel in which two sisters were constantly meeting
in cafés. Today, for example, I walked alone
on the wet sidewalk, wearing my rain boots, expecting
someone might ask where I was headed. I bought
a steno pad and a watch battery, the store windows
fogged up. Rain in April is a kind of promise, and it costs
nothing. I carried a bag of books to the café and ordered
tea. I like a place that’s lit by lamps. I like a place
where you can hear people talk about small things,
like the difference between azure and cerulean,
and the price of tulips. It’s going down. I watched
someone who could be my sister walk in, shaking the rain
from her hair. I thought, even now florists are filling
their coolers with tulips, five dollars a bundle. All over
the city there are sisters. Any one of them could be mine.
Below – Biplab K Datta: “Lonely Lady on a Rainy Night”
Friends: There’s nothing to fear. Enjoy the day.