Women have been using makeup for thousands of years and beauty in Ancient Rome was just as important as it is today. Just as we do, they even had books that helped women...
A last minute post for National Poetry Day.
From a set of star poems that I began writing awhile back...
Bright kenning, blinding ball of kinetic flame,
we spread out, cosmologically, instantaneously,
clumping into inflated matter and dark energy.
Born with cosmic acceleration, exploding supernovae
that could potentially continue forever.
Or so I read. Or was it said?
The geometry of the universe, its overall uniformity,
moves away from me, moves away from she, and he,
and, in particular, toward a gradual nothingness
that will expand over trillions of years, dissipating
matter and energy into distinct particles, stretched thin.
We sit in a black place,
charcoal before the day-dawn,
before the white star rises
to greet thousands
of bright blooded hearts.
I pulled away, knowing that
it was too much sphery heat to hold,
knowing that such effulgence
was meant for gods greater than I, even
when buffered by lead and rosemary,
even if it could herald my descent
down the serious, hardened stones.
Inside, red gold curled along the little
bump at the nape of her neck.
I marveled that so much glitter, glitter
and glimmer could push against the velvet
voice, even if the heavens fell open,
stellar formations brightening as she leaned
against the darkened window, attentive
even to the slightest breath of winter,
not looking at me, looking out instead,
across the gaping aërolite wound that I
left still burning in the fields.