Posted on 11/24/2003 9:52:48 AM PST by January24th
matisse
is but a flower
in a monet
bouquet
After image
I’ve been rolled
bleached beached
drifted and drift,
sizzle popped
salt sanded
rum dumbed
stunned,
skin stops
remembering you
in the sun ,
done,
turned ,
eyes wise gazing
at gauze skies
reading only the
retinal report
burned by
your image.
After image
Damn! I really.liked.this!
Behind me
There is a place
where I name your
name, and the touch
of its sound scatters
you into quicksilver
and shatters
your image
that I adored
in the glass
before I knew
that reflections
were just light
going elsewhere..
Believe in magic
Sharks tooth
amulets
reduce threats
to manageable
cutting edges
suspended upon
skin wanting skin
and the promise
of protection hangs
upon the assumption
of risk without
destruction..
Span
Arch conversations
soar across the chasms
of our separation
defining the middle
of our distance
as the high point
of our conversation,
you speak and my eyes
roll, I speak and you
raise your brow,
we smile and the
slings of our indifference
construct the bridge
that connects
our asides.
door closing karma
if everyone's a poet
no one's a poet.
picasso angles
dali hated precission
abstractions' result
"Borrowed from Neruda...Sorta"
my morning is full
storms in the heart of summer
red candles' repose
who knows
the knot
to tie
this thread
black cat
curled toes
imprisoning
an orange pen
while pondering
bedtime
what knot
stands alone
in the design
of wool and silk
each thread stands
woven clipped and
abandoned to the larger
contribution to the pattern.
she
knit a cap
for this
and that
commerating
a drunken
victory
and forgiving
the games
but not
the sot
stretch
all things
are forgiven
under the cap
that requires
nothing more
than the shape
of the head
it would shelter.
she sat
darkly
disillusioned
in a dim bar
keeping score
with discarded
red plastic
straws
the surprise of success
is the extra work
it brings
and yet,
to love successfully
is no chore
...the work seems play
...the play seems serious
and jokes are naturally
born of the joy
that is found
in comforts
and carresses
i would work at making love
the success of my art
it is all the grandest ambition...
to attempt love is art
to succeed is joy
to remember is peace
Well I am LOL. I wrote this some time ago not to post, but the theme and imagery seem to coincide.
All you need is
She raises her glass
“to life” in a dark
and busy bar,
knowing that the
score is more
than numbers of
hours on a clock
days of a calendar, or
the hurry of last call,
swiping a smile inside
the circle of water
left by her glass
poking in two eyes,
while
enjoying the memory of
a generation defined
by a silly grin and an
upsidedown trident
The woman regards
simplistic designs
inside
circles that define
what she confines
and surround the bare
symbols of disconnect
that don’t realize
the details which
make the concepts
more than just generic.
She connects the drops of
condensation, knowing
they will merge and
evaporate, transient
molecules going home
with each other, just
for the night
smiling at the nice day
she had
and at peace going
home alone.
You're amazing. Great work. Thanks.
No greater satisfaction for me than to see such talent as you all display here. Thanks for letting the rest of us into your hearts!
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