Posted on 11/24/2003 9:52:48 AM PST by January24th
sex ain't
the refuge for
the tired
given up for
the art of
the faint
of heart,
its a thing
that stings
those who be
interested
ultimately
I think I thought talented with an emphasis on tentative.
and what
is the art
of interest
and the intent
of the artist
save
for a lingering
acrylic moment
modeled
in the undertones
of mauve
my black cat
sprawls
dreaming
of walls
and
small
grey birds
no longer
heard
ok, your tonal drapes
drain the roseate flesh
of its hot blooded blush
but the model knows
her shape is rendered
by earnest boobs
in the essential colours
of desire and its
just a matter of artistry
rather than medium that
makes the difference
between somethin' and nothin'
fondly recalling the inaugural poem, and its heroic imagery. So it seems right that a library should have its own epic. LOL.
clinton agonistes
come thou, now to
the banks of the river
to the mighty unpillared
temple, come
where the untethered
double wide soars with
the trash dump gulls, over
the river of approach
where the rock of little
waits ever for the gulled
to remember the dry tokens
of the dinosaur, coprolitic
studies in rooms of papers
that always find themselves
stuck to the bottom of shoes,
of those that emerge
ah yet steel and glass,
slays the philistines,
and there the jawbone is
enshrined, yes he could
go on for hours, on matters
policy, and history laid
itself a harlot upon the steps
so rudely entered so greatly
displaced by the hairy mastodon
tramping and tusking and
becoming the first sacrifice
to global warming,
and those evil republicans,
with their bald elephant
yet there remember
Robert the ray, cutting
the deal that left justice
without the hair of strength
which pillars tumbled upon
many mighty pardons granted
In those the last days
by the rivers edge we come
and there at the temple rejoice
give thanks for
a twenty second amendment.
Oh.My.Gosh! Absolutely and wickedly funny!! You need to register your keyboard as a deadly weapon.
Ping for parody.
Another still life
I have salted the slices
of apple that wait
upon the plate for
the fate of fruit that
tempts me to taste
but I delay and arrange
the other items
upon a clinical tray
preferring to demur while
the crystal brings
the sweet sweat
of sap to the surface of the flesh,
and I will taste the
saline and sugar sting
upon my lips when the apple
and the salt are through
with their negotiations
for what is drawn
is satisfying far more
than what is pressed
three on a match
I
the snowshoe rabbit
flurries above the drifts
not really thankful
for the gift
of furred feet that keep
safe the winter harried
waiting for the piebald days
of either/or that bring
on the spring, and its
potential for
going to ground.
II
Museum displays
always control
for the deleterious
effects of light
and humidity,
Measuring by a hair
the span of acceptable
ranges that decree
that which shall be offered
for inspection
and and that conserved,
for more favourable
conditions.
III
I have taken the sheers
down that diffused the light
in the half tones of dawn
which were your delight
The fuzzy halo of the truth
of a breaking day
eased into the space
between sleep and wake
And the disarray of your hair
that frames your morning
furred face, remind me
that sometimes we simply
cannot dispense with blinds.
Sweetness drawn
upon the heart
pressed to the breast
like love-worn petals
in a satisfying arrangement
of convenience and contrast.
Sweet fruits
in colorful array
thrilling the senses with life
and sweating the brow
with anticipation
hell
is a whole
number
paper cuts
fear is the deckle edge
of solitude pressed
upon a screen
a delicate feathered
border preferable
to the business like
dimensions of those
who have been cut
down to size.
oj
i didn't do
the crime
and won't
pay a dime
llc
legal logic
consequences
sometimes
fail to entail
the legacy of
outraged
justice,
squeezed
into a partial
victory,
time does not pay.
odalisque
I think I favour
lemniscate landscapes
that promise something more
with the rise and fall
of their oblique shapes
that begin and end
each other forever.
we move now
from lostness
to the found
Don’t bet on it
Whatever floats your boat
seems an unnecessary conceit
for a remote desert swell
and endlessly advancing
waves of sand upon
a shoreless sea
leaving no woven lace
surf as token of the place
where sea and land
meet and break each other.
but sand engulfs soundlessly
an inexorable tide,
which razes everything
without regard
even to
the individual
monument raised as warning
of perilous edges
or incidentally commemorating
great men of history
where time arm wrestles time
and life is a beach
with the smart money
on the water.
Del pennello
An admitted submission
to light and sigh,
the flexible stroke
of bristle, which dispenses
colour along the angled
attitude of the communicants,
an artist, a model, and pigments.
Tho Bronzino was quite tactical
which in its time was radical.
gesture still, has always
been a capture
by the brush
for its actors
so what is rendered is the
surrendered challenge
of recalcitrant skin ;
to the artists hand,
the model’s languor ,
a soft tipped
arrows end,
all that bend
to the true
application
of interpretation
with the proper tools
and inescapable
proprioception.
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.