Friday, October 23, 2015

October 23


One of Van Gogh's Haystacks.


8 comments:

  1. Vincent
    May I ask
    How long did you stray
    Between the haystacks
    Did your mind scold them
    For idleness
    Did you feel
    their rationale
    Did their uniqueness
    Impress you
    Or did you impose
    Your choice on them?

    Akira
    May I ask
    In his locomotion
    Of sudden flight
    Did your mind scold him
    For shortsightedness
    Did you feel
    his pain
    Did his uniqueness
    Intrigue you
    Did you decide
    You read his soul.

    Martin
    May I ask
    When he handed
    you the script
    Did your mind scold him
    For waiting long
    Did you feel
    Their nature
    Did their uniqueness
    Break you open
    Did you decide
    Life is Art.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The Sun Compels Him

    Your muses get no rest
    you hear the voices
    from lips only you can see

    Your craft is wholly unique
    you capture the images
    no one else bothers to chase

    Your passion is never starved
    you eat from a vine
    too high for others to reach

    Your demons are always so busy
    you take their foolish advice
    no matter the price you pay

    Your genius is hard to deny
    you suffer for your craft
    for the sun compels you to

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Beautiful Molly. Really wonderful. Would you submit this to my magazine?

      Delete
    2. :) the California blogspot?

      Delete
  3. Van Gogh’s Hay


    Stacks, there are no bulls, no prostitutes, no lower
    left ears to be given if you
    have not lain down your temple before the pneumatic
    hammer, lain down
    in the crab grass of the central
    divider of Foothill Boulevard
    and watched the cars pass at noon with split-minded-no
    understanding or given
    of the flesh of your body for a place
    to stay or for
    a bottle or defied yellow a voice
    by knocking it back with the southern sun and with a drought
    of turpentine—friendship
    perched on a soiled newsprint divan for the love
    of a mute-bladed Gaugain
    as your proffered meat
    rejected
    all smells the same
    as the universal you
    the men despise when they are given
    what they want they
    rebuke, the real: horizon a tree line
    2 hay stacks and given you in return absence
    of affection or
    conscience
    so why now interrogate the absent dead
    you embrace safely with a bystander’s indifference.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Claude Monet Haystacks

    Google thinks
    Van Gogh's Haystacks
    is Monet's

    even the artist
    is confused

    ReplyDelete