Each month, write a new collection.
Entangled in the lines and the shadesAlways searches for the meaningwith apocalypse on the horizonThe moment I tryThe motion of true meaningcomes to fruitionPainting becomes less a burden
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Daryl! I'm so glad to see you back! Great poem!!!
A Destroyed PlaceMemories of what once washiding in the shadowsafraid to come outafraid to open their eyesScars form on the surfacehiding the pain insideafraid from withinafraid there's nothing leftMemories of what once washiding in the blacknessafraid of what isafraid it has not goneScars form on the surfacehiding a beating heartafraid of being discoveredafraid of what's still to comeMemories of what once washiding behind broken windowsafraid to look outafraid of what can see inScars form on the surfacehiding a secret hopeafraid to get too highafraid to come into the lightMemories of what once washiding from the metal lionsafraid of their tamersafraid of the iron whipsScars form on the surfacehiding the bruises and shameafraid to trustafraid to reach outMemories of what once wastheir time to push back will comethere will be no more hidingthey will arise from the destroyed place
I love the repetition here Molly! It's really working!
So I wrote on one particular painting because his paintings seemed all so different to be lumped into one big thematic poem. This particular one is on "An allegory of Propoganda" Its head is lopsided, precariously straddling a post no bigger than a pencil top. I guess you could say that’s a neck, but even Sir Isaac Newton would tell you the point which the head is poised is not the correct center of mass. It would be bound to fall sometime were the face not shoved against a brick wall, the propoganda, if you will. When cornered with propoganda, the human face distorts so their parts aren’t at their full function. The face’s nose is pointed away from the wall—as though he can smell a rat in this dark alley, but his eyes and mouth are pointed towards the large brick wall. It’s best this way—if it smells like a rat, but one cannot see to verify this, then clearly, it must not be a rat. Heaven forbid, one decide to speak when they only have half their senses to rely on. Perhaps the most upsetting of this face is the ears, which has changed to two S’s, like a snake’s hiss. The ear is unable to hear anything else, other than the hiss of propoganda. What a waste of a part so necessary for survival. Perhaps it’s best the subject is crunched against bricks after all.
I love this poem! I love your approach and style, which is chatty and even ironic!
Klee’s allegorical self and floodsStoried self mirrored in the paleMouth lopsided with no words to say Active eyes rounding big yet blind Ears failing to hear the om.Walk beside the rubble chaosCollatoral lives ended by rifle rules.Homeless tent blocks sidewalks passageTrade deals sweep away what’s left.Noah’s floods engulf againCourage weakly strives to meet the dayFrom hard black line, pale rose emergesA color witness that life survives.
Reduce all that isVexing and annoying Into a distillation of simplicityLike a patchwork quilt full of colorForget the tedium of a planned Geometry or piecework with careful stitchesthat wiggle relaxeswhile this uneven deception laughsas it frolics with reality crease into a frown and approach the most senselessdeformation of myself as a womaninvaded by the sun and the moonsprawled lifeless on the museum floor
Interview Circuit (Klee's Twittering Machine)The hook and triangleecho network of coathangers—they twitter—knowthe way to cook marshmallowsaround the exclusive fire caramelized stuck to the deformedhandle makeshift torch hands stickywe assemblagesthe twisted mobiles of the unassistedschool projectthe circlingkosmos of un-nestedraptors—the flock of wolve-matesspun fleece and wings nipthe botched street sideremoval of the child the waysome of us try tostraighten what is seen as deformed mettleto find someplace to put our clothes onthe hook and the triangle this furry night before the next interviewthe closed door laughing at your need no matter which side of ityou are onwe are to know shamewe must first know pride to knowpride we must first do unseen work and those that think they know our worth with their handsall over usto distract themselves some meteor of sugary fleshthey cannot blow out.
Cat and Birdbird nestsabove the cat's eyefree in danger