The stars are stripped naked
Heathens
Burning on winter’s pyre
Icy light
Reflected
Refracted
Dancing illusions
Scenes from within the prism
Distant heat
Chilled in its closeness
The stars stare
Austere
While generations rise and fall
In a heartbeat
Each life
All its dreams
A cold and distant spark
The shimmer
In a single crystal of ice
Standing on a corner
Suitcase in my hand
Lisa says
“I’m waiting for my man”
And I say “Hey, babe,
Take a walk on the wild side.
Sail the darkened seas.
Your European son is gone,
Bye, bye, bye.”
Shiny, shiny
Shiny boots of leather
And a big straw hat
But what costume shall the poor girl wear?
A femme fatale
Beginning to see the light
What goes on in your mind?
I don’t know
Just where I’m going
But anyone who ever had a heart
They wouldn’t turn around and break it
How does it feel
To be loved?
Life’s like
Sanskrit read to a pony
But despite all the amputations
Despite all the computations
What’s good?
Life’s good
And it was all right
This is my tribute to Lou Reed who passed away last Sunday. This is completely made up of lines from Lou’s songs with the Velvet Underground and a couple of his solo songs. Sort of a poetry/musical/lyrical collage.
I’m not sure if it really fits with Anna’s Meeting the Bar post on dVerse, but I’ll just throw it out there and let everyone else decide. 🙂
A little Halloween spookiness I originally posted about a year ago. 🙂
Down in the hollow
In the whispering breeze
Dark branches grip and grasp
Their knobby hands naked of leaves
Reaching and scratching
At the white stones below
The silent stones standing
Down in the hollow
Their cold, weathered faces
Peer out through the weeds
The brambles grown wild
Where paths no longer lead
Once names where there graven
But wind and rain leave few traces
Of the identities carved on
Their cold, weathered faces
No one now knows
Who beneath those stones lie
No flowery tokens are left
No tear in a remembering eye
Down in the hollow
Where the whispering breeze blows
Lie bones that once walked, who
No one now knows
All the pumpkin poetry lately has put me in the Halloween mood, so I decided to repost a couple poems I wrote for the holiday last year. This one really pairs up with my last post, “I Am Jack”. Happy All Hallow’s Eve a few weeks early! 🙂
In the black, black night
Heavy with memories
Chill wind and rotting leaves
Carry the voices of the dead
Jack grins
Sentinel
With pulpy gums
And geometric eyes
He smiles on the darkness
Sputtering light
An orangey glow
Of fluttering flame
Peers from between Jack’s teeth
As if afraid to come out
This night Jack smiles
Beneath the cloudy moon
Only he and the spirits know
Whether his light
Wards them off
Or guides them
Nameless
Faceless
No more
No longer sitting
In the cold, rustling Autumn wind
One among the multitude
Of the pumpkin patch
A split-faced grin
And ever glaring eyes
Blade forged features
Anthropomorphic
More human than gourd now
No sweet baked pie
A fire within
This matte orange rind
Pale, pulpy flesh
Flickering to life
From gourd to guard
A sentinel
Of frosty nights and fallen leaves
No longer faceless
Nameless
I am Jack
And my season has come
For dVerse Poetics pumpkin poetry prompt (try saying that five times fast, lol)
My life as an explorer
Beyond Einstein
(As you like it)
In the days of the comet
In the midst of life
No one here gets out alive
Someone’s dog will be there
In an endearing pose
Watercolor eyes peering upward
From lovingly framed canvas
A child will be there too
Graphite grandchildren
Captured in repose
Precociously lifelike
And the barns!
Oh, the barns will be there to be sure
Rustic, Idyllic
Nestled between pastel hills
Staring across golden fields
Where fence posts always seem
In need of repair
I haven’t seen them yet
But they will be there
Obligatory as the irises,
Sunflowers and daisies
Oil based blossoms and pastel blooms
Time-frozen
Like amber imprisoned insects in gilt frames
All skillfully rendered
Beautiful reality
Again
And again
And again
But I have seen them
The dogs and grandchildren
The barns and flowers
They speak of technique
Of talent, patience and- yes- beauty
But they do not speak
To me
That small- Oh, so small- section
That wall of abstraction
Of emotion and illusion
Where most linger a moment
“Hmm, interesting.”
And move on
Those artistic explosions
Of color and shape
Form, contrast and texture
Expression of a world
Within
There I hear
Voices of truth
Singing through
From oil and canvas
In frames not frames
But windows
On another world
2012 Art Show abstract entries. The two on the right are my creations.
More 2012 Art Show abstracts. The one on the far right is also one of mine.
I certainly don’t mean to belittle the work of more realistic artists in any way. The skill and patience needed for that kind of art boggles my mind. But, let’s face it, after a few art shows all those paintings and drawings of dogs, grandchildren, barns and flowers all start to look the same. At least to me. But the abstract work never fails to fascinate me. 🙂
Paper calls out
Pens beg to be grasped
Create! Create!
They plead
Let ink be spilled this night!
Pages
A white, virgin expanse
Unexplored land
Lines waiting to be filled
Fill them with diamonds and jewels
Fill them with the basest
Lead and ink
Chart the unknown
Un-blank the page
And map the labyrinth
Of thought
Walking invisible
Seeking
Ever seeking
The one who can see me
Searching for oneness
For laughter and life
For hands that seek to touch
And lips that seek to kiss
For eyes that seek to speak
Words that need not be spoken
Searching for the spark
That flares contentment
Into happiness
Invisibly walking
Someone somewhere
Seeks as I seek
Longing to see
And be seen
The good old days
Simpler times
Innocent
Things, safer
People, more polite
When neighbors were friends
And everyone
Had a hand to lend
A myth
An illusion
There are no “good old days”
Nothing changes
We bemoan the loss
The theft
Of something remembered
Through the rose colored glasses
Of vanished childhood
As our parents did
And their parents before them
Every generation
Mourning a past
Simple and innocent
Those days were not
Simple and innocent
We were
As days and times do not change
We do
And mourn the loss
Of innocent selves
And children still play-
Though not the same as we
Once did-
Blissfully unaware
Of their own innocence
Until the day comes
When they, too, will look backwards
Through the blurry haze of growing up
And rue the loss
Of these
Good old days
The Noise of Silence 