Archive for September, 2023


Juvenile Dylan-quent

The night is not dark enough,
not yet deepest blue - indigo
enough, to reveal the star field
I envision, too much ambient
light overhead, in the glade,
to allow them glitter

A flag, the world is,
unfurled this night,
the heavens our crest,
to live till we die,
our motto, a cry to rally

this rage against the day,
this birth of light,
as you know, do not go
softly

cc: CC '23

The Years Go Quickly

In memory of an old voice once found here (click thru on Impressionism)

The tale of the myopic amoeba…

who - without light - always
precedes genesis

afloat, adrift,
a thought
(perhaps)
somewhere

unfolds
swells
crescendos...

kaleid-
oscopic 

origami
confetti-orgasm
everywhere

what would be calm
now frenzy

hot frenetic 
beginning

a new start

a lust for stars,
for all things celestial

eternal
inter-planetary
wanderer

who gets lost
around any bend

cc: CC '23


10:15

It is the morning of
the long shadow,
inordinately lengthened
such that no artist
would ever assert
these values, these
lines, what God
so easily renders

cc: CC ‘23

Perspective

Nowadays I have more than one
vanishing point, my different
line sets converge

some objects appear
smaller than they are

while others…

perspective does that,
makes things shrink
the farther away they get

till one
ultimately tapers
to a point

below your horizon
is a dark pocket
I gravitate to

concentric circles target it,
cross- hatches shade the surround

clearly evident
though subtle gestures

no line escapes
tracing back to you

cc: CC ‘23

Last Days of Summer

I shout 
hey shithead
don’t shit on my chair

as I shoo the bird away

and move my chaise
to the shade

cc: CC ‘23

Ku for Art isn’t Life

Marks on paper
not unlike scars
make us smile 

cc: CC ‘23

Adios, Dear Parrot

I've run out of cerulean
- cyan too -
just when I'm here,
kicking off sandals

Yet,
I gavotte at the sea
and imagine I bleed
with the sand, the sky

A bird shadows my shoulder
from high, then walks beside me
pecking at smooth white stone
awash

In froth we quick-step
atop spongy beach

I feed her maize
from my easel,
ochre plantains,
sweetest blackest
banana

For me she sports her colorful back,
plumes and wingspans and I
have since restocked
with all sorts of blue

cc: Chagall '23