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The Pot Of Self Proclaimed Poets, Writers, Artists, Photographers And Philosophers Thread:)

Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/16/2013 - 3:33 AM

If you see yourself as a poet just because you write poems. or a writer because you write, a photographer because you photograph, an artist because you make art, a philosopher because you philosophise then 'JUMP IN' :))) WARNING: The proclaimed poets society may add you to the compost heap of poetry..Thats a risk you take! They're mad...they are inspired by the strangest things...even spoons..!


Oldest Reply

Posted by: Michael Hoard on 07/16/2013 - 3:35 AM

Hello I could not resist does this include Artist, Photographer, Singer, Chef, now actor

Top of the morn'n to ya, I can not sleep, I was selected to appear in the movie mini series American Horror Story,


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/16/2013 - 4:04 AM

ha ha Michael...of course you're welcome..just don't be surprised when the proclaimed poets write about you. I should have put that in the small not jump in if you do not wish to end up on the compost heap of poetry. :)) How come you were selected..tell us the story...:) Also, do you have a good meringue recipe...not a chalky one but one with a bit of chewiness and flavour.?


Posted by: Jason Christopher on 07/16/2013 - 4:40 AM

just call it "the pot" Marie, people do all sort s of things in pots, vomit, cook, piss, eat, drink, where them on ya head, m*%%$bate in em, chuck em, bake em, break em, gift em, s##t in em, paint them, love them and hate them. The pot... cracked pots... a washed pot gleaming stands before the crowd... and then... the pot... spoke...

good day pots.

ooh and of course,,, the witches pot of potion spells.... woahhaaa hahahaha (cant spell that sound) lol


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/16/2013 - 5:05 AM

Jason I will never look at pots in the same way again!

Mainly for cooking
but I've made candles in them
washed a dog with water from them
made paper in them
melted beeswax for multimedia artwork
in them
mended them
thrown them out
let the babies drum on them
caught a leak in them
but from the ceiling
not genitalia,
made papier mache
in them
i couldn't do without them
I'm not potty about them
but we are almost companions
lived together forever
boiled and simmered together
grown cold and old together
stewed with each other
felt scrambled
and fried
braised and bruised
I'm amused
at wot
a pot
is capable of


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/16/2013 - 5:09 AM

Michael just read your blurb about your acting career! I never saw you as an actor...need to know more..:))


Posted by: Michael Hoard on 07/16/2013 - 5:13 AM

I promise, I am still on a cloud, I happen to work in a few hours, have to get some rest. I promise will fill you in tomorrow.


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/16/2013 - 5:21 AM

Just watched your video..youre amazing!!! :))


Posted by: Xoanxo Cespon on 07/16/2013 - 5:28 AM

This is what this "self-proclaimed moment in time" would like to share for the birth of this new thread...

There are pots and bowls...


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/16/2013 - 5:53 AM

Love feeling Good! Nice upbeat sound to get this thread off to a good start...haha never heard this Bessie Smith one before....any Proclaimers want to take this further?
Michael there is nothing self proclaimed about ARE a chef and are about to become an actor and you will BE a piano player in the movie...I think that may make you unself proclaimed?.


Posted by: Jason Christopher on 07/16/2013 - 6:37 AM

Hey, Actors and musicans videos would be great to see too!

heard on the news a few days ago...

that scientists have found...

A New Blue Planet...

Where liquid glass drops as rain
Where sunlight rays beam
through vivid molten flowing glass
Dew drops crystal, flow from fired skies
Where blue love trickles
In this empty boiling world
Of serene rivers and orange soils…

Fragments of my soul
We're seen to lay
Upon this furnaced boiling land
Where orange and blue are just made
of molten gold
Where passions wait to bring their lights
And quiet eyes look upon the weeping skies

May eyes one day see a new born soul...
Unblinded, the planets wait
To see the Truth
As time flows through crying skies
Blue red rivers flow from bleeding hearts
And hummingbirds wings are seen to fly
As ripples stir the crystal lakes
Fish are seen to glow and swim in joy
And trees of orange are seen to touch
the highest sky
Skies of glass crystal bubbled clouds
That float adrift as island lands

A new Adam now stood up
And melted Eve froze out the heat
And life was born
Again once more
A mother blue Earth, of less saddened smiles
Of crystal gleaming Men
Who walked upon the flowing glassy seas
As hummingbirds whispered
Their grace of light upon this magic land
God’s great beauty, a dreaming gleaming place
A Heaven made from melted sand

So Earth and Heaven was seen
together once more
Where souls of light
Encased in crystal bodied love
We're seen to shine in all the lands
Whose smiles were seen across the skies
Looking, finding, seeing us!
To wish us well in our coming time of need
As lights upon the Earth descend
To see into the souls of heartless Men
An angel stood to sing a song
That melted truth upon the rocks of time
As angels sing out their songs

A world so broken, torn within

Broke apart with fractured minds
and tortured broken souls

To slowly, slowly
heal within...

©Jason Christopher 2013


Posted by: Karen Newell on 07/16/2013 - 11:06 AM


Where do all of the poems go
When the thread is done
And the door says closed?

They languish on the last pages.
Seldom read,
Then fallen.

Those that dripped from my pen
Mostly saved,
In a fragile electronic journal.

Those wrought by others,
The magnificent masterpieces
That meant so much at the time.
They are left in limbo
Like footprints in the sand.

Karen Newell


Posted by: Philip Sweeck on 07/16/2013 - 11:14 AM

It's a journey, somewhere unwritten poems and stories wait.

Photography Prints


Posted by: Shana Rowe on 07/16/2013 - 11:19 AM

Self proclaimed-Artist,Poet/writer,Craftsman,Jeweler,Cook,Actress, I have many self proclaimed talents, only a couple have to do with a pot though lol


Posted by: Bradford Martin on 07/16/2013 - 11:24 AM

This is what pots and pans are. They are for beating.
Sell Art Online
Self-proclaimed photographer, naturalist and musician


Posted by: Karen Newell on 07/16/2013 - 11:35 AM

Journey Under the Milky Way

They drift across the dunes
Shadows on the sand
Where the Star Spirits dance
Opening the Eye
Of the Universe


Posted by: Philip Sweeck on 07/16/2013 - 11:46 AM

Love that one Karen, fits perfect with it. I was thinking about a poem to go with the image but couldn't come up with any at the moment, guess that's why I wrote that somewhere unwritten poems wait : ).


Posted by: Ed Meredith on 07/16/2013 - 12:14 PM

Self Proclaimed

Sell Art Online

Counting Naked Men

the soul's whispering thoughts
of passionate indulging
rendezvous in delicious secrets
found within life's burning shadows

Ed Meredith


Posted by: Xoanxo Cespon on 07/16/2013 - 12:28 PM

On self-proclamation...

A new piece...the poem who wanted to become...

Why won’t you write me…
Lay me down on paper…
Like your time on a string…?
Don’t speak of me…
Just, lay me down…
Not for the glory, or the money…
But just to help me be…

Let me be your song…
Your poem…
Let me be your love…
Your work of art…
Write me down…
Let every word be your sword…
Every verse your dagger…
Stab that paper with your tears…
With the silence of your fears…
No one will hear…
Your paper, my clay…
Your every thought, my flesh
Your heart, my soul…
Your every sense, my voice…
Your joy, my light of day…
Your sorrow, my darkest night…
Write me down…
Not for glory, or money…
But just so I can become…
The poem I should have always been…


Posted by: Kevin Callahan on 07/16/2013 - 12:46 PM

Well count me in! I proclaim who I am in a poem:

I am

A man
A boy
A warrior
A husband
A father
A son
A hunter of animals
A lover of animals
An artist
A photographer
I build with my hands
I construct with my mind
I touch softly
I hit with words
I am a sensitive lover
I can be cruel
I collect weapons of war
I collect beautiful art
I am mostly on the surface
(but not easily understood)
I am a friend
I am a terrible enemy
A writer, teller of stories
I am lazy
(which causes me to work hard)
A son of the soil
A dweller of the cities
I love children of all ages
I love women of all ages
I love


Posted by: Robert James Hacunda on 07/16/2013 - 1:25 PM

Can a man proclaim he is a possession
All he thinks he is
Is a man a project of what wants to be
Does a man believe himself when he wants
What does it take to brake this trance
What form does a man take
When he does't face he failed
Fallen prey to sin
Sin of his own and mankind
What develops with out that juice
That compost heap of life


Posted by: Ed Meredith on 07/16/2013 - 2:36 PM

An echo to RJ's question

Evil Deeds

if i were to see the results of all my evil deeds
i would turn away from them
in disgust
but selfhood blinds me
and i cling to it's desires
that craves pleasure
for itself

i go astray
is better than truth
so i follow error
in the beginning
but in the end
it is anxiety
and misery

Ed Meredith
16 July 2013


Posted by: Ed Meredith on 07/16/2013 - 3:16 PM

An echo to my own echo of "Evil Deeds"... Hello!

The Source my Dream

be no longer lost
in vain speculations
of profitless subtleties
surrender self
and all selfishness
for happiness depends not
upon external things

ascend to the enlightenment
of mind and heart
the summit of existence
where the immeasurable light
of comprehension is gained
the source of all
that is right
in this dream

Ed Meredith
16 July 2013


Posted by: Xoanxo Cespon on 07/16/2013 - 3:28 PM

Ed LOL, An echo to your echo :-) I liked that :-)...

I'll echo the wannabe poem...

Let me be your song…
Your poem…
Let me be your love…
Your work of art…
Write me down…
Let every word be your sword…
Every verse your dagger…
Stab that paper with your tears…
With the silence of your fears…
No one will hear…
Your paper, my clay…
Your every thought, my flesh
Your heart, my soul…
Your every sense, my voice…
Your joy, my light of day…
Your sorrow, my darkest night…
Write me down…
Not for glory, or money…
But only because in your dream...
I can become the man I should have always been…


Posted by: Ed Meredith on 07/16/2013 - 4:29 PM

Oxo, if you write enough poems about your wannabe poem you may end up with it's biography… LOL

...... ? .....

i was once a poem
wrote without rhyme or reason
Senryu or Haiku

16 July 2013


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/16/2013 - 4:42 PM

Poetry 3 has not been lost it has grown in some way laying cool under the sand dunes, poemdunes!

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Posted by: James Tanyu on 07/29/2013 - 10:06 PM

oops double &())#%$!


just read ANGELINA's "The The Hole suck me in"..very nice.

I remember a friend whose hole is sucking his life into a miserable thing, worst he was not dreaming! =))


Posted by: James Tanyu on 07/29/2013 - 10:06 PM

@Philip: I love any Wiliam Carlos WIlliams works!

thank you for sharing that.

@Dan : that is one cool Haiku!


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/30/2013 - 3:42 AM

Love the red wheelbarrow image :))


Posted by: Jason Christopher on 07/30/2013 - 11:14 AM

Love the input, always interesting to read..

of course i am simply a puddle, reflecting the skies as i lay in the mud... i enjoy this feeling of wetness and soft cool mud and open skies and burning sun...and of being at one with what is... a puddle in mud on a hot Summer's day, as cows chew grass, i hear the farmer's feet.... eek!


Posted by: Mark Wickham on 07/30/2013 - 12:46 PM

needed to share this:

I have been hungry , wondering when
will I eat again and where will the
next meal come from .

My soul is so tired , but my mind
tells me to go on ...wanna give up
sometimes....but my journey is
not done .
Losing weight , for help I don't
ask because pride wouldn't let
me ashamed ...

I just smile and I grin and bare it
I push through the hurt , the hunger
and the pain .

Listening to other people about nonsense
they complain , about how they wish for a
better car, got a running working car, outside
standing in lines for name brand shoes or
a new game....

I have seen hunger , I have felt hunger pains
deep inside. I have had to feel so low
so lowly when I looked into my hungry baby's

And so I give for the memory of the things
that were, the things that use to be...
I give to give hope for I remember the days
when I was HUNGRY , IN NEED and no one
gave to me .

Never get to comfortable in places , claiming
you have security . We do not know what the future
brings where I once was is where could
one day be.

by Diiamond Black


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/30/2013 - 8:09 PM

Photography Prints

From Georgia to RJ

No footprints in the sand
long blown away
don't desert me in the desert
my fingerprints are everywhere
in my home and Ghost Ranch
come feed from my images
Tap into me...
my desert inspiration
let it breeze through your bones
like warm ether
take away the ache
and awaken you
to your creativity
and deep artist's soul
lets share
while you are here.


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/30/2013 - 8:43 PM

RJ I know nothing about new mexico maybe you could give us a poetic description?

One can not be an American by going about saying that one is an American. It is necessary to feel America, like America, love America and then work.
Georgia O'Keeffe (1887-1986), U.S. artist. repr. In Laurie Lisle, Portrait of an Artist (1986). Quoted in Chicago Evening Post (March 2, 1926).


Posted by: Robert James Hacunda on 07/30/2013 - 11:15 PM

Art Prints
Sell Art Online
Art Prints
Maria that one gave me goose bumps
Here is a photographic journey to start
You must have one of these to drive around in here and we put it through the paces
Photography Prints
I did make it out paining today and it's funny how Georgia kept jumping in there..


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/30/2013 - 11:29 PM

Love the image of the canyon have commented on your page. Glad you have the ram to get around in and to get out of any tricky/muddy situations. good idea telling the story in pictures hope you'll add a poem too along the way. So, have you moved to new mexico for good/the present, or just passing through? Also i think your sunflowers are better than georgia O'keeffes flowers, i actually read that she didn't like flowers she painted, infact hated them, it was just that they were cheaper than getting a model and kept still!!! Admittedly her poppy's and pansies are great but how do you paint something you hate???
I don't find the emotion in O'keeffe's work as i do in this one,

Sell Art Online

Which is different again from mike savad's gorgeous sunflowers

Photography Prints

I think I would choose the painting because of its emotional/human content, even though the photograph is bursting with energy.


Posted by: Robert James Hacunda on 07/30/2013 - 11:33 PM

I find her more interesting than her work, but it grows on you after a while


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/30/2013 - 11:41 PM

Yes, i read up a bit about her and read some of her letters to Steiglitz. I really liked her vulnerability, she didn't pretend to be anything than who she was, it was obvious that there was an instant connection between the two artists. Steiglitz's photographs are amazing of Georgia, and her family history was a good read too. There's something in her face and hands that are very appealing. I really thought she had some Indigenous Indian blood in her but turns out to be Hungarian. I like how the extremes of weather and plain living are in her face and her look .


Posted by: Robert James Hacunda on 07/30/2013 - 11:49 PM

She began to look like the landscape.. lived to 98 only moving from her home here in Abiquiu when she was 96 to an apartment in Santa Fe for her final years..she also had a home on Lake George not far from our place in the Adirondack mountains of New York.. We planned t stay here until the end of the year at least but I was saying this morning if I don't get better in 3 weeks I may want to pull out..,


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/31/2013 - 12:21 AM

Well, anything can happen in three weeks, in three hours even, things can happen to change your mind. Go with the flow and don't get mad with yourself if you have to pull out, as Oxo, says in a poem of his, as an artist, you jumped in, that's what counts. If you go back and get treatment and rest until your next adventure, sometimes when you are out of an environment you see it clearer and may be able to paint the real effect it had on you...just a thought...anyway look fwd to your visual journey continuing on the thread.
I am preparing to continue with the arts degree and i was reading up a bit and came across an artist...can't remember name sorry...who experimented with creativity by getting a bell jar and placing it over everday items on a desk, that you wouldn't normally see as interesting, and observe the contents under the bell jar...i havn't tried it yet, but i was thinking you could do that in the desert, such a vast place where the landscape, to me, would be difficult to observe much detail, like some of the stretches of beach here in aus. But instead of trying to capture a vast scene maybe try the bell jar idea. maybe place it over a bit of cactus, rock and lizard..or whatever you stumble over there. even that mud slide after the flash flood would have made a wonderful abstract...have a great new day..with new thoughts and ideas...say hello to Penny..:)


Posted by: Robert James Hacunda on 07/31/2013 - 9:26 PM


Posted by: Robert James Hacunda on 07/31/2013 - 9:38 PM


Posted by: Maria Disley on 08/01/2013 - 5:12 AM

Wow! The Abiquiu vid was amazing! And the music. I loved how the camera moved around the rocks to be, i imagined how the water and wind sculpted the huge sand castles. One of the sculptures looked like a deserted village/kingdom. Must be a sight to see in the flesh.:))


Posted by: Karen Newell on 08/01/2013 - 8:38 AM


Sunrise orange orb
Poets wait, with open craws
For inspiration

Karen Newell


Posted by: Isabella F Abbie Shores on 08/02/2013 - 2:40 AM

Behind the mask he sat
Spouting words of nonsense
Like a child playing make believe
feeling superior
Behind the mask he sat
The sad clown with the idiot smile
But one child in the tent that night
Looked into his soul and saw
Behind the mask he sat
Counting down the days of his immortality
Feeling the devil on his tail
Knowing he could never hide in reality
For months he felt safe
Feeling the mask was enough
But the child saw, and the devil smiled


Posted by: Jason Christopher on 08/02/2013 - 12:21 PM

Oooh powerful stuff Isabella... shudders and mudders... i hear poems from the darkness.... and possibly the deep south.... emerging again laters... I shudders again... *shudder*

im flat as a pancake at the minute, cold as a corpse... let me extracts something from....

the hardback is avail now too!! lol buy all 3.. wooo hoooo!! lol i should have gone in to marketing... haha!
(on lulu, to be on Amazon and ibookstore in the near future....)

Fire in Darkness - poetry by Jason Christopher



page 120-
The Paralytic Stare of the Serpent

The hissing slithering coil
Slowly grew tight
As the rising head
Towered high
A hissing serpent
Hissing its delightful smile
As its flickering tongue tasted the air
I flinched
But could not move
Hypnotised by the intense gaze…
The Paralytic stare of the serpent.

© Jason Christopher 2013


Posted by: Mark Wickham on 08/02/2013 - 2:40 PM

Aunt Lanta.

Aunt Lanta -

She's like my big sister;
I look up to her,
I admire her,
I pester her.

She's a

She's always
on the go, so;
she's ne'er enough
time for me, though.

Sal Vannah -

Now she's like my Nana;
Always has time to spend;

She squeezes me close to her bosom,
She is there when I seek a friend,
I seek her words of wisdom,
I seek her ways that mend,

I wanna stay -
with Sal Vannah.

© Mark Wickham 2013


Posted by: Philip Sweeck on 08/02/2013 - 6:01 PM

The light makes the water slide like silver. The lake is not as heavy as your eyes.


Posted by: Maria Disley on 08/03/2013 - 1:31 AM

While stirring from sleep this morning I remembered this poem that I spoke at the end of a dream.

The Silent Pen

The thick wet brush slapped against the waiting wall
The blue cruised on juicily oozing between the bristles til
The wall was covered.
What a wonderful blue said some,
What a perfect purple announced another
Kinda bluey green decided one.
But all were pleased with what they saw
The smooth coat of painted colour over the creamy blur.
The teacher’s chair back leaned against the new daub
A black rectangle, with a yellow insert, which took on a Mondrian appeal
The round clock in the top corner, dead against the former colour, creamy blah,
Now a dark moon against a daylit sky, of blue, purple or kinda bluey-green,
How is it that I,
Should compose, while still asleep, such a poem, on the tail of a dream?

@Philip. Like the almost balancing act of light and heavy in this poem. Heavy as an onomatopoeic word really adds weight to the second half of the line. I really felt the light and the heaviness.


Posted by: Isabella F Abbie Shores on 08/03/2013 - 2:43 AM

I've known a few snakes, Jason. They do stare well!


Posted by: Jason Christopher on 08/03/2013 - 4:44 PM

I quite like that poem Maria, grown on me. Funny its because when im sitting in bed relaxing or about to drop off (asleep not dead and rarely when waking up as then i am like a corpse) i often get this explosion of odeas (i guess thats an odd idea... or just a mispelling) and thoughts, and out comes the ipad, iphone and out it all comes, sometimes from nowhere, i think poems assemble slowly in ya subconcious and then once enough fragments are there.. out it pops... with a bit of heavy mental effort (the poem i meant, nothing else )... all those colours of thought and utter hell and love and distress and sadness and hate and juice... even humour.... hmmmm. lets see what happens later.... could be a heavy load of stuff..... poem is a bit like sex i guess lol.... ok scuse the puns...... im knackered.... need to get a motor for that cycle, pedal just when i need to...

if only we could cycle on never ending plains (planes??) of red tulip landscapes..
hmmmmmmmmmmm aahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh ........ ... .

... . sssssssssssssseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx....

i mean poetry!! ;-)


Posted by: Jason Christopher on 08/03/2013 - 5:05 PM

Don't drop out mark, ur one odd ball this party could do with. Erm. Did I rele say that? Man it's hugs to all human kind here! Lol ( joking, in for a penny, in for a pound as they say! Lol). Dam , it's late, g' night, sleep tight, don't let them poems bite ya..... Ouch!! Bless sal vannah , but I could be saying something I regret laters so good stuff!!

Now. Where r those fcuking pills..... Hah, u got em aye?Aye?.. My eyes are so heavy, I feel em closing ... To silver plains of cuttlefish fish, blossoming lakes of daffodils and light filled pools of manta rays.... A DREAM....... YEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSS.

GOOD BYE?l! Till the next ENCOUNTER!


Posted by: Jason Christopher on 08/03/2013 - 5:16 PM

Oh I nearl forgot..... Where r those refugees from the other thread? Not shipped in yet?? Hah! hah! HAH HAH!!! Lol peeing myself! K bed. Night.


Posted by: Maria Disley on 08/03/2013 - 8:55 PM

Closing discussion..opening new one...just because of length which makes it difficult to get at early posts. :))
new Thread to be called THE MELTING POT


This discussion is closed.