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The Spring wind buffers the wide shaking windows
A newspaper rustles with useless blues
And the night train rumbles hungrily under a tricky sky
Is it you?
That set these sounds to space?
What's the journey?
man puts his heart and his mind in what he believes
he even risks his live to fight for it
also he’s ready to kill for protection of
his own benefits
and his family
as long as he believes he’s right
he tends to forget his reality is very perceptive
his eyes could be blurred
his ears could be distorted
his tongue could be numb
his nose could be frozen
his skin would be insensitive
he could look at things
from a different angle
at the wrong place
and not at the right time
the hell is man so sure about his absolute belief?
The chill autumn breeze blowing
Leaves across the lawn.
Cuppa tea soothing my heart.
Thinking about Spring
And you, Little Poetess,
Far across the world :))
From a high window
forlorn on the sill
sits a maiden in muslin
fine fabric billowing in the gentle breeze
The screwed window latch rattling
A whisper across the moors
An image for the artist
A challenge for the conceptualist
to reveal the breadth
and strip the poetess bare
An echo to Peony and Thao Chuong's poem Sex, drugs and Street Art.
Be Her Mary Shelley
A cold wife
like a wet fish
on marble slab
needs a bolt of lightening touch
Look beyond your visor,
the sex the drugs
and look more deeply
into street art
her sleeping, tortured heart.
The loose paper flittered through the air
as the poetess looked on in despair
some sailed back and forth
like a feather
and lay to rest
in some strangers nest
others soaked themselves in the lake
the ink left the page and swam with the flow
had no hard drive
and from all the pages lost
recalled just one line
'I heard a whisper ride across the moor
and want to chase it evermore...'
She wrote it quickly once again
and another poem was born not much the same
for time had moved on
and she herself was new
her old self gone!
By body is cold and my bones ache
The darkness out ways the dawn
These narrow roads feel like long halls
The grey sky is holding me down
Reminding me of old wounds that never healed
I miss the big sky with it's high ceiling
The dry air and jagged rocks
The smell of juniper everywhere
Don't forget me dessert sand
I'll be back soon
I can't stay here
I'll spend my winter there
I dare not part my lips
for fear of the wrong words escaping
and rearranging the beautiful chaos
of waves, deserts and night skies
of waiting, of sleeping, of aching
of artists shaping life
wonder and despair
evasive love and life
I notice, I feel
the bird soar
against the wind yet with the solar flow
like my soul
on hearing poets words
as I eat my egg on toast
and the light of day
some things to me.
Is there any such a thing
as synchronicity in everything?
We all were spurned from that first cell
and seem to be always trying to re connect
From the fuzzy land line
to the text lost in the tunnel.
Lost In Space?
XO my favorite video of yours.....there is no ifs if time stands still but then we would also lose the magic of timing
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Here's my latest, part of a new series I have been working on called "Road Art". I wouldn't say is poetry in motion but Art in/of/related somehow to motion...and the poetry...Hopefully within the spectator :-)...
Hello Oxo! Glad to hear that your absence was due to working on a project that you enjoy sharing with us. I will have to watch it a few times, but from first viewing, it was the wire fences which obstructed the view of the road which intrigued me, and later the speed of change between images, which for me symbolised or represented not just the glances we only get of our percieved world but the frustration of time. of little time to explore it all. I really loved the later images of getting closer to the subject, the raindrops and detail of something red like a burst of something containing smaller elements, wll have to check that one out again. as the images reeled and the quotes came up, like kerouac's, I found myself reflecting on my little world, and what was outside of it. It felt good to be reminded, especially as we focus sometimes on small frustrations that we often feel we are stuck with, why should we be, there's so much more outside of that little visual frame....
Thanks for sharing :))
Wow Mark! That was so exciting! Oxo, would be great at something like that, he haas that voice. I would love to try some rap, but I am laughing at myself at the thought of it. I may have a go in secret :)) My dramatics are in my head and on paper, vocally i don't express fluently, or sophisticatedly, think I am tone deaf too :)) But, it would be a challenge and who knows. Really enjoyed it thanks.
I too, enjoyed the first one most,maybe because of the accompanying music... but the 3rd one was interesting too.
Quenching needed love quietly
treasured life so openly
brings the threshold of our life
sliced by fate like that of knife
Not a mirage in our heart
to melt like sculptured ice art
in the solace of our days
forever be in ablaze
We watch you grow
we watch you glow
when times seems slow.
This poem sums up everything a loved pet can bring to us, in their quietness their seemingly contemplative observations of us and their acceptance of us, always there when no one else can be. I love the depth that you reach for, sometimes lost in translation, or in speedy reading. You should try for your own illustration of this poem. I hope there are going to be 9 poems to make up your tribute to your lost cat.
thanks for sharing.
9 poems...hmmm that's a superlative idea! re own images...unfortunately the accounts for that site separates (fine)artist to to non-artist (contributors) . Thank you for the read and some push for this project...still having some issues on how I can get away with my poetry on a "bland" story book parameters under free account. Though the short goalis to lure in my students into the site as class account as interactive avenue for their own poetry in 2 weeks (such a tall order). I hope you were able to see the whole piece so far which I see is having some coherence to put up the story on its feet base don normal features (conflict, climax and resolution) which in Poetry can be easily address plus the fact that the accompanying images are limited base on the artist's inventory.. Below is the opening intro:
Here is a story
I once told to a beggar
love by a Prince
and praise by a King,
now I can share
its admiring tale.
Not long ago
across the Pacific
where sun and rain stays longer
than in other lands
The link is posted here again and still available for viewing while the admin still reviewing it.
I'm a bit confused and will return to the link address. But, I love this introduction, flows so much better, except, should it be,
Here is a story
I once told to a beggar
it was loved by a Prince
and praised by a King,
now I can share
its admiring tale.
I like the use of the word tale, you can interchange this with tail for the cat, which I suppose you were going to do anyway!
Can't wait to see the contributions of your class. :)) Do they all ahve pets? Maybe they could write about what it is like not to have a pet. Some kids are allergic, or don't have space etc, etc. I never really realised fully the love I had for my dog until it died. :( May I write a pet poem for your class?
The 'story' was disapproved and return to me by the site due to some content or language. this is the reason you cant view it anymore unless i edit it again and republished it. They think not its not appropriate to my audience..i think its on the death scene which probably is more disturbing than to those who witness and experience it (or am sending some chills on the writing effect?) whatever the reason am back on the dashboard with good humor that yes it had to be edited again fr public consumption this the thing when you attend to children's party, your responsibility to entertain and personal integrity had t be compromised. =/
Thank you Maria for your comments and sorry for not replying earlier. I am indeed working on a few projects at the moment and since I closed my Studio/Gallery in The Netherlands I am also updating my webpage to include my latest projects and to make it presentable, as I will have to seek a decent exhibition space for my works...Not much time left in the day to regular follow FAA but while your poetry thread remains I intend to visit from time to time...
Thank you again for all your positive and encouraging comments, they are very much appreciated!
I can visualise through your words the perfect picture, you've painted it already :)) without your hands. But when you paint with your hands also you paint pictures of what no one can see, music and the personality of a figure on paper, brought alive by your hands and mind working together. I find your images of musicians full of movement through your ability to bring these musicians to life. Also some of your portraits of girls gazing over railings, very nice.
Love this stanza,
Sycamore branches look like old bare bones
trembling in an arctic breeze
dancing on one foot shivering in nakedness
An echo to Philip's spider poem...or rather to the subtle space that somehow moves between the lines
Into her webbed bed
her black abdomen fell
and sprung like on some fine trampoline
whose threads caught the sun to glimmering and shimmering
amongst all of the glass, polished steel and ceramic tile.
moist beads of sticky globuled fly bait
glistened as the black spider waited
morning noon and night
hungry and wasting
licking her lips, tasting,
the air full of expectation
changing temperature, light and shadows
draughts from comings and goings.
the red kimono hanging on the door
amass with butterfly prints of every colour
but no fly wanders across the palor
of the painted walls
nor no moth seeks out this bathroom light
a pair of eyes blessed upon a pile of dust, with wings, it's plight
to find no more than a glass ball with an unobtainable moon inside.
and soon the spiders legs begin to drop
one by one
he loves me, he loves me not
the hungry spider whispers
as she falls to bits.
And as a draught blows through the door
the draped kimono limp no more
billows in the stream of air
and swarms around the globe lit room
all glass and steel and tile ceramic
and shadows from the break of light
the printed butterflies of every hue
come quite alive and flap and swoop
and the spider watches from her
dusty, half lit hammocked bed
a scene surreal
a one last perfect dream
and then to end it all
in so effortless traipes a fly
as though amongst a garden's corner
buzzing through the dreamy butterflies
and the spider follows from one eye
the last of meals before she dies
like a poet eating words
before a reader's criticise
alas the spider died in vain
and the butterflies all came to halt
and fell all dead and limp behind the door
and the stupid fly had no idea
of what he thought he saw, and didn't see at all
that death awaited but was thwarted
and no one knows what caused it.
So take your time
unlimb it from the branch of every tree
Hide the moon behind the bridge
do not hope to feel the grass grow
between each weary toe.
Take your time
and wrap it in your favourite paper
and shove it into the dark corner
of every unused drawer
let an infestation cocoon it evermore.
Take your time
and open chained gates
that close some path of scattered light
unpick its padlock with your fingernail
until the metal melts with your lovely patience
Take your time
and smile along the long lanes that wind
wordless while the storms cry and wail
and call to poems to be thrown apart-together
even force them by the collar...
Take your time
for a walk in bad weather let it ride the waves
let sand scratch its face
tether it to a railing and laugh
hear its confession
That time is no time at all.
That is weird.....students in school are studying poetry from a handful of classic poets. Blake is one of them. This has happened to me before without intention. It is like as though their magic lives on in a way where its whole rhythm leaves something on you after reading....like when you wake up some mornings and begin singing a song and wonder where it came from. Like the space you leave between your lines....does that make sense?
Oxo, this is a very exciting visual mix. So many great images. I love how you appear in shadow. The raw shaky camera movements add a fantastic reality aspect and some great shots like the plane caught between the blinds. I also liked the opposite directions of the ground and air traffic. If this is just a sample I look fwd to the full work. As I was watching I was thinking
I wanna do one...I wanna do one...'. Great stuff. Well done!
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