poetry-art12.blogspot.com
Poetry/Art
Edward Hopper and the House by the Railroad. Out here in the exact middle of the day,. This strange, gawky house has the expression. Of someone being stared at, someone holding. His breath underwater, hushed and expectant;. This house is ashamed of itself, ashamed. Of its fantastic mansard rooftop. And its pseudo-Gothic porch, ashamed. Of its shoulders and large, awkward hands. But the man behind the easel is relentless. He is as brutal as sunlight, and believes. To the people who once lived here. Always...
poetry-art13.blogspot.com
Poetry/Art
Across the street, the carpenter carries a golden. Board across one shoulder, much as he bears the burdens. Of his life. Dressed in white, his only weakness is. Temptation. Now he builds another wall to screen him. The little girl pursues her bad red ball, hits it once. With her blue racket, hits it once again. She must. Teach it the rules balls must follow and it turns her. Quite wild to see how it leers at her, then winks. The oriental couple wants always to dance like this:. Where the sun goes at nigh...
poetry-art14.blogspot.com
Poetry/Art
Naked Girl And Mirror. This is not I. I had no body once-. Only what served my need to laugh and run. And stare at stars and tentatively dance. On the fringe of foam and wave and sand and sun. Eyes loved, hands reached for me, but I was gone. On my own currents, quicksilver, thistledown. Can I be trapped at last in that soft face? I stare at you in fear, dark brimming eyes. Why do you watch me with that immoderate plea-. Look under these curled lashes, recognize. From eyes I will not answer; shut out here.
poetry-art15.blogspot.com
Poetry/Art
The Man with the Hoe. God made man in His own image. In the image of God He made him.- Genesis. Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans. Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground,. The emptiness of ages in his face,. And on his back the burden of the world. Who made him dead to rapture and despair. A thing that grieves not and that never hopes,. Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox? Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw? Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow? To feel the passion of Eternity?
poetry-art16.blogspot.com
Poetry/Art
The Man With the Blue Guitar. The man bent over his guitar,. A shearsman of sorts. The day was green. They said, "You have a blue guitar,. You do not play things as they are.". The man replied, "Things as they are. Are changed upon the blue guitar.". And they said then, "But play, you must,. A tune beyond us, yet ourselves,. A tune upon the blue guitar. Of things exactly as they are.". I cannot bring a world quite round,. Although I patch it as I can. I sing a hero's head, large eye. Of the structure of ...
poetry-art18.blogspot.com
Poetry/Art
The Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock - Wallace Stevens. Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Disillusionment of Ten o' Clock. The houses are haunted. None are green,. Or purple with green rings,. Or green with yellow rings,. Or yellow with blue rings. None of them are strange,. With socks of lace. People are not going. To dream of baboons and periwinkles. Only, here and there, an old sailor,. Drunk and asleep in his boots,. Catches tigers In red weather.
poetry-art19.blogspot.com
Poetry/Art
The Shiva-Shakti story demonstrates that pure consciousness is placid, empty yet full and content at the same time, until creation stirs and then all the trouble begins! Perhaps this is what Stevens refers to, in relation to himself as Shiva, disturbed by some creative urge or inspiration: 'the indian struck and disappeared. / I knew my enemy was near - i, / drowsing in summer's sleepiest horn.' When the creative urge strikes, the poet must be roused to work. Peace and sleep are over. In. The Indian stru...
poetry-art20.blogspot.com
Poetry/Art
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). 13 ways poem in new media. Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. Among twenty snowy mountains,. The only moving thing. Was the eye of the blackbird. I was of three minds,. In which there are three blackbirds. The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds. It was a small part of the pantomime. A man and a woman. A man and a woman and a blackbird. I do not know which to prefer,. The beauty of inflections. Or the beauty of innuendoes,. Icicles filled the long window. In what I know.
poetry-art21.blogspot.com
Poetry/Art
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Connected with the moon. Who have lived longer. Run to capture it. This subtle sort of thing that. Doesnt happen every night. I'm. Not interested. Everything I care for. Happens all the time. It's the way you walk. If you dont like. That it's the way you. Talk Or any other. Rimes with the ordinary sun. This is my best deal:. Yourself exactly as you are. Or anything at all the way it is. Watermark template. Powered by Blogger.
poetry-art22.blogspot.com
Poetry/Art
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). The green that grows from me depletes my soil,. Is not variety, does not mulch down. A complement of intimate support. Growth. Stands between me and the sun, the branches. Repeat endlessly the same ideas, the same form. Rain comes through, I get the leach of it. Colored by monotonous unstable leaves. I thought these feelings into place and now. Feelings have no place to thing their own. The tree trunk is will, skeleton of earlier design.
poetry-art23.blogspot.com
Poetry/Art
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). What Do Women Want? I want a red dress. I want it flimsy and cheap,. I want it too tight, I want to wear it. Until someone tears it off me. I want it sleeveless and backless,. This dress, so no one has to guess. What's underneath. I want to walk down. The street past Thrifty's and the hardware store. With all those keys glittering in the window,. Past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old. Donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers. I want to walk like I'm the only.
