CLOWN AT THE CROSSROADS

Tags

art, clown, crossroads, Music, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, Robert Johnson

CLOWN AT THE CROSSROADS

clown at the crossroads
(no Robert Johnson devil)

did I say crossroads?
I meant fork
in the road

clown said

take the left hand path
the left hand path

it’s sadder
and more lonely

more infinitely true
for artistic perspective
which road

I took
too

there being no
joy in comedy

but awesome and
terrible
the
revelation of life

revelation
of life

RAW

Tags

art, empathy, Humanity, poem, poem poetry political moral, Reader

RAW

you were dancing
gracefully

singing
sweetly

but you
had not suffered
and so

fell short on
humanity
short on
empathy

and so
whilst you
touched my heart

you did not
tear it raw

THROUGH

Tags

art, calligraphy, graffiti, poem, poetry, writing

THROUGH

I painted my poem
on a wall

more like Japanese calligraphy
than New York graffiti

soon they
will paint over it

perhaps
knock the wall down
(this
if
there is
regime change)

if the words
did their business

the metaphor
got through

FOURTH WALL

Tags

art, fourth wall, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, postmodernism

FOURTH WALL

that fourth wall
is cardboard

it is
reinforced concrete,
sharpened bamboo,
papier-mâché

it is the toughest, softest,
most porous, most impenetrable
substance known to man

it is
impossible to cross
so easy

to break
through

the barrier to end all barriers
a whim, a curtain, a game

FIRST EGGY MOUTHFUL

Tags

art, haiku, Humanity, Japanese, Picasso, poem, poem poetry political moral, Poet, poetry, Reader, social media, wordplay

FIRST EGGY MOUTHFUL
“on ne saurait faire d’omelette sans casser des œufs” attributed to François de Charette.

so there I was
on social media
assuming the high ground
without realizing
I was doing so
(no wonder they troll
me senseless
screaming “idiot”)

at least there’s breakfast to consider
(belly winning that debate with brain hands down)
but right in the middle of
my first eggy mouthful
that window in my head
opened inconveniently
sending a poem through
or a killer line at least
that one folds and shapes
going linear, non-linear and
decidedly centripetal

more than my life’s worth
to let that little bastard escape
my clutches: my raw, scarred
hirsute fingers
in gloves of
rare, studied velvet elegantly concealed
grabbing, holding down
clipping its wings
to add
wings far greater

you are probably
(metaphor as
resonance)
thinking at this point:
Oh I think he’s going
Japanese on this one
(full Oda Nobunaga dancing
with katana to
score by Ryuichi Sakamoto)
talking about
infinite patience
age-old ingenuity

the delicacy
of paper folded into life
tree
clipped aesthetically

brutal beauty of
all four elements
folded and hammered
into perfect balance

of samurai steel

curve on that blade
the exquisite equal to
(that of) the shapeliest of lovers

but here I go
off on wordy tangent
when my breakfast is
getting cold

so I turn hard left into
a Cubist perspective

think of Picasso
all obtuse visual brilliance at
pretty much right-angle

layered as before
but
painted with passion

insisting on
the supremacy of the artist
with the right
to rearrange

to challenge tired outworn seeing

great to leave you
ruminating on this in
a simple haiku

a poem was lost
then came thought of Picasso

see where we now are

MANFESTO

Tags

art, Mike Tyson, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, political manifesto, satire, violence

MANIFESTO

I am
the Mike Tyson
of poetry

my words
punch you
in the mouth

and
then instantly
you forget every
stupid point
in your
political manifesto

especially the ones that relate
to the control of art

IN QUESTION

IN QUESTION

Big Bang
(first
singularity)

Altamira
Hiroshima

where did that
story come from that
only
with destruction can

there be
creation?

that the
brush can find
its colour

the pen
in ink its measure

only after blood
(words tight in their structure or
cavorting around haphazardly
depending
on their

ideology

similarly with line and shape
and form and aesthetic perspective

after
chaos and death
end

of worlds

comes technical mastery
and formalism.

SAME

Tags

art, gray, Jackson Pollock, poem, poetry

SAME

who added so much gray
to my palette

let time drip like
paint in a Jackson Pollock

perhaps it’s all
just projection

perhaps I’m
the one
to blame

thinking that it’s Love
Love that got
me this
sad way

having so much love
for Love
Love feeling
nothing like the same

EXPRESSIONIST

Tags

art, death, expressionism, Impressionism, poem, poetry

EXPRESSIONIST

the years
blur
when it comes
to time
I am an
impressionist

content collapses
form
takes everything to
a convulsive extreme

and so
in death

I am become
expressionist

nothing
on the other side of the canvass
unless
what with every
brushstroke
seeps, works
its vibrant, otherworldly
way through

DOWN TO

Tags

alienation, Apollo 13, art, charcoal, industrial, metafictional, metapoetic, poem, poetry, punning, Reader, sex, writing

DOWN TO

someone charcoaled
my picture
of the world

after which
things quickly
Went retrograde

found myself Apollo
thirteening through
industrial gray atmosphere
trying to
get back

thinking
if I flame out
here it’s all down to
my failure to exorcise what
they call magical thinking

this you and I discussed
at length in bed
which was strange in itself
you being a
character in
my novel

or me in yours

who is exactly in
whose head
difficult to negotiate
when
speaking of re-entry
couldn’t be
less metaphoric

your bed, my bed,
our bed

so full of charcoal
easy and hard (as
homonym would
have it) not to
exaggerate or
simply lie in it

down to you
lover, reader
to
ménage with us
masterfully, mistressfully
help us out of this mess