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Category Archives: art

ABOUT TIME

20 Wednesday Jan 2021

Posted by drdamiang in art, Cat, Dream, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Space, surrealism, Uncategorized

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Tags

Cats, poem, poetry, Salvador Dali, space travel, surreal, time

ABOUT TIME

I got my cats
special goggles

so we could
aviate the cosmos
and navigate time

asked Mr Dali
to design them
since when
it comes to time
no one
has produced
of that concept such
a fine distillation

in the surreal sleep
of cryogenic freezing
cats and me
are, when it
comes to death dreaming
have a
fabulously
long night

SOFT STROKES

17 Sunday Jan 2021

Posted by drdamiang in art, Creation, Creativity, gods and goddesses, Moon, mystical, mythical/mythological, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry

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Tags

art, Moon, mythology, poem, poetry, Vision

SOFT STROKES

so many stars
in your eyes
cannot
deny

it’s amazing
you are able
to see
anything at all

not least
in the West
a tiny sliver
of silver
crescent moon

read thereinto
face of horned
matriarch goddess

even as
a wispy veil of cloud
brushes across the sky
to hide her

whosoever this artist is
they are absolutely using
very soft strokes

THE EXHIBITION OF REJECTS

29 Tuesday Dec 2020

Posted by drdamiang in art, ironical/comic, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Uncategorized

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Tags

art, Comedy, irony, Jackson Pollock, poem, poetry, rejection, satire

THE EXHIBITION OF REJECTS

went to
the Exhibition of Rejects
with my
Jackson Pollock type
screen-prints

but they couldn’t
afford me space
told me this
to my face
directly
but not exactly

and so I began
to dissolve into
hopelessnesss
drizzle
and drip

which got them
admiring the artistry
to revise
their decision

but turned into masterpiece
there
on the floor

to accept their fresh,
kind offer

was, quite sadly,
in no position

TALK TALK

20 Sunday Dec 2020

Posted by drdamiang in art, love, Metaphor, metaphoric, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Sexual, Sexual innuendo, Uncategorized, writing

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poem, poetry, sexual symbolism, writing

TALK TALK

poets just talk
they no use in bed

beauty like yours need serious sculpture
fine fine art

a Rodin
really up for it

a Moore
a Miro
a Picasso

a Picasso firing
on all cylinders and
way more Miro

tons of gold-leaf
gallons of finger paint

how else to capture
the intensity and sensuous shape
of your sexuality
how else
to pay it homage, give
it aesthetic justice?

way beyond anything possible
in how you
scheme your
lines
(saucy interplay between those
masculine and
those feminine rhymes)

if not
paint or
alabaster

then let us turn
to
melody, harmony
scale and
chord

Oh the music that we imagine
if you
were orchestra

ascending
descending
ascending again
(as
arpeggio, glissando
the maestro feels you about
to launch
into your solo)

leaving world of words
feeling sad and short
and so far behind

unless
colossus of wit, mandarin
of syllable
announces himself mightily

strides
centre stage, his voice
a whirlwind

and there you are, your body versified
your story
made
universal

stretched out into three acts and
climaxed in denouement

not one
inch of your body
not willing to mean
all it can sing

be
the truth of a
tale realized

it always
(so secretly) wanted
to tell itself

MATTER OF FACT

17 Thursday Dec 2020

Posted by drdamiang in Alien, art, Creation, Creativity, metapoetic/metafictional, philosophical, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, SIMULATION: We are living in a simulation, Uncategorized

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Alien, art, metapoetic, philosophical, poem, poetry, simulation, Stars

MATTER OF FACT

what if
we are all
just alien
artifact?

run
from
research and development
to production line?

no art to speak of
just a pieces kit you
rivet and fix
by numbers paint
colours of
(an oxygen atmosphere)
rainbow

praise be intelligence
for thanks to this
got other
models and myths
I’d rather
cling to

even when
I stalk a poem, circling
the house at night

the stars laughing in concert
in
their
constellations
as I
miss the point

become the embodiment
of
our
base assumption
that there is
thing called
self, things
called
soul
and mind

clunkiest of all
our most arrogant
rationalizations

QUITE LIKE

06 Sunday Dec 2020

Posted by drdamiang in art, Evil, Fascism, History, Nightmare, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Uncategorized

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Tags

Evil, Humanity, Nazi, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry

QUITE LIKE

” History records no
phenomenon like him.”
Joachim C. Fest

the failed artist
is there nothing
quite like

the greatest of these
paint death with brush strokes
beyond anything hitherto seen

hard to
find
humanity in
such a canvas
the grey-green and
other camouflage tones
so strong, so heavy
connoisseurs will claim
they have it
in them to last
for a
thousand years

life
longer than
indomitable plague or
nuclear radiation

and this, if we
rewind the tape, or
page back to
the beginning

spoke of idyll and Apollo and
Rome and return to
the wellsprings of
pure civilization

Oh yes
when art is
distracted, fails
is humiliated

then the compensation
defies the capacity of
mere imagination

look
elsewhere
for that source

far and wide, back
to
the origin
to the beginning of time

to that primeval law
rule of cosmic violence

or closer to
home, right
in this space
time

there, millimeters deep,
just under the epidermis
of the skin
you are wearing

whether or not
you carry the tattoo

of the
failed artist, or
that which is akin, is
hopelessly like it

JE NE SAIS QUOI

24 Saturday Oct 2020

Posted by drdamiang in art, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Reader, Uncategorized, Woman, writing

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Tags

art, poem, poetry, Reader, wordplay, writing

JE NE SAIS QUOI

your poem
is curly

your poem
is kinky

sometimes it threatens
to leave the page

I ponder who he or she might be
the Muse who inspires you

whether he
she

is sign of the twin, like mine,
twinned we are
she and I
my Moon
in her twin sign too

talking of lunatics (and lovers)
that bearded bald guy
still
crowding the stage with
characters and invention

his scope: the Universe as he new it
and social structure
from top to
Bottom

assuring us this horizon-
vaulting madness
is beyond
normal explanation

those crazed
in love, crazed
beyond love

stripping off the mask
pushing to the edge

lost
in this mirror world

even as
I am with you

FACE VALUE

12 Wednesday Aug 2020

Posted by drdamiang in art, Creation, Creativity, Metaphor, metapoetic/metafictional, Nature, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Uncategorized

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Tags

appearance, poem, poetry, Reality?, value, wordplay, writing

FACE VALUE

suck on this
and

don’t worry
it’s fake, not
a real poem

nothing about it
is natural

everything
is constructed

it did not
just flow
onto the page

every word was
worked
tried
and tested

so many rejected, discarded
gone to waste

and yet it
all looks so accomplished

ready to
dive into

accept
at face value

APE

04 Tuesday Aug 2020

Posted by drdamiang in art, Creation, Creativity, Drama, Dream, evolution, Mirror, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Uncategorized, wordplay, writing

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Tags

art, Drama, Dream, evolution, Humanity, Mirror, philosophical, poem, poetry, writing

APE
“Even as a shadow,
even as a dream.”
Euripides

ape
needed
to
imitate

good then
to find
a mirror

one
to
carry
everywhere

so much
the better

and me
aping Pound
and Eliot
Blake, Yeats
and Cummings

rehearsing the words
in my head though
page is never
final performance

never even
opening night

speaking of which
have to think
how the work evolves
need to explore
to the fullest
evolution
of the writer

backstage, even
as you shut the book
press exit
and save

so many of your,
my,
gibbering kind

hitting the keys to type for infinity
thus randomize Shakespeare
but before
those epic, evolutionary heights

are
attained (peak of K plus 2, mathematically gained)
may just stumble upon Blakean augury
about sandgrain and eternity
infinity and
a flower

the small
and the beautiful

speaking for my species
for the ape
in my species
not
our style at all
not
our cup
of tea at all

come back to me
when you have got
(or at least laid
the foundation)
for city of
narrative,
palace of
poetry
five act theatre by
the Thames or

open space on the Greek plains
where the ape gods inside us

can wander
across stage, wonder
at their narratives, their passions
their characters
their love-hate relationships with
us mere
ape mortals

who gave them
flesh
and blood

who gave them their lines

HOGARTH

21 Tuesday Jul 2020

Posted by drdamiang in art, BREXIT, British, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, political, Politics of poetry/writing/Literature, satire, Uncategorized

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Tags

Britain, British, Hogarth, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, satire, wordplay

HOGARTH

we don’t need no Hogarth
we got our
magic lantern
we can watch moving
pictures all night
all day
can live another world
just sitting, lying here

but Hogarth
would have nailed you
to his wall
would have
put you
in a gallery
captured you
every whim
and wile
with his
unflattering eye

and yet
no space for him
on our street today
no place for
an artist of
jos kind
the broadsheets
blew them
blasted
quite away

before
he could grab them
perfectly them
by the Grub Street
skewer them
by the Fleet ditch

his century seems so far away
but: fake news,,, false
Enlightenment

Pope splattering and splashing
up his wall
there is a better
kind of
satire
he would argue

one whose allegory is
that painful fall
from hubris to
social destruction

****

Oh the vanity of it
how those faces in the portraits
long to
burst your
bubble
fix
your lottery
have long foreseen
the financial calamity of your burst bubble

the roast beef of England
now where did that go?
where did it disappear to?
If I’m not
much mistaken guv’nor
they not be eating that
down Gin Lane
just Grady scraps of fried chippy
wrapped in
a tabloid page

and a fop
to rule us
who would have thought it
those old laughed-at stereotypes
back with a vengeance

bawd is bitch to your
ramshackle kingdom, M’lud
in Bedlam you
can be committed for
satire, irony’s
incurable disease

snap, crackle,
pop go our rights, pop
goes the economy
but we have free
speech, right to
stone
in the media
stone
on the streets

don’t be like evangelical Jesus
rushing to throw the first one
remember
the fool will
always be with us
the fools not grown
much bigger
just
more loud

so
don’t put up
bunting
don’t go
to town

if Hogarth’s spirit is
with us, resurrected,
walks amongst us

who can tell
what he’s
bringing down

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