Monday, April 24, 2017

rain

by Charles Bukowski
from his collection entitled Mockingbird Wish Me Luck

a symphony orchestra.
there is a thunderstorm, 
they are playing a Wagner overture
and the people leave their seats under the trees
and run inside to the pavilion
the women giggling, the men pretending calm,
wet cigarettes being thrown away,
Wagner plays on, and then they are all under the
pavilion. the birds even come in from the trees
and enter the pavilion and then it is the Hungarian
Rhapsody #2 by Lizst, and it still rains, but look,
one man sits alone in the rain
listening. the audience notices him. they turn
and look. the orchestra goes about its
business. the man sits in the night in the rain,
listening. there is something wrong with him,
isn't there?
he came to hear the 
music.

Sunday, April 9, 2017

Senecio

Senecio by Paul Klee, 1922, oil on canvas







"One eye sees, the other feels."
 -Paul Klee

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Fake

M. Peters
from his collection entitled insomatica

The crackerjack prize
                for fake blank faced people
     in fake far away places

Who think up false stories
                              to fill their false lives

That keep buying fake things
and wasting fake time

Fucking fake whores
Electing fake minds
Taking fake items off fake useless lines

And there is not enough time
for our tiny earth
to keep putting astronauts into the 
fake universe

Sunday, March 19, 2017

Man in the Forest

Man in the Forest by Anselm Kiefer, 1971




"I grew up in a forest. It's like a room. It's protected. Like a cathedral ... it is a place between heaven and earth."
- Anselm Kiefer

Saturday, March 11, 2017

Small Worlds

Small Worlds II by Wassily Kandinsky, 1922, lithography





"To create a work of art is to create the world."
- Wassily Kandinsky

Saturday, March 4, 2017

Zeros

by Philip Booth
from his collection entitled Lifelines

Three zeros coming up,
as the odometer turns
toward its new thousand.
Old movies, cars, pushing
2002, the number maybe
we'll get to, maybe we'll
not. As if numbers were
our destination, as if
we weren't close to lost.
As if it didn't matter
how we've already poisoned
the planet, invaded lovers,
born generations of micro-
chips, wired our lives to
suicide bombs, and still
told ourselves, year after
penultimate year, that there
will be survivors, that we'll 
be the heroes who'll last.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

Love

Love by Alexei Jawlensky, 1925, oil on canvas





"I knew I must paint not what I saw, but only what was in me, in my soul."
-Alexei Jawlensky

Sunday, February 12, 2017

Our Paris

by Donald Fry

Mapped not by miles, kilometers, or rods,
our Paris has no boundaries in space.
Crack the clacking clocks, dethrone the false gods
of eternity. Then, we will deface

their measurements, mass, volume, false extents;
we’ll have no traffic with their stubborn lies;
a bold geometry, our love invents:
angles, arcs, towers – cathedralize!

Their histories unravel into myth,
our myths obtain the strength of history;
and Paris, a golden apple with
this kiss, my Venus, you, my ecstasy.

Parispace, Paristime, Parismass,
our own dimensions will prevail, Alas!

Saturday, January 21, 2017

Angora Cat

Angora Cat by Morrish Hirshfield, 1937, oil on canvas; part of the MoMA
Sidney & Harriet Janis Collection

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Clothespins

by Robert Bly
from his collection entitled Morning Poems

I'd like to have spent my life making
Clothespins. Nothing would be harmed,
Except some pines, probably on land
I owned and would replant. I'd see
My work on clotheslines near some lake,
Up north on a day in October, 
Perhaps twelve clothespins, the wood
Still fresh, and a light wind blowing.

Monday, January 9, 2017

Winter

Red Barn and Tree Snow by Eyvind Earle






Mountains and plains,
   all are captured by the snow -
     nothing remains.
                                         - Joso