February 16, 2017
how Art thou? Do you drink from the deep sink of inspired creations at an art museum, gallery, or maybe a street art fair on a street near you?sometimes?
Do you have something on one of your walls that only you could only fall for?
And, can’t help but stare?
It’s an important thing,dontcha think?
It has been from an early age for me.
I’m told that soon after I found my father who had killed himself (the Hemingway), while all the distraught adults who knew and loved him were off balance with emotional and practical adjustments (like selling the house and moving on)
One forgotten first son had got into several paint cans and expressed quite a colorful statement on the backside of the new house for sale.
I was perched high for me
in a pinepitchtree
and waited out what I did
as I watched our house’s back side
where I painted from all the paint cans
stacked out back. Though very new plans
made us move away from that life.
Daddy had died and left that life.
Somebody and something could only cover
a french girl with hair from the girl in Breathless
was our art teacher that visited
Miss Blue’s 3rd grade class,
and liked my painting so much
she asked if she could take it
for a contest, or a book she was working on.
The blurry greens and blacks,
browns and blues, was a ship deep in a storm.
I never saw it again but
somebody and something could only recover
still, tie me to the mast.
I must get the next good grasp
still, the next limb up
to see some.
November 8, 2016
encased in impasse
I couldn’t even eye the passengers
just past my papers.
I wouldn’t watch what
my window offered:
small towns, and their lights,
or when slow-mo reflections night riders
riding inside also swept by.
continual inspections of my work,
a spread display on a tray freed before me,
confirmed my stall is a lock still.
Y’see, yesterday’s night
I ran nine yellow lights,
& when my dreams weren’t just right…
I must decide to just ride.
(from 5 or 6 yrs back)
September 15, 2016
For now, awhile, I won’t let you pull me from the wreckage/
But, how you hold my hand, for both of us
Until the jaws of life arrives/
Tho’ I’m not at a lost of words, I’m lost
In thought / “I’m lost”, I thought,
“And hiding from the hidden costs.”
I’ll dare to speak of sparrows
in shrapnel-filled WW I battlefield winds,
in sharp scarlet dawns/
They’ll sing to find their kind
if they’ve lived,
A song will find its way back,
between the blood & budding daybreak.
it could be/ a branch of a tree
perched at a high hill
would have a new bud just
breaking through/ it would be just for you
and in time a blossom. You’d just
lift yr arm up/ and pull it down/ just in time
to drink it through
with yr deepest stealing breath.///
April 14, 2016
Characters cast into indecipherable scripts
All are strangers
To stare at, to starve for,
More, to promptly forget.
Live characters I’ve cared fiercely for
Live too far enough I know away in shadows
To re know/ to re love/ to re have
In this half life
March 24, 2016
I dreamt I opened a door onto a stranger
Her chest hurt, she showed her best she wasn’t in danger
I dreamt I waited to turn at a corner
Onto deep/ditched road, well before I could warn her
She lost control of her sportscar, four arcs
Into sleep/filled woods. unsteady long legs started
Out, hurt, and startled me to dream move to
Both strangers to tend to them, and love too
“I don’t stand this, no distancing..”
My soulfull chest and best intentions,
“O ..Further along & farther away”.
After it’s hurting time
It’s certain we’re down
From where we may
& nearer the day we’re done.
February 15, 2016
You need to know
You needn’t load these new cameras
It’s less necessary this new era
I imagine now new images
ejaculate pointblank to blank pages
Get-sets galore fill gallery folders
I heard Gatling gun wordings
for fun function as captions
I read that the wind full in caftans
Help to heft up our boulders
(FROM 4 or 5 yrs back/ dedicated to DEVIANTART)
image: g.r.melvin/ http://namelessneed.deviantart.com/
January 27, 2016
On a rough rainy predawn day
Back too tough on me maybe
Allowed out back fuh full moon
Is enshrouded. dire.
Tho’ I’m too low on melatonin
Dawn, I’ll get my crayon box
Out & rub out
A prairie fire
September 18, 2015
I swear it’s Clara
I see clearly on the ceiling
Before I embark onto
To a dream where Clara is nearer
I splash up, plop a step up,
& Stand up on her shore
& Stretch erect on her far shore.