Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

a saint to some
the nicotine stained fingers point
the direction to hell
as the eyes curve around
spotting the tea leaf floating
backstroking mindsets
the funeral screams end
and nowhere is there trees
left to me right of circumstance
the hotdog man juggles mustard seeds
into compounds of humility
avenging the three-winged nostragod
lying perpendicular to twelve epiphanies
sighted flying north for the winter

hooved parables skittered foolishly
the ice covering the sleighed bells
no longer ringing the troubadours hum
pinocle breasts lifted to the stage
and jonathan licked the cherry clean
maraschino madness colored his lips
the fountain of lost innocence embraced
the jackals snorting leaves as sunset
came and went like cigarette smoke rising

marmalade maps indicating the bowels
erupting from explosive randomness
saluting brevity with statues of bird shit
piled on monuments to lost buffaloes
searching for the edifice of territorial happenstance

bugged bunnies snarling thru pillow teeth
disguising their love patterns with lace
stolen from attics dusty and moldy with loss
buttressed by the terminology of Upanishads
that careened across I-10 one summer day
lost in vague flashbacks colored by acid etched
dreams of what could have/should have been

sparkle
sparkle
sparkle

mesmerized by the look in her eyes
her tits long for suckling mouths
hungry for taste
hungry for passion
hungry for waffles
the sneakers took off by themselves
running at full speed towards the horizon
never to find the sunset that eludes
the poets breath seducing thought
as if it were some kinda palace
where gold and silver lay around
gathering dust while crimes against art
continue to pile up in junkyards for the soul

heironymous
heironymous
betray the night
the lungs filled
capacity overdrawn
the shuttle cocked
and nowhere is found

(muttfuckthearchedass)

mtmynd

by the end of this surreally descriptive piece i was either thinking little feat album cover from the '70's or Boschian fantasies, Hieronymous won out......keep 'em coming my brother, love it

"no longer ringing the troubadours hum"

the entire poem is a hum, and at the end of the poem
the resonant images descend into the dark silence
trailing off into oblivion, letting the images stew in there for awhile
until the ringing hum takes up its residence on earth again.

like a troubadour's dream, the hum awakens in the middle of the night

revolutionR wrote:"no longer ringing the troubadours hum"

the entire poem is a hum, and at the end of the poem
the resonant images descend into the dark silence
trailing off into oblivion, letting the images stew in there for awhile
until the ringing hum takes up its residence on earth again.

like a troubadour's dream, the hum awakens in the middle of the night

Gracias, revo, for your wonderfully lucid reply. It's an enjoyable read that I perused more than once.

I appreciate you taking the time to express these words.

C~

WIREMAN wrote:by the end of this surreally descriptive piece i was either thinking little feat album cover from the '70's or Boschian fantasies, Hieronymous won out......keep 'em coming my brother, love it

A big Gracias to you Wiredman for your reply... a colorful and enjoyable one.

This style of writing is strictly SoC mixed with emotions from the soul that is therapeutic for me and I really need a deep hit of fresh air when I finish one. I'm not able to crank these out as easily as the others but when the knock at my poet's door I jump at the opportunity. I'm sure you understand and find me just rambling... a tumbleweed caught up in the desert winds rolling across the solitude in search of something... just 'some' thing to grab on to.

awesome- wish i could really write a decent response but i am in a hurry- should i ask if you are surprised- ? not=
but it seems to be the way things are- .. ELOQUENT- BEAUTIFUL--

creativesoul wrote:awesome- wish i could really write a decent response - .. ELOQUENT- BEAUTIFUL--

you did!

Sparkle!

mnaz wrote:Sparkle!

a wee bit of 'bling' goes a long way...

damn - you not only carpetbomb the landscape you're walking around with Thor's hammer in your hand to boot - bling or no bling -

the mingo wrote:damn - you not only carpetbomb the landscape you're walking around with Thor's hammer in your hand to boot - bling or no bling -

destruction leads to creation leads to destruction leads to creation... ad infinitum...

gracias, el mingo, amigo mio.

do the doterodomy of it all
lead to or lead from???
or is that the question
whether it tis nobler
to wear the condum drum
or just beat on it till u cant
stand it no more....

WIREMAN wrote:do the doterodomy of it all
lead to or lead from???
or is that the question
whether it tis nobler
to wear the condum drum
or just beat on it till u cant
stand it no more....

pound that sound
thru city and town
on that condum drum
under the desert sun
until the message
becomes the massage
bringing ease to tired
bodies seeking rest
suck on the breast
passing the test
kill that stress
and listen, listen
to that cry scream
across the gray sky
like a bird of prey
searching night and day
for the nourishment of
knowing at long last...
the end has just begun

gracias, wired amigo...