(f) art
If tearing wet bloody chunks from your soul and
Throwing the lumpy meat into the Public
square brings you no contentment then you are no
artist – you are dead.
Tag: Poetry
(f) ART
(f) art
If tearing wet bloody chunks from your soul and
Throwing the lumpy meat into the Public
Square brings you no contentment then you are no
artist – you are dead.
An Isolated Incident
It was an isolated incident There is no pattern of any kind here Woven in the fabric of everything. – Tortured and murdered for simply But don’t worry at all – I present It was an isolated incident. – Caved in with a baseball bat is nothing These things happen; the single event Woven in the fabric of everything.…
An Isolated Incident
It was an isolated incident There is no pattern of any kind here Woven in the fabric of everything. – Tortured and murdered for simply But don’t worry at all – I present It was an isolated incident. – Caved in with a baseball bat is nothing These things happen; the single event Woven in the fabric of everything.…
An Isolated Incident
It was an isolated incident
There is no pattern of any kind here
Woven in the fabric of everything.
–
Tortured and murdered for simply
But don’t worry at all – I present
It was an isolated incident.
–
Caved in with a baseball bat is nothing
These things happen; the single event
Woven in the fabric of everything.
–
Brown, Mcbride, Garner attacked and dying.
Diallo, Dorismund, Zongo. Don’t dissent
It was an isolated incident.
–
Nine black people dead at white hands killing
That almost stopped it’s trigger but didn’t
Woven in the fabric of everything.
–
The legacy of horror is clinging
To that cacophonous endless lament;
“It was an isolated incident.”,
Woven in the fabric of everything.
u cld die 2morrow.
Why not write at least one sentence?
Go on, it can’t hurt can it?
We both know that you’re afraid that it will happen.
Don’t die with so many unfinished stories.
Just try and finish one, one sentence.
Use that cold clawing fear in your stomach to drive you on.
Don’t have another drink
Just yet.
u cld die 2morrow.
Why not write at least one sentence?
Go on, it can’t hurt can it?
We both know that you’re afraid that it will happen.
Don’t die with so many unfinished stories.
Just try and finish one, one sentence.
Use that cold clawing fear in your stomach to drive you on.
Don’t have another drink
Just yet.
u cld die 2morrow.
Why not write at least one sentence?
Go on, it can’t hurt can it?
We both know that you’re afraid that it will happen.
Don’t die with so many unfinished stories.
Just try and finish one, one sentence.
Use that cold clawing fear in your stomach to drive you on.
Don’t have another drink
Just yet.
A is for Anhedonia.
A is for Anhedonia B is for Boredom C is for Collapse D is for Doldrum E is for Energy F is for Fear G is for Guilt H is for Happiness I is for Indecision J is for Jump K is for Knowledge L is for Loss M is for Morbid N is for Nothing O is for Other P is for Paranoia Q is for Quit R is for Razor S is for Stranger T is for Terrors U is for Undulating V is for Violence X is for X Y is for Youth Z…
A is for Anhedonia.
A is for Anhedonia B is for Boredom C is for Collapse D is for Doldrum E is for Energy F is for Fear G is for Guilt H is for Happiness I is for Indecision J is for Jump K is for Knowledge L is for Loss M is for Morbid N is for Nothing O is for Other P is for Paranoia Q is for Quit R is for Razor S is for Stranger T is for Terrors U is for Undulating V is for Violence X is for X Y is for Youth Z…
A is for Anhedonia.
A is for Anhedonia
B is for Boredom
C is for Collapse
D is for Doldrum
E is for Energy
F is for Fear
G is for Guilt
H is for Happiness
I is for Indecision
J is for Jump
K is for Knowledge
L is for Loss
M is for Morbid
N is for Nothing
O is for Other
P is for Paranoia
Q is for Quit
R is for Razor
S is for Stranger
T is for Terrors
U is for Undulating
V is for Violence
X is for X
Y is for Youth
Z is for Zero
Another Day.
He wakes up. He wonders how many slaves help him through the day. His building his apartment his electricity his water his gas his computer his software his notepads his pens his books his clothes his toothpaste his toothbrush his soap his shampoo his coffee his coffee maker his fridge his oven his plates his mugs his sausage his egg his bread his toaster his toast his socks his underwear his…
Another Day.
He wakes up. He wonders how many slaves help him through the day. His building his apartment his electricity his water his gas his computer his software his notepads his pens his books his clothes his toothpaste his toothbrush his soap his shampoo his coffee his coffee maker his fridge his oven his plates his mugs his sausage his egg his bread his toaster his toast his socks his underwear his…
Another Day.
He wakes up. He wonders how many slaves help him through the day. His building his apartment his electricity his water his gas his computer his software his notepads his pens his books his clothes his toothpaste his toothbrush his soap his shampoo his coffee his coffee maker his fridge his oven his plates his mugs his sausage his egg his bread his toaster his toast his socks his underwear his tshirt his shoes his pantaloons his antihistamine drug his bag his checkbook his wallet his check cards his credit cards his store cards his driving license the elevator the sidewalk the escalator his metro card the escalator the platform the metro train his neighbor his smartphone his office building the coffee the water the paper the computers the technical equipment his food his lunch his snacks his sandwich his ice cream his pencils his pens his coloring pencils his honey his cinnamon his hot water his ticket stub the movie the actors the technicians the staff the lights the hopes the dreams the slaves the chattel the trapped the debt bonded the employee the tomato pickers the trafficked the shackled the dead he has no answers he fears the answers he wilfully ignores the possibility of the worst answers he goes to sleep.
Another Day.
He wakes up. The massacre at the school in Kenya has been forgotten about. The pilot that crashed his plane into a mountain full of people has been forgotten about. The apple watch is the talk of the day. It is popular. A man has been shot by a policeman for running away from a policeman whilst black. The policeman is being hung out to dry by the police force and turned into a bad apple so that…
Another Day.
He wakes up. The massacre at the school in Kenya has been forgotten about. The pilot that crashed his plane into a mountain full of people has been forgotten about. The apple watch is the talk of the day. It is popular. A man has been shot by a policeman for running away from a policeman whilst black. The policeman is being hung out to dry by the police force and turned into a bad apple so that…
Another Day.
He wakes up. The massacre at the school in Kenya has been forgotten about. The pilot that crashed his plane into a mountain full of people has been forgotten about. The apple watch is the talk of the day. It is popular. A man has been shot by a policeman for running away from a policeman whilst black. The policeman is being hung out to dry by the police force and turned into a bad apple so that we can ignore the rotten barrel and the rotten tree that grew the wood for the barrel and the rotten tree that grew the rotten apples from the rotten ground. Everything is rotten. He has a coffee and he draws some pictures and he things about cuddling. Cuddling makes the rottenness of the world more palatable. He then learns about periscope and meerkat and live streaming from phones and everyone is live streaming everything and soon hovering drones will livestream our lives hovering with us by law and social convention filming and recording when we sleep and shit and die. Then he has another coffee and imagines a glass of wine and Octavia’s Brood arrives in his postbox and he is excited about reading short stories that he helped fund and the quality of the book is good and the quality of the writing is great and he is happy. Then he reads more about the 100 years war and it seems that it was a war that was initially fought in the courts by lawyers but then this interpretation is no doubt because the writer is a British Judge and then he eats some food and then he hope there is a future for children but then he sees robots and genetically modified creatures roaming a post-apocalyptic desert not sure what their purpose is or why they are there or what they are doing and then he eats some chocolate eggs and then he goes to sleep.
Waiting.
Waiting
Alone on the platform
Heavy lidded
After a day of good work.Soon she will be sitting
On the train,
And then at home
With Loved Ones.
Waiting.
Waiting
Alone on the platform
Heavy lidded
After a day of good work.Soon she will be sitting
On the train,
And then at home
With Loved Ones.
Waiting.
Waiting
Alone on the platform
Heavy lidded
After a day of good work.
Soon she will be sitting
On the train,
And then at home
With Loved Ones.
Troll.
Troll. http://wp.me/s1ew8b-troll
There once was a troll
That lived on a hillIt didn’t like poetry
So when it heard
I was writing a poem
About it’s misadventures
It told me
To go fuck myself.
Troll.
Troll. http://wp.me/s1ew8b-troll
There once was a troll
That lived on a hillIt didn’t like poetry
So when it heard
I was writing a poem
About it’s misadventures
It told me
To go fuck myself.
Troll.
There once was a troll
That lived on a hill
It didn’t like poetry
So when it heard
I was writing a poem
About it’s misadventures
It told me
To go fuck myself.
Night moves
At it’s own speed
Drawing out the thread
Until morning.
Night moves
At it’s own speed
Drawing out the thread
Until morning.
Night moves
At it’s own speed
Drawing out the thread
Until morning.
Night moves
At it’s own speed
Drawing out the thread
Until morning.
Freeway Walking.
Night moves
At its own speed
Drawing out the thread
Until morning.
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End of the day
The music squeezes
Happiness out
Resonance beyond now.
End of the day The music squeezes Happiness out Resonance beyond now.
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End of the day
The music squeezes
Happiness out
Resonance beyond now.
End of the day The music squeezes Happiness out Resonance beyond now.
Accordianist at Night.
End of the day
The music squeezes
Happiness out
Resonating beyond now.
Dripping in the Ectoplasm of White Privilege
I am normal.
I am kind,
Don’t see colour
Or ever find
The police treat me bad.
They are kind.
No special treatment
I once got fined
For driving drunk
They didn’t mind.
Sent me on my way
So I’m inclined
To love those cops
Who didn’t grind
My bones to paste
Or shoot me in my exposed back
Or kill me for talking back
Or cuff me for speaking out
Or night stuck me for a single shout
That war is for the battlefield
And not for those with badge and shield
Who hate the poor they guard all night
When really if they knew what’s right
They’d turn their eyes from the pitch
They’d join the horde and eat the rich.
A Visit to the Salt Mine
I wake up every morning with a smile.
Not letting them sleep is okay with me.
Torture kept our country safe, for a while.
These are terrorists, mostly, they are vile
So we can treat them as we wish, you see?
I wake up every morning with a smile.
Stress positions were a reasonable style
Of persuasion, not unlike yoga, see?
Torture kept our country safe, for a while.
There was no need to…
A Visit to the Salt Mine
I wake up every morning with a smile.
Not letting them sleep is okay with me.
Torture kept our country safe, for a while.
These are terrorists, mostly, they are vile
So we can treat them as we wish, you see?
I wake up every morning with a smile.
Stress positions were a reasonable style
Of persuasion, not unlike yoga, see?
Torture kept our country safe, for a while.
There was no need to…
A Visit to the Salt Pit.
I wake up every morning with a smile.
Not letting them sleep is okay with me.
Torture kept our country safe, for a while.
—
These are terrorists, mostly, they are vile
So we can treat them as we wish, you see?
I wake up every morning with a smile.
—
Stress positions were a reasonable style
Of persuasion, not unlike yoga, see?
Torture kept our country safe, for a while.
—
There was no need to offer them a trial
If they were innocent then they’d be free.
I wake up every morning with a smile
—
Yes, rectal feeding was very worthwhile.
There was no real damage, if you ask me.
I wake up every morning with a smile.
Torture kept our country safe, for a while.
Hand Prints
Palm prints dusted on a dark cavern wall
Tiny stencilled hands forgotten for years.
Large shiny missiles and thuggish bombs fall
Leaders wipe away expedient tears
Until cameras turn their dead lidless eyes
To the next shiny seratonin hit.
Seizures shadowed by paperwork towers
As crowds stumble toward the glowing pit
Of welcoming screams that steams a greeting
To the exhausted the hopeless the…
Hand Prints
Palm prints dusted on a dark cavern wall
Tiny stencilled hands forgotten for years.
Large shiny missiles and thuggish bombs fall
Leaders wipe away expedient tears
Until cameras turn their dead lidless eyes
To the next shiny seratonin hit.
Seizures shadowed by paperwork towers
As crowds stumble toward the glowing pit
Of welcoming screams that steams a greeting
To the exhausted the hopeless the…
Hand Prints
Palm prints dusted on a dark cavern wall
Tiny stencilled hands forgotten for years.
Large shiny missiles and thuggish bombs fall
Leaders wipe away expedient tears
Until cameras turn their dead lidless eyes
To the next shiny seratonin hit.
Seizures shadowed by paperwork towers
As crowds stumble toward the glowing pit
Of welcoming screams that steams a greeting
To the exhausted the hopeless the doomed.
Nearby blank faced operatives meeting
For one last time before straightening ties
Join the lines of misery add their cries
Waiting.
Waiting. http://wp.me/s1ew8b-waiting
A train speeds past
Whetting it’s wheels on the track.
Faces sag in unison.
The day has taken a little more
from us
Than we wanted to give.
Yet still someone whistles
Show tunes from Annie.
Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow.
Waiting.
Waiting. http://wp.me/s1ew8b-waiting
A train speeds past
Whetting it’s wheels on the track.
Faces sag in unison.
The day has taken a little more
from us
Than we wanted to give.
Yet still someone whistles
Show tunes from Annie.
Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow.
Waiting.
A train speeds past
Whetting it’s wheels on the track.
Faces sag in unison.
The day has taken a little more
From us
Than we wanted to give.
Yet still someone whistles
Show tunes from Annie.
Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow.
Faces sag in unison.
The day has taken a little more
From us
Than we wanted to give.
Yet still someone whistles
Show tunes from Annie.
Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow.
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-
- Squat lonely building
-
- Lurking by the baseball diamond
-
- It was built but no one came
-
- Not even Bleacher ghosts.
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Hibernation.
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-
- Squat lonely building
-
- Lurking by the baseball diamond
-
- It was built but no one came
-
- Not even Bleacher ghosts.
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Hibernation.
Hibernation.
apexart :: Film Screening :: The Truth of Poetry
What is the truth of poetry? Does anybody really know? Casey Smith, a poet from Washington, DC, sets out to explore these questions in a short film made by Mick Williams, a troubled artist who now earns his living as a commercial video-editor. The “Truth of Poetry” charts the dissolution of their friendship over the course of the film’s production, while never quite answering the ambitious promise of the film’s title.
apexart :: Film Screening :: The Truth of Poetry
What is the truth of poetry? Does anybody really know? Casey Smith, a poet from Washington, DC, sets out to explore these questions in a short film made by Mick Williams, a troubled artist who now earns his living as a commercial video-editor. The “Truth of Poetry” charts the dissolution of their friendship over the course of the film’s production, while never quite answering the ambitious promise of the film’s title.
The Watermeloning – Halloween Special Redux
I posted this before but it’s Halloween so I thought the world was ready to re-experience the horror….
Oh Dripping maw of meaty red
Do not look in that cave of dread
We Ope’d the Fruit
And so it bled.
Oh Dreaded Fruit of Rotten Red.https://thesleepcoatleague.wordpress.com/2013/02/01/the-watermeloning/
Sleep with the light…
The Watermeloning – Halloween Special Redux
I posted this before but it’s Halloween so I thought the world was ready to re-experience the horror….
Oh Dripping maw of meaty red
Do not look in that cave of dread
We Ope’d the Fruit
And so it bled.
Oh Dreaded Fruit of Rotten Red.https://thesleepcoatleague.wordpress.com/2013/02/01/the-watermeloning/
Sleep with the light…
The Watermeloning – Halloween Special Redux
I posted this before but it’s Halloween so I thought the world was ready to re-experience the horror….
Oh Dripping maw of meaty red
Do not look in that cave of dread
We Ope’d the Fruit
And so it bled.
Oh Dreaded Fruit of Rotten Red.
Sleep with the light on tonight…
Mwahahahahahahaha. etc.
Poetry Pot – An Apology, in Advance, to the Memory of Emma Lazarus.
I never like to explain poems but here I am explaining a poem.
I was irritated, this morning, as with most mornings, at what Twitter had vomited out to the world after the announcement of the new Miss USA contest. Now I am not particular fan nor enemy of…
Poetry Pot – An Apology, in Advance, to the Memory of Emma Lazarus.
I never like to explain poems but here I am explaining a poem.
I was irritated, this morning, as with most mornings, at what Twitter had vomited out to the world after the announcement of the new Miss USA contest. Now I am not particular fan nor enemy of…
Poetry Pot – An Apology, in Advance, to the Memory of Emma Lazarus.
I never like to explain poems but here I am explaining a poem.
I was irritated, this morning, as with most mornings, at what Twitter had vomited out to the world after the announcement of the new Miss USA contest. Now I am not particular fan nor enemy of the Miss USA competition. It is a particularly American form of demeaning women by making them bark facts and do tricks but everyone enters into it with as much of a freewill as any one can ever enter into anything and it is, even though oppressive in the subtle ways that our patriarchy oppresses all women, not the worst thing that a woman can, in this day and age, experience. I am not a woman so I cannot say this for sure but that is the basis upon which I have feelings regarding the Miss USA competition. From Twitter there came various hateful comments regarding the Indian American winner. They are widely available on the internet. I shall not repeat them here. So in response to a comment made by a friend about how awful this was I appropriated a line from The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus and adapted it for my needs. It is, I believe, the most famous of all the lines and is rendered below:
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.”
Later, as I pondered my changed version I decided to change the whole poem to reflect my views, at the very present moment on social media. The irony of me transmitting this through social media is not lost on me. What can one say other than that I am a hippocrit. So be it – I find myself guilty as charged.
So here, without further ado, and a lengthy introduction which does not deserve my brutalisation, or your time, I present you with An Apology, in Advance, to the Memory of Emma Lazarus:
Not like the eyeless spawn of silicate shame,
With writhing limbs lumbering from gland to gland;
Here at our broken toothed, fiery gates shall stand
A soiled beacon with a stump, whose flame
Is the searing lie, and it’s name
Moloch’s Minion. From it’s bloodied-hand
Burns world-wide fury; her wild sockets command
The air-thick with rage that prejudices frame.
“Keep, ancient tomes, your words!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your racist, your sexist,
Your homophobic masses yearning to speak hate,
The wretched moral refuse of your inner world.
Send these, the bankrupt, lunatics to me,
I lift my stump beside the flaming maw!”
This is a wax cylinder recording of Walt Whitman reading one of his poems. I love you The Internet.
This is a wax cylinder recording of Walt Whitman reading one of his poems. I love you The Internet.
Walt Whitman Wax Cylinder Recital.
I can barely understand it because the quality is so low but I love the internet for having a wax cylinder recording on it of Walt Whitman reciting one of his poems.
Poetry Pot – National Poetry Writing Month.
So National Poetry Writing Month is over and I think I only actually wrote one poem. I did read all of these poems though. I don’t expect anyone to want to listen to all of these at once but here they all are, just in case:
Enjoy.
Poetry Pot – National Poetry Writing Month.
So National Poetry Writing Month is over and I think I only actually wrote one poem. I did read all of these poems though. I don’t expect anyone to want to listen to all of these at once but here they all are, just in case:
Enjoy.
Poetry Pot – The Final Moments after the Door to the End has been Opened Audio
Poetry Pot – The Final Moments after the Door to the End has been Opened Audio
Poetry Pot – National Poetry Writing Month.
So National Poetry Writing Month is over and I think I only actually wrote one poem.
I did read all of these poems though.
I don’t expect anyone to want to listen to all of them at once but here they all are, just in case:
Enjoy.
Poetry Pot – The Final Moments after the Door to the End has been Opened Audio
Poetry Pot – The Endless Shore Audio
Poetry Pot – The Endless Shore Audio
Poetry Pot – The Endless Shore Audio
Poetry Pot – The Swan Guard.
Poetry Pot – The Swan Guard.
Poetry Pot – The Swan Guard.
Poetry Pot – The Watermeloning Audio
Poetry Pot – The Watermeloning Audio
Poetry Pot – The Watermeloning Audio
Poetry Pot – Mixed Message Audio
Poetry Pot – Experience Falls: REVISED
Poetry Pot – Experience Falls: REVISED
Poetry Pot – Experience Falls: REVISED Audio
Poetry Pot – Toast-Footed God Monster Audio
Poetry Pot – Toast-Footed God Monster Audio
Poetry Pot – Toast-Footed God Monster Audio
Poetry Pot – A little night music: REVISED Audio
Poetry Pot – A little night music: REVISED Audio
Poetry Pot – A little night music: REVISED Audio
Poetry Month Day 23:
Poetry Pot – Fading Audio
Poetry Pot – Sonnet 2 Audio
Text HERE.
Poetry Pot – Going Home Audio
Poetry Pot – Fall Audio
Poetry Pot – Be Audio
Poetry Pot – Remember The Victims Audio
Remember The Victims.
Remember the victims As they crossed the line. Do not forget the victims. - The happy childish faces Waving for their parents. Remember the victims - Who walked past exploding Cars and were spread like paste. Do not forget the victims - As they crossed the line Exhausted and triumphant. Remember the victims - Who herded their sheep Unaware of the hovering eye. Do not forget the victims - Who sat in the classroom Hands thick with paint. Remember the victims - Sluicing on the ground - Incredulous as they evaporate. Do not forget the Victims. Remember The Victims.
The SleepCoat League Presents: 