A BLOG OF IMAGES AND POME'S.... ISINGLASS Reading Elizabeth Bishop, the poems blur Like looking through as she says: ’ isinglass’ Everything becomes translucent, mapped out On the page. Her rhymes aren’t just rhymes but Fixtures of life, they find their own form. Wow, I wish I could write like that I don’t even have any form but I’m searching For her sequence in the inlets of Donegal At the Fishouses along the Ray River I saw them somewhere before. Going through old poems to find sea shore I hope this poem moves in and out And reflects her sense of belonging I’ll never get the old man and the sea. Not now that I’m here all alone but I can read a master in my own seal-skin.
ICONOCLASTIC Why are people so slushy sentimental? The reigns of god are deep in us, a bit Between our teeth. We won’t ever be Able to move on, he or it will kill us. Die a death to evolve, for that day I can’t wait, free to stand on our own Two feet, wow what a day, free-fall. PLACEBO EFFECT PART1. I find it very hard these days to focus on positivity, Alina Feld said in her study of melancholy, “the self knows its light only by knowing its darkness”. My darkness it seems is projected from within, I live within the state of melancholy but I hope this essay shines a little light in the dark. I am not coming to this essay trying to shove something down your throat. I have searched and searched for the answer, but even in my hours of near-death, I found the same answers as you. I believe I have been given a second chance for a reason but I'm not asking you to believe in something that fundamentally contradicts itself. I believe what I believe, it’s jus...
THE SITTER For Vincent Blue and golden, red and brown your flesh color shines through. Translucent like those piercing eyes that look from you. Vincent this is for you, my painted words. I hope this shows you in a light That you are used to, Van Gogh Van Goff how we pronounce is Nothing to do with you, the light Encircles your eyes like Pools of water you seen through A spyrol of existence, shining you. I want to paint your picture but In words. I hope I can do you justice Like the pleasure you gave to me. Tone and tone on shadow like you Used to portray, this is not a canvas Just a clean white space filled with Strokes from a brush stroked blue. I have no memory of my own so You will have to do, dead I hope You don’t mind being the sitter.
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