"A phenomena: We listen nowadays music, mostly with our eyes and not anymore with our ears. We are becoming blind and deaf." - Sasha Raven
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Got that feeling deep in your soul
An idea that your dying to let out
Want to let the whole world know
If you wish to let it show
You gotta bring it out!
It can be a masterpiece
A whimsical tale
A heartfelt poem
A piece of fan art
......
It is now eventide at the museum,
Myriad masterworks line the walls,
Elated crowds no longer pressing,
In rapt thrall of beauty and color!
Art awaits once more being beheld,
On a night of porcelain moonlight.
Fuck Eliot, Fuck Joyce
Fuck freedom, fuck choice
Fuck everyone that's genius and chooses
sorrow over rejoice
Fuck Wilde and his wordplay
His genius, character display
His willingness to part-take
In doing pure art for art's sake
......
flowers in a vase
plum colored near bowl of grapes
middle of the night
charming fruit basket
of apples peaches and limes
in shadows of time
corn carrots and beans
on a farm table waiting
......
Abstract mystery lady, on the burgundy museum wall,
Eyes in deep shadows, in her green dress at the ball,
Sitting lost in thought, of what no one will ever know,
As the moonlight mingles with her hair at the window.
Abstract stylish lady, her face a vague blend of colors,
No longer with the crowd, now apart from the others,
In a room of wild, color swirls and vague bright lights,
Both lady and night inscrutable, backlit by moonlight.
An ode to poetry
An ode to the poet
A celebration to the tree
A dedication to the leaf which fell from it
Shame the thief
......
I thought that my voyage had come to its end
at the last limit of my power,
that the path before me was closed,
that possibilities were exhausted
and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity,
But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed with its wonders.
......
the last time they
saw him
happy
was when he told them about
that weird dream
he had
in which wine
poured from the tap in
his kitchen
......
It is now eventide at the museum,
Myriad masterworks line the walls,
Elated crowds no longer pressing,
In rapt thrall of beauty and color!
Art awaits once more being beheld,
On a night of porcelain moonlight.