Best Cubist Poems
. “The Artistic Style-lings of a Synthetic Cubist”
Friends help scratch
Harlequins
itch
SECOND PLACE WINNER 6-25-09
Pablo Picasso’s “Three Musicians”
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_Musicians
Entered in Brian Strands “Septimal Fun Contest"
(itch) refers to his musical aptitude
Racists beat some other racists, bigots hate some other bigots
Gunman kill some other gunman, thieves deceive some other thieves
Politicians of both parties share the views that must divide them
But they hate each other madly, cause the people love this circus
And they do the show on purpose to get votes and fly away
No fanfares for the common in the search of sheer perfection
There is so much imperfection everybody can’t believe
They are multiplied one person, cloned from a forgotten sample
On the basis of resemblance they can’t tolerate all that
And they give a deadly fight to the copies of their type
Would you like to join the battle or its better just to watch them
Sitting in the comfy armchair, thinking of the cloudy sky
In the world of competition I don’t have enough ambition
I don’t want an expedition to the jungles of the lost
I’m incurious for nation, immigration and salvation
Give me less of variation, and lets finish on this note
I’m a mouse of every fable eating crumbles from a table
Drinking tea and playing rummy in the middle of the night
I’m a line in cubist painting, broken down and nearly fainting
I’ll be happy just to vanish in the damp of morning air.
It’s all been decided for me
I was told to get up and go
To reap the harvests for free
Which I had no idea to sow
In a competition of fictions
The most plausible won
I bargained three new convictions
For the price of the cheapest one
I invested them in three essays
Which I was relieved to forget
I walked through the Roman arcades
I rested on faraway sand
I drank from the springs of wisdom
And ate from the plates of good
Almost lost my immune system
Survived though wasn’t too shrewd
I bet this plot is predetermined
It’s all been decided, you see
I gave my word to return it
But still I keep it with me.
They're smiling leniently don’t be silly
You can’t be apolitical these days
I’m smiling back I don’t trust them initially,
It doesn’t fall under a criminal offence
I’m fascinated by the incongruous lines
Just look at those familiar shapes, distorted
The early cubist paintings make them shine
Not blindingly, but just how you would want it
Ambiguous light of green and brown hues
Strict and fastidious lines, this is my politics
No one’s deprived, humiliated or abused
You’re in your favorite chair watching pics
It’s a spiritual job, not quite a passive leisure
Those pictures move in time can’t stay the same
They grow on you without any measure
Until your mind will get the best of frame
You hang out in the school of old escapers
The shooters cannot see us with their drone
Tomorrows ash deploy yesterdays papers
Don’t ask of yesterdays old girls – all gone.
We're living in a warped three-ring circus
of cannibals, pedophiles, and baby devourers.
A cubist's twisted black period.
Apparently, transparency means three million pages
of black rectangles and deflecting blame.
Thousands of victims, only two arrests
and one decommissioned "prince".
Scores of witnesses paid off, silenced, or sloughed off.
The world has awakened but is queerly indifferent.