Best Lichtenstein Poems
I penned a couplet for you today.
Rather, a quill manipulated
my hand and scrawled mendacity.
The misanthrope's who read the ode
applauded with flippers on.
Such insight. Such depth.
Mussolini meets Monet and
the Mephistopheles Mambo mounts.
Call me a scribe and I murder myself.
Call me a liar and I impregnate your charm.
I purposely dislocated my arm today.
Rather, your tongue severed bone
and flesh was torn from my shoulder;
a needed braised boomerang
to stimulate my poetic prowess.
Such clarity. Such wisdom.
Lenin leads Lichtenstein and
the Lucifer Lindy is launched.
Call me a poet and I gnarl my fingers.
Call me a fabulist and I bow to a crooked smile.
A jellyfish swam through my veins today.
Rather, the tentacles of a tyrant
triggered a fabricated Tanka.
Maudlin stumbles when I laugh alone -
more comedic when we cackle together.
Such simplicity. Such compassion.
Bundy befriends Berchtold and
the Beelzebub Bossa Nova begins.
Call me a dramatist and I gag upon reflection.
Call me a simpleton and your wishes are granted.
I solemnly yearn to expire today.
Rather, a fool fires in a fury
and a mannequin lies in his casket.
The curse you've driven towards me -
a combination menu
when a lone Woolf inconspicously
devours a battered Browning.
Such diversity. Such nothingness.
Stalin seduces Seurat and
the Satanic Samba softly swoons.
Call me a parodist and I choke upon perfection.
Call me a realist when I'm sleeping on nails.
I
I am disinfected, sanitised from touch and eyes
Do not hold me. I am Bakelite and you smolder
Sat solid, the wall cold against my spine. A back-rest
To concrete electrocution.
I am distilled from Suburbia and Bohemian at Brandenberg
Rigid and saturnine. Heavy lidded Lichtenstein moons
And ruby lip and cheek.
Dumb-flustered and silent rictus
Nothing changes.
II
She edges closer with ostentatious mute steps. Like a bride
And thrice as white with crimson orb flowing underneath
Her caped wings and paper hat. Tiny dragging movements
As though her legs could snap
This marionette matchstick girl unfurls her bouquet of fingers intertwined
And ruffles from her drapes fragments of paper and a tiny plastic cup
I do not notice her. The bleach sticks heavy to the throat and
She envenoms me to the core stomach
She speaks. It is static heavy and foriegn, black-lipped vowels and dull
Continuations of barely literate sounds.
My words are daggered brutes, any poetry the less of my expectations
Is instantly meaningless, crass, common, nauseous and disgusting
Her flowing prose was illegible on those lips. Sounding almost spat
I could have silenced nine decades to my two and circled her in criticism
She would never understand with her barely-English cold translations of her
Own English mother-tongue.
III
People are fascinating
Occassionally
I find I look at them and linger, I study them and calculate their complex algebras
Undoubtedly we are products of our parents and the less of us by-products
We are strings and apples and figs
The woman with her ghost-white face and dress. Her parents were too strict
You can see it in her face, how if you even turn away her eyes circle with bags
And she feels lost, she could cry a thousand summers and undoubtedly should trade my place.
As of my own parents they probably loved me too much. Sheltered me and then
Stopped abrupt as death and cyanide fizzing
Suddenly trading my lineage into friendship and smiles and no, do silence yourselves
I am a maypole and the strings circle about me
Life and ambition they feed upon me, draining me in complex nervous disorder
I am a living question mark
I can feel it
Eating below my skin.
With my legs strong, two feet apart
Poser, poser, a quick photo opportunity
From front page through to pages four and ten
With my tail wrapped around my feet
And my coat hanging from my head
With my unbearable youth and
The thick black out denier, coating my ego
With a fine line between prostitute
And masked wonder commercialized
Villainous intent hanging off the ampersand
The you plus one, the afterthought with
Lichtenstein eyes and hair, perfectly plucked
Into leather and the public eye, imagination
Crested with your insignia, the sponsor's emblem
Emblazened as I run around in circles
Always the sequel to your trigger happy frontier
A
mirror
reflects his
conceptual
blues.
Ekphrasis -Mirror 6 by Roy Lichtenstein
We Danced written by Poet John Heck
I penned a couplet for you today.
Rather, a quill manipulated
my hand and scrawled mendacity.
The misanthrope's who read the ode
applauded with flippers on.
Such insight. Such depth.
Mussolini meets Monet and
the Mephistopheles Mambo mounts.
Call me a scribe and I murder myself.
Call me a liar and I impregnate your charm.
I purposely dislocated my arm today.
Rather, your tongue severed bone
and flesh was torn from my shoulder;
a needed braised boomerang
to stimulate my poetic prowess.
Such clarity. Such wisdom.
Lenin leads Lichtenstein and
the Lucifer Lindy is launched.
Call me a poet and I gnarl my fingers.
Call me a fabulist and I bow to a crooked smile.
A jellyfish swam through my veins today.
Rather, the tentacles of a tyrant
triggered a fabricated Tanka.
Maudlin stumbles when I laugh alone -
more comedic when we cackle together.
Such simplicity. Such compassion.
Bundy befriends Berchtold and
the Beelzebub Bossa Nova begins.
Call me a dramatist and I gag upon reflection.
Call me a simpleton and your wishes are granted.
I solemnly yearn to expire today.
Rather, a fool fires in a fury
and a mannequin lies in his casket.
The curse you've driven towards me -
a combination menu
when a lone Woolf inconspicously
devours a battered Browning.
Such diversity. Such nothingness.
Stalin seduces Seurat and
the Satanic Samba softly swoons.
Call me a parodist and I choke upon perfection.
Call me a realist when I'm sleeping on nails.
Disclaimer:" We Danced" poem written in the year 2009
by Mr.John Heck,a wonderful poet to be known who is no longer in our P.S family.
Being new to this site ,very sad to know few of them
have already demised.
Let's explore the treasure box by reading their works.
I am sure we can gain lots of knowledge and in fact
improve our writing skills too.
May the demised soul's RIP.
We can keep them alive through posting
and re-reading their dedications.
1-7-2020
Note: Submitting in "The Uncontest" Poetry Contest.
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco.
did Benday
give ground to
Roy
Vicki by Lichtenstein
http://www.soho-art.com/cgi-bin/shop/shop.pl?fid=1057974456&cgifunction=form
NAMES FOR COUNTRIES OR PLANETS
I can understand and sympathise with famous cities
Being named after animals eg Buffalo or Phoenix, if they must;
But when whole countries are named after animals - like Canaries?
Or Turkey? I don’t think there ever was any turkey in that place; it’s just
Pure gas-lighting, like calling Greenland/Iceland by the opposite name,
So that later explorers will have to take the blame.
No, I cannot sympathise with Scandinavian names so notably bad.
Maybe they’re permanent names or maybe just a fad.
People in Sweden are named after vegetables : swedes.
Folks in Finland are named after fish body-parts : fins.
Some names are far too long to print for tiny countries. It’s crap.
Such as Lichtenstein /San Marino. Try printing those on a map.
Horizontal names for long vertical countries like Chile or Norway?
Chile is simply silly, but the coastline of Norway? No way !
And USA/USSR need to have their letters well-spaced
Or else all that prairie and steppe would go to waste.
On earth our bad country names hardly matter,
For across the sky are bad planetary names a-scatter.
As example, look at the best-known mound in the sky - on Venus ;
And finally, perhaps everyone’s favorite - Uranus.
Art,
drawing
upon the
common place of
life.
Ekphrasis after Lichtenstein and Pop art
ambivalent pastiche
in Benday
dots
The
drips
of Still
awakened
Pollock's expressions
to make a Lichtenstein cartoon.
Van Gogh colour https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/a_sty-eye-lised_impression_921575
Pollock expressions https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/pollock_chances_1145547
Hopper enigma https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/hopper_metaphors_of_silence_1145757
Pointillism Seurat https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/symbols_of_sunday_recited_489054
Klee modern haiga https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/once_emerged_from_the_grey_of_night_902905
Lichtenstein https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/shipboard_girl_78036
Macke https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/mirrors_of_the_soul_recited_475860
Matisse cutouts https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/a_matisse_melange_1146030
Archimboldo surreal https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/soliloquy_143748
Nathaniel Bacon Still life https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_cookmaid__still_life_80170
I am the real thing..
copy I am not;
I paint ..in the here and now..
what I see..unique
as it appears to me-
whatever is meant..
form is the content
impressions..from within-
so to begin..
this secret,for free..
know how to see
inspired by the thoughts of these artists
lichtenstein,pollock,kirchner,kelly,walder,wols
A
simple
minded style-
meticulous
art
in
shaded
Benday dots-
she creates a
niche
Ekphrasis after Roy Lichtenstein
Lichtenstein places a benday dot
RIVERA FRESCOS
plural
mural
LICHTENSTEIN COMIC STRIP
quick flick
so slick
O-'KEEFE PETALS
grownup
closeup