The poetic image is not an echo of the past. On the contrary: through the brilliance of any image, the distant past resounds with echoes.
– Gaston Bachelard
If memories invade souls and minds,
and mirrors reflect perception,
it must follow that whispers
reach into our psyche,
replaying aural
collages that
echo of
distant
past.
"Her Mind is a Carnival of Picasso Harlequins"
Walking through the poetic frames of featureless ghosts
her fingers play like harps their ectoplasmic cages
strange symbols that clang the frivolity of vacuumed cleaned emptiness
dissolving in the invisible time wasted in the chronicles of their newfound empires
the meaning of their spectral presence swings
like canaries singing home all their honeys sweetly
it’s all bluebirds entertaining the wisdom of lovelorn owls watching on
like they are azure feathered blind mice adorned with halos,
while the carnal vultures smile winging it above them all in prayer circles predatory
“her tongue is an arena of silent conflicts”
her mind is a carnival of Picasso harlequins
balancing the trapeze, the affairs of a wild heart
scorched and stinging with fragments of cubist love collages
arriving like ashes within the flames of her phoenix stages;
some newly burnt Aphrodite.
elements closer to reality than the abstractions of geometry
CandideDiderot. ‘25
Winter but
sometimes the light
turns Autumn tricks
on the branches
Childhood is like a mist
we all have to change
I'm young and past errors don't concern me
Tomorrow can't hold me back
All in good time, sooner or later
The collages challenges certainty
chills me personally so
It starts with an image--
Collages of thoughts filling the pages--
Of dreams to alchemize from emotions materialized.
To all that is--
To be the experience in the present we testify.
To live through the twisted uncertainty--
We breathe in serendipity.
The vistas we explore, we sing the colors of hope.
It ends with a promise--
Mirages of reality from a handmade kaleidoscope.
Milk and honey flow?
Do gems and jewels glow?
Are lions tender and mild?
Is a tiger like a child?
Is this the ninth cloud?
Or a joy shroud?
Hyperopia?
Utopia?
What an aspiration in me!
This heavenly place to see!
Desperately I walked far... far
As far as the highest sky par
As a deer finding mirages
Jungle-desert-hill collages
I could not, lo, find such a place
After many a long forlorn race
In humanness
Filled with faithfulness
Compassion
In heavenly fashion
And in love
As descending from above
I could find Xanadu
The divine avenue...
27 April 2023
How cutely and compactly you fasten,
My shirt and coat and make me smart looking;
Could I fancy my woolen coat open,
For a chilly cold wave to break us through?
How a bit decoration on you change,
Shirt or skirt or blouse or frock or jacket!
Wallets, purses, and bags wear you proudly,
Your ornamental face shining on them;
Our children play 'Messy Tray' and 'Name Plate',
They match you, sort you, arrange ardently;
Make necklaces, collages, and countless patterns,
Fun and frolic surround their play groups;
Sand play; dress up play; play dough; ode one out,
Of you we make puppets and play bingo;
Do our nursery mathematics end,
Unless we learn counting, first, with buttons?
Don't buttons teach lessons on 'life balance'?
Don't they teach us core ethical values?
Isn't button a nod of connection,
Betwixt brain behaviors in psychic molds?
Truth, respect, procession, and progression,
Crush and quash disrespect, insults, and lies?
Symbolizing control, calm, and courage,
You end depression and low self esteem;
O button, just like doors safeguard my house,
You save my physique from perilous risks...!!!
16 March 2023
From artist Christian Schad
collages&woodcuts were to be had
Now known for hi Neue Sachlichkeit
with practical objectivity he gave his might
INSTRUMENTAL
Love is music
and instrument,
when we play...
MOON
It's an adventure
suspended in the air
suspense...
TASTE
More tasty than wine,
more than cheese ...
the taste of your kiss...
SENSATION
In lighted bodies,
we burn love ...
We share desires...
PAINTING
The strongest ink ,
It's your carmine ...
When I paint love ...!
My
musings
move and breathe.
They animate
as words are inspired
from a magical place,
a paint palette full of thoughts.
Possibilities are endless...
I am the mistress of mosaics;
collages of symbols and syllables!
Susan Ashley
July 15, 2017
The box of sparkly dreams sends out its streams
to each of us in visions of reality
to take the place of our own real dreams,
and to suck out the art and creativity
that we all possess and substitute other's
imaginations, convenient, for free.
We can laugh, we can cry, without bothers.
In time we live by command and decree
and are so docile and compliant that we
listen to commercials that intervene
one on top of another in a chaotic jiffy
of images, collages making serene
the knowledge that this is what life represents
as bombs drop and mothers far, sing laments.
For ages, probably for prolonged ages
They have been waiting for the ecstatic pearl
Collages of pomegranates in bends and edges
Are on the toes to get into the whirl
For ages and ages the two hungry clouds
Have nurtured their myriad colours
Explosion of passion in retiring from the shrouds
Two fantasizes colliding in tremor
For ages and ages the starving crimson words
With the pen and paper set dance-like
Waited in the molecules of curve in the swords
Tonight they are getting into the crushing of psyche
Touches of silk and strokes of electrons
The birds at mad bites into the pineapple
Inbox is flooding with cloud nine neurons
Moments mesmerized in moonlit maple
The horses from Harappa racing fast
The fountain opens its wonderful floodgate
The ship tossing along with the mast
Tumultuous tempest in the Ithaca strait
Go go go Owl plunder your moon
Let the black beauty put on maroon
________________________________________________________
July 31, 2016
I paint picture that schemes my changeable collages that clogs my drainage mind and my visions of my exploration thats a standstill it's a working in progress never no movements or exceeding always messy and im always in the middle of it and always accused of it never order organizations left a mess like a changeable collages through a change of messy mess thats in disorder never arranged in order that mg symptoms that side affects me always and sticks with me and glue me to the poster board while my collage activates my mess thats a messy changeable collages.
Sometimes my mind strays to flooding memories of us
Like collages on a tethered wall of moments that I recall
Moments of lovers in a trance where lustful desires met obeying hands
I cannot have you now, but I promise if then was now I'd make you mine again
Down the pine-studded mountain and towards the sea
Me, mounted on a rickety, swaying, desperately-desiring bus,
Floorboard splotched with rusted holes revealing
tires
Below my feet
and salted sea wind soon
Breathing down my neck.
The Luzon day stretched before me, road
Singing in it's curves
drowning out Philippine faces painting
Collages of
colors and years.
Revealing Spanish lighthouses beckoning
Lost souls and
Galleons
Scattering gold onto
ivory shores.
One hour later,
Nerves frayed from endless bumps,
I tumble onto the palm-fringed beach to
Witness
Waves cresting like glittering
Champagne and a
Delicately worn grandmother being
Gingerly dipped into the
Azure Softness like a
Queen Cat in a
Cherub's cradle.
He was a writer, a fighter, an old-timer word rhymer
Always thought free verse was asinine
He was the queerest, the dearest, the tear in your beer-est
and he was one Tolkien over the line
He was archaic, prosaic, euphoric, historic
Made pentagrams optically divine
He was the cheekiest, geekiest, and uniquely freakiest
and he was one Tolkien over the line
He loved cigars and Star Wars, guitars, and sitars
Collages made his artistry torch shine
He was the jivest, high-fivest, young poet alive-est
and he was one Tolkien over the line
It's not much reward to those who are bored
but are afraid of not acting benign
Sometimes you gotta get riled, and go a bit wild
and step one Tolkien over the line
November 14, 2014
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