The person who makes an app that translates
real-time thoughts into words on a screen
will change the creative process forever
… for good or ill
On the outside I sit outside in the dark silence
On the inside my bosom is clamorous with
Painterly disconnections of truth and grace
… I could go on
I could go on if I only had that app
For alas, the sodden night is dark and
I cannot strike my thoughts upon a page
… without parched light
This truth is as literal as it is metaphorical
For in the process of fetching parchment
My mind will corrupt these moments
… these raw moments
DISCONNECTION
a
gained momentum
consigned
to a ritual
&
is
multaneously
diminished
& incredibly
complicated
history
with a very deep
tradition
& a sentiment
with
something
different to say
to provoke
a
conversation
in the
cliché
unfolding
across
the gracious
into
focus
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
DISCONNECTIONS
harmony order
reason &
beauty
&
incidentals
severed
by
upheavals
cerebral &
austere
a purveyor of
dimensions
to catalogue
&measure reveals
the obsessive
elaborate
laboriously
constructed
tableaux
of
destruction
so instantly
recognisable in
impressive &
immaculate
artefacts
to
specifically
fire the imagination
&
concentrate
the interplay
of
reason in
perpetual motion
in grappling
&
conveying
the painstakingly
drumbeat
of
sensation
amid the melee
of the
orchestrated
ensembles
at a distance
the measured
mood
detached
artificial
yet in
symmetry
knitting
everything together
in
cool respect
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Pious observation
of my private property
ought to keep it
beyond the sign
'all strangers are welcome'
which was put on in
four languages before
the rampage.
Does it speak English
and should I try sign language?
Drifting further from my mind,
desperate, out of breath, is
the sign of God that pointed me
to the righteous path, lost
in the fog of moment, the
labyrinthine disconnections
and the void in between.
Tonight my faith is
sleeping alone, yet something
is grabbing its attention,
my need to keep it close
something warm to grab
and keep going with
my epic struggle to put up
a new sign on my lawn:
Coronavirus Not Welcome.
Fugitive thoughts cancel out
fear.
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