Paint filtered through your pain
and came out as art.
Your broken body bent
under the weight of a brush
but did not succumb, instead
infused the canvas with fiery colours
mixed in the crucible of your heart.
Who knows why Art sometimes
asks for so much, wrings blood
from bone to write its name
across a life. The why we may
never know much less understand,
we can only give thanks
that such exquisite beauty
has bled from a human hand.
Categories:
frida, art, beauty, pain,
Form: Free verse
…painted myself
long neck’d giraffe
long arms of healing
short sleeves
painted myself
…painted myself
…painted myself
as only i conceived
nailed
to a cross beneath
my ghostly gown
painted myself
…painted myself
…painted myself
a fruity garden
on my head
concealing
chief thorns
painted myself
…painted myself
7/23/2021
Categories:
frida, art, pain,
Form: Ekphrasis
The frayed thread that rips from our body,
unravels us.
This is my condition with existence,
but, this isn't me,
I am a dream!
"Artist Frida Kahlo was considered one of Mexico's greatest artists who began painting mostly self-portraits after she was severely injured in a bus accident. Kahlo later became politically active and married fellow communist artist Diego Rivera in 1929. She exhibited her paintings in Paris and Mexico before her death in 1954."
"I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best."
Categories:
frida, allusion, art, body, change,
Form: Free verse
A third eye, an open ended
topsy-turvy petal blowing gap,
a vaginal bore, is what I’ve become.
The bloom's long gone. The petals sucked
dry with nectar long ago lipped.
Every orifice repeats its plea
for knowing I, centered as the core of id.
I am the warmth burnt from fields of Iris’
and bays of daylilies, I have
flowered, soon to die.
A third I laughs at the absurdity,
tendrils rooting on hair of silver gray,
aft holding to the ship of orbital she-
ray-rising to the celestial he.
First Published by Kind of a Hurricane Press 2013
Categories:
frida, art,
Form: Free verse
Can I free her, my Frida
to fly in the sky
to feel the wind’s breathe
to hear the wind’s sigh
to touch lofty mountains
all covered in snow
to explore many places
where men seldom go
to delve into depths
of wonder and bliss
to surrender completely
to love’s gentle kiss?
So radiant she dances
in moonlight and sun
blessed by the blessings
of her Holy One.
Her heart is an ocean
her body the earth
to nourish and nurture
the flame of her birth.
To reach up to heaven
to talk with the stars
to open herself up
to yielding to Mars.
In passion and joy and
in sensual delight,
expressing the essence
of her inner light.
I must free her my Frida
to open my heart
to stay there forever
and never depart?
To bathe in her halo
of body and soul
to breath in the mystery
of her divine whole.
To light up the light
of passion and pain
to dance in the sunlight
to dance in the rain
to be and to be
and to be and to be,
I’ll free her my Frida
for her and for me?
Categories:
frida, love,
Form: Rhyme
Self Portrait
in a
Landscape
with the Sun
Going Down
1954
Is this the end of the road for
me?
I can not rest now on my
dying bed,
Too bleak with the sun going
down fast,
This is not happening to me.
Not when all I want to do is
paint damm it!
When i looked at this
portrait, and wrote i did not
know it was her last! she died
shortly from depression. . .
Categories:
frida, art
Form: Free verse
I sit here
Hair all around
I am shorn
My hair has gone
But my anxiety remains
Why?
Why do I feel so useless
Why do I feel that I have been torn apart
Only to be put back together
With a hole where my soul once lived
So I cut my hair
To be free
I am not free
I am without.
Now I must paint
Draw my soul
To return it to its place
Will I then be free of my anxiety.
Painting: Self portrait with cropped hair
Categories:
frida, pain,
Form: Free verse