Long Splotch Poems

(originally composed approximately a half 
dozen plus years since this revision now, 
September 13th 2018 ~ 12:48 ante meridiem, 
which missive, I came across scrolling down 
volatile Memory Lane.)

As my recent blank day of birth...

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A conversation overheard between Shakespeare and his former muse.

"So many things hath turned to utter folly over the ages.
Hundreds of years since I've penned pages and pages.
What these ancient eyes of mine doth now conceive
plead,...

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On a shattered pebble beach my kernel,
becomes this dervish dancing to the maniacal symbol rash tune,
of inchoate monsoon grass beat timpani,
that’s dimly frowned on by sonic virtuoso,
but terms like briny carrageen sea sweep gain purple...

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Give us our daily bread . . . 
We shall not mind if we 
Have a daily milk,

Neither shall we take offence 
If we have a daily butter  to match. 

Who amongst you will...

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I look at it, this permanent stain
 And am reminded of all of the pain.
 This splotch created from reasons inane;
 Let me take the time and try to explain.

 It was the summer of...

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It is an important cake that I had to bake with out a rake so that it would be 
real   It has a special filling that the groom himself requested and has not...

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In this day and age, I want some recompense
I don't understand it, it jus' don't make sense
that we can write through our entire lives
with all of these damn defective pens

Now, you all know what I'm...

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 ekphrasis 

Five glasses filled with brew but only two in kind;
the bread is toasted lightly, portioned just for four.
Although the background’s hazy, something rests behind,
dim splotch of green? a clue we may be out-of-doors.


A...

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They’d fallen in love
as some young people do—
so that lust might rationally increase.

Their bright, valentine-red-blood fairly beat for love.

It’s good that we can name a thing—
describe it and classify it, so it’s out there,
fact-like, in...

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The Valley of the Forgotten
By Jason Williams

Gray and white clouds sail gently over the valley of the forgotten, 
casting ethereal patterns on the wildflowers below.

In one, I see the child, 
injured upon the path home....

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Decadent perimeter a decorous 
tray doth betray
Polished cart a nubile mask doth 
display
From black, coiffed locks baited line 
doth sway
From slippery, glossed lips a sweet 
nectar doth spray
In dark corner, sleek, painted lashes 
lustily fray
On...

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The people cast their ballots;
And hopes are very high;
But the looks upon the Christian man;
Shows some worry in their eyes.

 The donkey has majority.
 And hopes to bring the fame
But the skeptics look to clouds...

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Carcinoma, melanoma sick twins
Inside their innocuous hosts grin
For surface tension brings no chagrin
Another, common diagnosis will time lend
Healthy cell structures to amend
Immune systems with guile befriend
In state of denial, journey begins
Signs not to the human...

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PORTRAIT OF SPOT

mr. Picasso
we have a strange cat named spot.
spot is mainly white
save for this splotch on his nose, 
pure black and triangular

now some cats meow
but spot cries like a baby
you’ll want to paint spot.
because...

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"We are cute spring chicks with fluffy feathers that keep
us warm; real small, like to run, and we are adorable ! "

            ...

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Bleeding Tears

I would love to master the bait,
But my heart still crumbles with tears,
I thought I had wept all,
But your simple sound still sizzle straight to haunt,
My gaits to move to splotch me,
Because the vase...

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Idle thoughts have me replaying
the cry of an owl I heard
last night when half asleep 
and swear it flew a silent course
through the center of a dream
and then, this morning,
I had myself picking a splotch...

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A rather young couple have
Moved in together
In the two up, two down
Across the street.
Not for them conventionality
Or conformity:
No wedding band offends
Her third finger, left hand
Nor, it must be said
From appearances,
Does bath water very often.
Long, lank...

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I live in a barren wilderness.
Thoughts of those I miss are few.
Nothing but the midnight sky to watch.
For leaving them behind I have no bitterness.
Although this world all but feels like deja vu.
For this existence...

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my paint apron has so many colors
it looks like a fascinating Miro design
splotches, dabs and finger tips of paints
blues, reds, oranges, silvers, a bit of blue

they are blended beautifully
put onto this apron one at a...

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Mum

A siren of Oogahs! fills her ears,
But the cream of smile and care splotch her face,
Tells you the loving tutelage she has for years,
Cuddling and snuggling  is me the little thing,
As she wraps me...

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Each brush stroke on the canvas
marks a moment in time
the artist left behind.
A fragment of thought expressed in 
a line, a trace, 
a spot, a dab, 
a splash, a splotch,
a daub by palette knife impasto.
The...

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