WARHOL
silk screen
has beens
PICASSO
three way
display
GIACOMO BALLA
motion
picture
Yesterday, as dawn rose over Diamond Head
All the trees remained in silk screen silhouette as
My furrowed brow expressed in my features
Troubles that had yet to materialize, yet how real they
Seemed, how surreal my vision of the loss.
So I cast my net to keep from entering too deep,
Far enough to keep the fears at bay, far
Away from the harsh hemp at noon day.
Now, as sunlight seeps through misty clouds
It feels surreptitiously suspicious as in nature;
Looks as if the clouds are gathering gloom,
As if they are purposely trying to conceal,
Though in their dark grey, a rainbow.
They're moving fast upon the current.
Here below as in the sky, they cry
To release in their wet, a catharsis which helps me
Stay centered on a path leading toward the light.
Oh how I love the freedom the rain expresses.
I love the musical sound, the serene scent.
Believe you have the courage to overcome and
In doing so, the power of the heavens will erase
Yesterday, and flood today with sublime sunshine.
Surfside stand a lady & man
lost in (a moment) on silca lands
so stand this even (handed two)
before a sky limpid blue
with a hearts glow to melt the burning sand.
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Love limned laughter, (lines out) sweet promised sign,
satin billows of cloud surround divine,
backdrop sky a blue silk screen
young as fun forever keen
pre-empting fate this faultless time.
Pouring waves and passion combine
light moods, effervescent (platinum fine)
flows a presence vivid and wild,
flaming love; (destiny's child,)
raptured revolving evolving in time.
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By Joe Maverick,copyright 2011 for Linda-Marie's loveland limerick contest.
my anonymity is stalking the streets
like a preoccupation. mornings, slowly I creep
into august daylight, filling beat boroughs.
passing the time: digging fake burrows:
motel rabbitrooms don't come with sheets:
boxes gloomy in the dinge; dead-end streets.
dark corners; alleys; clean and replete.
rowers; faces; kept random, entreat
to be shadowed and cut - copied and reprinted:
E. de Silhouette: silk-screen and tinted.
marionette hands are fire-flies nigh night
like acariasis-itchy eyes: broken from sight
watching the downpour:
downbeat and worn
like tire-worm whitewalls:
peeling and torn.
the blanched, arched faces
(trampled like elephant’s acacia)
are garnets staring blankly at me
between the tiny gaps of a wintertime fleece
a paisley studded blanket, wrapped knee-high round niece.
running tubes from great maple: palsied cold saps
berry's blood ulcer pours like paint with no cap
from a bucket it spills: unravels, unwraps.
It splashes my feet then runs red and abrupt;
silvery and smooth, sanguis from a cup.