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Poetry
Allegory is the basis of all communication
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What's wrong with rhyme based poetry?
da Poopery
Indeed, the female of the species IS more dangerous than the
male. |
By the light of day, I earn my bread by playing at Monet/Dufy/Pollack on
bedroom walls. My poetry perspective evolves from those Expressionist/Post
Impressionist roots in art -- just what IS the "moment" behind this creation and
how best to express it?
In addition to being a member of the
Rose and Thorn Literary E-zine editorial staff, I volunteer critical
commentary as Writers Block Poetry Board Manager at AOL's Amazing Instant
Novelist Site. I'm also Editor of the AIN Writers Site Weekly Update.
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Enigma To a world ordered
of tempered steel and yoked
reality, cloaked in white linen
presumption -- Dichotomy
two arms extended, palms
pierced with compassion
opened to hug fear
overcoming darkness
with halogen expression, even
as religion shrinks away
in apprehension, fleeing
daylight like Dracula
shrouding Truth -- a gate-
master, Carney Shill in Oz
the Wizard caught
in mid lie, yet
there's no place like Love
pardoning fear, where
hate is hugged away, debts
forgiven without extortion -- just
pass it along the way, as if
priming the pump
in a wasteland, revealing
the hidden well
spring of love’s expression.
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Expressions in a Pictured Vision
Monet flakes of floral sound
reflect on liquid phrase;
lines of gaunt require an ear
attendant to Van Gogh
panes. No full face Gothic
still life here, just wisp
of stroke to lip
and curl, through hint
of point, one eye will do
directed word to Miro you.
No stroke is lavish, Impression
scripts: Each jot, each
slavish countenance - each
cherished image overwrought, is
keystroke coldly sentenced.
Let critics ponder
discuss
debate, what is
she saying, why did he
paint. this is no photo, so plain
it ain't; we prate the shadows you interpret. So
pen that canvas with pastel graze
or broad stroke word scene cafe days in similies of mime
shaped ways and knowing
smiles of Impression's phrase.
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| DuelingPoets Religion infected the flowers,
soybeans resented thistles
and Dandelions invaded the Pansy-
land weakened by hungry rabbits.
The hummingbirds began to whine,
till butterfly cries were heard
by bees who flew to intercede.
Formal gardens of beans and barley
ceased their fermentational
depreciation of thistle infestations,
Goldfinches rejoiced at the communication
toward cooperative diversification.
Color raised voice in a harmony
of classes to feed the masses.
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Monet Mondays Turn up the music, drown
out my mind, this
is beyond rendering, it's
all about art, so
I vacate my body and float
up on the shelf.
There below, my
arm is a blur, as
muse moves my brushes
to canvas those walls; then
I slip back inside to
bow to the praise
of peers and onlookers
who's eyes feel deceived, with
no clear answers to how
it occurs; I just turn on
the music and get
out of the way.
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| The Cosmos Within This false reality,
misread
by my eyes
constricts what is known
in my heart. I withdraw
within the cosmos
of my mind where
travel agents are neither needed
nor allowed
to draw horizons. In my mind
I spoon the sweet nectar
of desire's dreams.
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Who Am I, Really? Decided on a pen name
Didn't really have much choice
The wife and kids were worried
By the things which I might voice
Were afraid they'd be embarrassed
And I 'spose that they were right
I find I cause discomfort
By just being me at night
Now I find I'm even wierder
Than I EVER thought I'd be
I suppose that it's the freedom
Of not knowing that I'm me
Oh, this strangely altered ego
Who can say things without fear
Can behave in ways outrageous
And not worry who is near
But it causes me a problem
When I speaks me heart so free
Am I now my altered ego
Or is it he that's really me? |
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Wil Hough-
Poetry Editor
http://www.theroseandthornezine.com
hereticcoyote@aol.com
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