“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label Darwin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Darwin. Show all posts
Sunday, March 3, 2019
dead end
Like Darwin's finches,
would we know why our beaks are shaped this way?
Poetry, like mathematical sentences,
cage the pigeon, momentarily truth can be contained
in theorem.
History was written to expel,
revise, adapt and to forget the way it happened
in order to make story from time with a line.
A plot never seems to develop
or hold
what was expected.
I do repeat myself,
I say things I often don't recognize
as mine, I smell fear in my atmosphere
and wish flight was my choice.
Artist Jacques Callot (1592-1635) 'Traveler' early 17th century, in Public Domain.
Monday, May 25, 2015
Splashing the Page with White #FFFFFF
“You did it”- may be
the most beautiful three
words to an artist.
He called it “A Triumph-
(of beautifying the vileness
of the stark white pallid page,
perhaps)”-
I have won the battle with me,
'twas said by the Socratic referee.
What was thought could only hide-,
in the dark recesses of the mind,
now Outside,
of Self,
for all to See,
and breathe on its own a-chord
I hope-
is struck.
See-
Poetry is Pleasure, it’s sensuous he says.
Who else can stop and savor
the moments the infatuated way
of the artist outside on a clear day-
pushing clouds with eyelids away,
strobes that penetrate the stratosphere,
with noses like bloodhounds,
driven by the scent, like life-
to try and die anyway, coming and going,
something to live for,
because without it I would die, mused
the sensual Nin, whose romantic endings become
Beginnings,
all anew.
Like childhood magic is artistic inspiration,
I made myself believe in fairytales,
and storybook endings.
Old mossy castles surrounded by fog,
turrets of ideas poking through.
Atop blooming mountains where one can go
Dancing to the music at the great
Balls for the Brain;
Libraries, lullabies and lovely lyrics,
how lovely to lose you in the song
on the page, or public stage.
Art takes nerve, letting some stranger,
whisper sweet unintelligible
nothings
nothings
in your ear.
So, an artist tells you what they hear,
or tries-(facing fear)
or tries-(facing fear)
the best way they know how.
Spilling ink, blood, tears, sand, oil, sweat,
love, pain, hope, desire, fear and regret,
Yet-
most people prefer the color of
Perception or commonly called white
(allowing for muted undertones).
White is a color, the perception of which is evoked by light that stimulates all three types of color sensitive cone cells in the human eye in equal amounts and with high brightness compared to the surroundings. A white visual stimulation will be void of hue and grayness. White is the lightest possible color.Defined as: #FFFFFF
Image By Mlaoxve [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Oil painting palette.
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