Free the Art (#FreetheArt)

Snowing pear blossoms
in February
Spring sprang early upon the Prado
The statues cowered in the corners
at first
watching the Watchers
take each one in
and walking in concentric circles
an Odessy of light and aluminum
circles that cast infinite full shadow
circles, and so on,
And then on
this eighty-degree day
the air bright boy blue
the art was delivered into the light
of day, pardoned finally.

The Mother and Daughter
thought
long and bronzed
about the Prodigal Son
that stole the show
from morning to noon
and under the slivered moon
they sit silently
listening
to what people say during the day.

Exposed and erected
projecting question marks
directly in the path
where commas once hung down,
inviting introspect to take a seat
and listen to the reflection
of blooming pear snow
finally outside
the museum window.



Photo credit: Me, myself and I. Taken 2/11/16, Mother and Daughter sculpture is by Francisco Zuniga (1912-1998) and is currently on display in San Diego, Balboa Park, San Diego Museum of Art, Art of the Open Air. 

Trending on Depending

The newest Nows were kept near

the generic Common Sense

but considering the recent calamities

every convenience store

is out

of stock on bare necessities,

like toiletries and these two

hot commodities that fly off shelves

frenzied with a surplus

supply, merchant diced in excess

on a roll,

around and around

with leftover Nevers

and riddled with Logos.

Image By Walker Evans, for the Farm Security Administration, taken in Alabama USA July 1936[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Art of Archery

The goal is the pursuit

The aim is pointed at the → means

As an arrow whose tip says-go forward →

>>>My tail feathers drag you down<<<

                                         If freedom was voice

                                             let it fly with motive,

                                                   words from the quiver,

                                        speech is aimed at your heart

                               shot from the bow of pliable opinion

                                             and if the goal were freedom

                                  there can be no aim, a shot in the dark

                      seeking a warm body, swimming through cold air

               hangs on your breath, steady, waiting for you to be ready

                               to let your grip go, open palms, holding hymns

                  held afloat by a lofty timeline,  gravity holds her weight

                                                                           in parabolic perpetuity

                                                                      ↔ arrows chasing despair ↔

                                                                        releasing boomerangs in air

                                                                                  aimed at freedom

                                                                         hunting down happiness,

                                                             caught by one’s own loud trap

                                                                        the pursuit perishes,

                                                                  passion plummets

                              blue dried blood on the tip

     of your sharp tongue.

Image of Archery competitor at the 1900 Olympic Games via Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain. 

Amore di sé

Atop the purple pale predawn sky
stirred my spirit to unrest
Arose to white worlds winking
afar and apart were we
but heavenly orbs lined up
in a row
Tho all alone at this timid time
watched, I was, enrapt in
warm thirsty waves of want
and shapeless yearning to be-
come drown in the love sent to
me in lights that others call
empty space.


Image by By Alice Boughton, Dawn (1909) (Camera Work, No 26, 1909) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The gist of being Februist

Is it Februist to pen about pain-
Loves counter-refrain
Let's all complain!
That, my dears is the gist
of being purely Februist

And of amethysts
shaped by six packs
clustered quartz
like opinions
and craggy dominions
add it to the list
of being Februist

Golden locks too soft
lead too, hard as nails
too hot, too cold,
too much, too little
love and hate
soul mates
Valentined and kissed
You guessed it, this
is also Februist

So Life is a box
of chocolate filled
surprises and sentiments
to be tasted and tested
swallowed and spit out
notes to nibble on
Though the gifts we tend
to doubt
are the sweetest,
Yes, as the skepticist is
Februist

Only tiny truths, gnats in the know,
bugs in rugs and ermine expectations
make rime in time to thaw
trickle down pains
theoretically and say
in thirty ways from May,
time Marches on
gripes and grouse
when a Februist
storms through your House.

Image By Josephbanjo (Own work (Photo personnelle)) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons Rose with rime.

Linger to hear you near

I am
listen-
in
g
hiding
in the music
tapping
my shoulder
blade behind me
down
the hall
jumping out
at the antique
store
always
waiting
buried in a book
obscure
wrapping up
in warm words
under
lines

Cannons
re-loaded
taking the heat
under
fire-
gun to temple
questioning
fore-
head
drops
(off...)
taking it all
in
I am
listen-
in
g
for
you.



Image by Ferdinand Leeke (1859-1937)[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Bottomless Pit

Always Yessss

Giving of yourself fills

instead of empties

Time is precious

Time doesn't matter

We have forever

We only have this 

moment

Your presence comforts

and tucks in loose ends

When you think you cannot

utter how much

it doubles

It is violent sometimes

passionate always

lights a higher wattage

elevates skin, tactile

and smell, enhanced

breath and glance

Always withdrawing

never replenishing

It demands One

greater power

at all times

It crushes the other under

its obligation

slithers into shoulds

inconcertina locomotion

nestled in your snaky needs

a serpentine fork

Loves anivenom

Consumes more than

its out weight in

carniverous ways

of sanssss sssseriffssss

charmed by the cold-blooded

constriction of I love you

insatiably. 

Image By NASA / Jet Propulsion Laboratory / University of Arizona [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Descripton Details English: "Dark pits on some of the Martian volcanoes have been speculated to be entrances into caves. A previous HiRISE image, looking essentially straight down, saw only darkness in this pit. This time the pit was imaged from the west. Since the picture was taken at about 2:30 p.m. local (Mars) time, the sun was also shining from the west. We can now see the eastern wall of the pit catching the sunlight.

This confirms that this pit is essentially a vertical shaft cut through the lava flows on the flank of the volcano. Such pits form on similar volcanoes in Hawaii and are called "pit craters." They generally do not connect to long open caverns but are the result of deep underground collapse. From the shadow of the rim cast onto the wall of the pit we can calculate that the pit is at least 178 meters (584 feet) deep. The pit is 150 x 157 meters (492 x 515 feet) across. Written by: Laszlo P. Keszthelyi."