Let's revitalize this, as I think it was good clean fun.

Here's the deal: Each week I'll post an image, you take that image and write a poem about it. The colors, the subject, the feeling, take whatever you can get from the image, and write your poem.

Try to keep it 20 lines or less so we can easily enjoy and comment on your work All are welcome to post their poems and comment on others.

Image #1
Jackson Pollock, She-Wolf, 1943

(as always, you may click it to make it larger)

the corner screamed
beckon'd motion to my ear
back deep seated truth
shell shocked runner
'carry me no future'
cry all the colours of the eye
and watch then speak
too deftly to be heard...

Yay! The first to the slaughter! Ha, actually, no, but I appreciate the quick response! I like this little bit you've posted, in fact, I like where your writing seems to have gone to lately. The last few lines feel like a different train o' thought... were they?

Thanks

As for the poem splitting, yup as does the picture. Pollock was haunted by demons and split imagery that spoke in dual meanings.
The spoken:
'carry me no future'
changes the brain process just like the mind of someone mentally unstable hearing their inner voice, and the poem needed to feel changed from there but still incorperate the message I intended...

Make any sense?

Fuck it a deeper read...

the corner screamed (the wolf's head in the lower left quad)
beckon'd motion to my ear (it speaking to the stick man who has a red arrow pointing to an ear like shape)
back deep seated truth (most of the real imagery in this painting is going on in the back where most will miss it)
shell shocked runner (again the stick man moving but also the feeling of slipping into this insanity and the emotions as before you fall past rational thought)
'carry me no future' ( the fear of insanity where you los sight of self like it has been stolen from you and you do not know how to get it back or if you will ever be the same again)
cry all the colours of the eye (sometime my own imagery is the only way I can show how I feel and express my pain)
and watch then speak (you can see it, feel it, but its only after that you can express it)
too deftly to be heard... (sometimes the expression is lost on those you wish to hear it because you show it in a way they just can't understand)

Sorry, just wanted to feel understood...

at night the coyote screamed
the tiny ape ran, as if
hell had found him.
history danced behind his eyelids
forcing him to say...
all that came before him
led to all he'd leave behind

lost to secrets; found by science
never known to know what's found
one little man can move a mountain
with fear as motivation.



blah. i'm on a dry spell... i'll try to do better with the title one.

Straying chaotic motives chanced upon
Mind winded and maturity stressed, gone
Lines awkward straining bursting form
Teeth wrenched and beckoned by flesh

Wavered

flesh is best left undressed
when hunting with ravenous eyes,
tidal waves of color crash
onto a naked shore screaming for affection;
and long ago elephants roamed
with spears in their sides
on that desolate land,
but now man penetrates the sand
with technicolored orgasms;
faking paint over the gray hide
that hides beneath the silky tresses
of the minds imagination,
but even then fantasy is splattered
into abstractions that truly lack meaning;
yet in the end the mixtures mix
with withering delight,
only to feed the hungry sight
blind as the flesh dresses and elephants die…

Good stuff from everyone. I guess it goes to show the major perceptive influences behind artwork.

so you wanna hear an interesting story concerning a Pollok piece?

okay, i saw this on Letterman....the guest that night was like a 60 yr old trucker (the fifth female trucker in america to be exact)....why was she on Letterman you ask?

in the 70's she went to a thrift store and found this "Ugly-ass painting," (in her words) so she bought it as a gag gift for a friend.....even her friend didn't want it.....well, this trucker chick's a pack-rat, so she just kept it in a storage bin.....well, in like 2004 or sumtin' she decided to clean out her bin, and invited all of her friends to rummage through her shit....one of her friends was dating an Art Professor....now, the trucker chick found the painting, and was like "You want this?" to which the Art Professor looked at it and almost fainted.....he told her "I would love nothing more to take it, but I think you might wish to inspect it first".....she asked "Why?"....he said "If I'm not mistaken, this is the lost piece of a collection by Pollock"........sure as shit, it was......worth 25 million dollars........she bought the painting for 5 bucks.....true story!

fyi, she gave like all of her money to her friends and family....."I'm old, I drink, I smoke, I don't need 25 million dollars" she said......how kool is that?!

Good, good, good.

Image #2
Valentina Brostean, kindergarten

“Give me your head on a plate” she whispered
Spare me your indignity.
I’d rather the hounds of hell.
I see your wheel of life,
And turn, turn away.

Don't sit on Alices mushroom, fly agaric, amanita muscaria,
Your eyes deceive you and I bleed that putrid red red wine.
I can see through the masquerade of reality, le fantome est real,
which mind are you using? mine? yours? I cant read it.
The mournful voices in my head laugh at you, timidly, but you cant hear.
They say the same thing over and over, but in another language.
So I can't tell you what... ha ha ha I can't tell you what.
If I had to guess though they'd say stop sawing on your wrists,
unless youre a lumberjack, "and thats O..K...." but,
Solar heat rushes through my veins, and I can barely feel you,
If I look like I am blending into the canopy ignore me.
I am probably not real anyway, If I aint though...
Who are you talking to?

That picture made me feel like I was chomping on Liberty Caps...

I like your piece.

We call them Gold Tops.

good post