Archive for poems

Poetry Challenge: Vincent could have told you

Posted in haiku, POEM CHALLENGES, POETRY with tags , , , on September 1, 2010 by echostains

 

Just Click the Van Gogh image to take you to the video

Everyone has heard Starry Starry Night By Don Mclean,  the beautiful song about Vincent Van Gogh.  There is a line in it which says:_

But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you…….

(here’s the song I mean – also called ‘Vincent’)

The challenge is to watch the very short video that features all Van Gogh’s self-portrait and imagine what the artist might be trying to convey through these portraits – in other words if he could speak – what do you think he would he want to say to us?  Alternatively you could just write a poem about Van Gogh the man or his work.  The poem can be as profound as you want, or as daft as you like:)  it can be long, short or even a haiku. Put it on your site and link to mine and  I’ll make a page putting all the poems dedicated to this on my blog with a link to yours.   (You can copy and paste the image if you want).  The title of the poem is ‘Vincent could have told you’ That’s the challenge!  Are you up for it?

Please post your poems either under comments – or if you prefer sent me an email and I’ll put them on.

Here’s the first of the poems!  this one is by Kserverny aka Artswebshow.  please check out his blog it’s fantastic!

.

Oh why did the ladies never love me.

.

As i sit here in my velvet chair.

Chains of smoke swirl around me.

My dinner left lingering by the door.

Painting for the purpose of inner peace.

My thoughts, they say.

Oh why did the ladies never love me?

Life looks back in fall.

.

Relying for my income on dear little brother.

Oh the shame, it makes me insane.

I burn and cut for you people.

Yet none will look my way.

Stewing in my little bed.

Oh why did the ladies never love me?

Life looks back in fall.

.

The tormented candle flickers softly now.

Obsessive working grips me tight.

No interest gained off local peers.

I fear my end is in sight.

I softly said.

Oh why did the ladies never love me?

Life looks down in winter.

.

People tread upon the floor.

Above the sunflowers fill them with awe.

Such a valuable epiphany,

Of a time travelled long before.

The painting remains silent.

Ladies flock around him.

Standing proudly on the wall.

 

POEM NO: 2 is by bended spoon who has a very upbeat and positive website – guaranteed to raise a smile (this is the second time he’s made my day!  Please check him out:)

ugh

Van Gogh

are you aware

what you have put me through?

well, echostains

invited me to a poetry challenge

though i am not a poet.

but for the fun of it

here it is.

i see that you are obsessed

with your myriad faces.

don’t tell me you’re not

why paint a lot?

kidding aside,

i admire you man

we both lack self-confidence

but still we want to give happiness.

so i guess what you are trying to say

in your self-portraits is,

‘no sense in taking thy own life

for thy own life has sense’.

Poem No:3 is by Linda Kruschke who has a lovely homely and welcoming blog!  please check it out:)

Vincent Could Have Told You

Faces change
My face changes
With the seasons
With my mood
I paint a changing me

But I remain
Beneath the face
What I call God
That which is love
It does not change

Poem No:4 is by Debbie Feller whose blog has ‘simple poems  and simple faith’ please check it out!

I paint from the mirror
turning away to hide
my bad side
the eyes remain
unchanged
.

Poem No:5 is by opoetoo who has a great blog full of poetry and musings – please give it a visit and you won’t be disappointed!

Ground /between stones

I feel the world turn

In your face

Of  clay on canvas

…………………………Rotating

………Pushing

up through the hard ground

Corn for crows to pluck and pillage

……………………… Corn enough

to feed the wonder of this planet

 

Poem No: 6 is by Adam Dustus who is a novelist, poet and graphic artist.  He has a very well established blog and there’s lots to interest poets, writers and artists alike!  Well worth a visit!

Light stricken, anxious eyes
Painting beautiful expressions sublime
Puddling tears that Starry Night
Too late, my work now recognized

Could not foresee what happened to me
Now millions on sales tags
Downloads to computer screens
Broadcasts of honors in stellar HD
Even documentaries all about me
Scandals, art thieves,
Dedicated museum wings
Sunflower posters
Mass produced grief… 

 

Yet curation now kind
Since I razed my prime
They think priceless being
A tortured mind

Only my faces and work survive
Absinthesizing swirls refined
Depression claimed another life
Still art without end
Beyond my time

 

Poem No: 7  is from Steve whose blog ‘Heednotsteve’  has a bit about everything (but mostly fiction and poetry).  its a good one so please give it a visit!

I know you

or at least
I know
your face

pale forehead
and faint brow,
high cheeks

your somber face

the contours
and creases
of it

backwards to me, convenient

set mouth
and the eyes,
I know the eyes

unflinching – I’ve never seen them closed

I know
your face

your sad
serious
face

hopeful and doubtful

as if
I might tell you
something

about you

as if you might
by patient
scrutiny

know me

PoemNo:8 is by Fireblossom.  Her blog Shay’s word garden is full of original poetry.  Check it out!

Vince, hi.

Um…

What? Oh, I’m fine. You’re sweet to ask.

So…

What up?

“Dawg”. Ha ha.

Are you, like, still doing drawings and stuff?

Yeah? You’re pretty good. Seriously, dude.

You should, like, maybe take a class or something.

Have you ever signed up for an art class? No?

I think the community college offers them.

I took, I don’t know, some computer thing there once…it was okay, I guess.

I met Rick there.

Yeah, Rick, this guy I’m seeing, or like, we’re hanging out and that.

Look, Vince, I need to tell you,

You’re a nice guy and all. Some girl is out there for you.

No kidding, a lot of girls really like beards. For real!

My friend, she’s totally all about dudes who look like these mountain men or something.

Hey, I didn’t mean…

It looks good. No lie.

But, Vince,

I’m not really into art or that, and Rick, he’s kind of into the whole surfer, keg party thing.

Well, what I mean is,

Um…

Here’s your ear.

I wrapped it in, I don’t know, this napkin from Chicken Shack.

I didn’t, like, use it at all, it’s clean.

Maybe they can re-attach it?

But dude, seriously,

Don’t, like, send me the other one or anything, you know?

It’s gross, I have to be honest with you.

Really thoughtful,

But,

Gross. As hell.

What were you thinking?

Oh, c’mon,

Don’t go all crumpled looking,

My dog does that and I can’t deal.

He’s at my mom’s now…

Well, I know, like you care, right? I just ramble, whatever.

Sorry.

So, check out those art classes.

Maybe you could even sell one of your paintings?

Use the money to buy a new jacket or something.

Good luck, Vince.

I gotta run, Rick hates it if I keep him waiting.

Peace, out.

And no more ears!

Later, dude!

(walk

walk

walk

keys

car door slamming

engine starting

lipstick adjustment in rearview mirror)

*sigh*

What a fucking nut case!

Poem No: 9 is our first Haiku and its contributed by the wonderful Eva from the equally wonderfully artistic and poetical blog  47whitebuffaloThere’s lots of goodies there – please call in:)

eyes catching light play

all ways fleeting here to there

oranges splashing blues

John Cooper Clarke – aint got time to make no apology

Posted in POETRY with tags , , , on June 3, 2010 by echostains

I love this urban poet .  This man is so damn witty,  some of the words he rhymes are indescribable and perhaps I’ve chosen the wrong poem to illustrate this – but take your pick of his poems on YouTube there are lots of them.  There are lots more of his poems better than this one but I’ve been advised that I may offend by putting them on.  Surprised that I listened? ….me too AND regretting it already:)

Love in the Penguin Dust

Posted in POETRY, WORDS AND COMMUNICATIONS with tags , , , , , , , , on May 11, 2010 by echostains

Gregory Corso

I came across this poet and this poem when I was researching an essay about the infamous Chelsea Hotel and past residents.  Angry young men like Dylan Thomas, Brendon Behan: The 1957 – 1964 Beat generation of angry young men like writer Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs – poets Alan Ginsberg and Gregory Corso (b. USA 1930 – 2001), whose poem ‘Marriage’ that end in the penguin dust intrigued me.  The poem itself is romantically fanciful in places, but the poet’s aversion and fear soon becomes clear that he has talked himself out of entering that institution!  But penguin dust? What on earth is it?  The only thing I could think of is a chocolate penguin bar, the dust or crumbs being left at the bottom of the biscuit barrel.  But that cannot be right – Penguins have wrappers on.  I give up.  But a jolly good poem:)
 
Marriage by Gregory Corso
Should I get married? Should I be good?
Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustus hood?
Don’t take her to movies but to cemeteries
tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets
then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries
and she going just so far and I understanding why
not getting angry saying You must feel! It’s beautiful to feel!
Instead take her in my arms lean against an old crooked tombstone
and woo her the entire night the constellations in the sky-When she introduces me to her parents
back straightened, hair finally combed, strangled by a tie,
should I sit with my knees together on their 3rd degree sofa
and not ask Where’s the bathroom?
How else to feel other than I am,
often thinking Flash Gordon soap-
O how terrible it must be for a young man
seated before a family and the family thinking
We never saw him before! He wants our Mary Lou!
After tea and homemade cookies they ask What do you do for a living?Should I tell them? Would they like me then?
Say All right get married, we’re losing a daughter
but we’re gaining a son-
And should I then ask Where’s the bathroom?O God, and the wedding! All her family and her friends
and only a handful of mine all scroungy and bearded
just wait to get at the drinks and food-
And the priest! he looking at me as if I masturbated
asking me Do you take this woman for your lawful wedded wife?
And I trembling what to say say Pie Glue!
I kiss the bride all those corny men slapping me on the back
She’s all yours, boy! Ha-ha-ha!
And in their eyes you could see some obscene honeymoon going on-
Then all that absurd rice and clanky cans and shoes
Niagara Falls! Hordes of us! Husbands! Wives! Flowers! Chocolates!
All streaming into cozy hotels
All going to do the same thing tonight
The indifferent clerk he knowing what was going to happen
The lobby zombies they knowing what
The whistling elevator man he knowing
Everybody knowing! I’d almost be inclined not to do anything!
Stay up all night! Stare that hotel clerk in the eye!
Screaming: I deny honeymoon! I deny honeymoon!
running rampant into those almost climactic suites
yelling Radio belly! Cat shovel!
O I’d live in Niagara forever! in a dark cave beneath the Falls
I’d sit there the Mad Honeymooner
devising ways to break marriages, a scourge of bigamy
a saint of divorce- But I should get married I should be good
How nice it’d be to come home to her
and sit by the fireplace and she in the kitchen
aproned young and lovely wanting my baby
and so happy about me she burns the roast beef
and comes crying to me and I get up from my big papa chair
saying Christmas teeth! Radiant brains! Apple deaf!
God what a husband I’d make! Yes, I should get married!
So much to do! Like sneaking into Mr Jones’ house late at night
and cover his golf clubs with 1920 Norwegian books
Like hanging a picture of Rimbaud on the lawnmower
like pasting Tannu Tuva postage stamps all over the picket fence
like when Mrs Kindhead comes to collect for the Community Chest
grab her and tell her There are unfavorable omens in the sky!
And when the mayor comes to get my vote tell him
When are you going to stop people killing whales!
And when the milkman comes leave him a note in the bottle
Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust-  
Yes if I should get married and it’s Connecticut and snow
and she gives birth to a child and I am sleepless, worn,
up for nights, head bowed against a quiet window, the past behind me,
finding myself in the most common of situations a trembling man
knowledged with responsibility not twig-smear nor Roman coin soup-
O what would that be like!
Surely I’d give it for a nipple a rubber Tacitus
For a rattle a bag of broken Bach records
Tack Della Francesca all over its crib
Sew the Greek alphabet on its bib
And build for its playpen a roofless Parthenon  
No, I doubt I’d be that kind of father
Not rural not snow no quiet window
but hot smelly tight New York City
seven flights up, roaches and rats in the walls
a fat Reichian wife screeching over potatoes Get a job!
And five nose running brats in love with Batman
And the neighbors all toothless and dry haired
like those hag masses of the 18th century
all wanting to come in and watch TV
The landlord wants his rent
Grocery store Blue Cross Gas & Electric Knights of Columbus
impossible to lie back and dream Telephone snow, ghost parking-
No! I should not get married! I should never get married!
But-imagine if I were married to a beautiful sophisticated woman
tall and pale wearing an elegant black dress and long black gloves
holding a cigarette holder in one hand and a highball in the other
and we lived high up in a penthouse with a huge window
from which we could see all of New York and even farther on clearer days
No, can’t imagine myself married to that pleasant prison dream-  
O but what about love? I forget love
not that I am incapable of love
It’s just that I see love as odd as wearing shoes-
I never wanted to marry a girl who was like my mother
And Ingrid Bergman was always impossible
And there’s maybe a girl now but she’s already married
And I don’t like men and-
But there’s got to be somebody!
Because what if I’m 60 years old and not married,
all alone in a furnished room with pee stains on my underwear
and everybody else is married! All the universe married but me!  

Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible
Then marriage would be possible-
Like SHE in her lonely alien gaud waiting her Egyptian lover
So I wait-bereft of 2,000 years and the bath of life.  

Poem from here , image here and other famous poems and poets

Uncovered and discovered: Maya Angelou

Posted in ART DISCOVERED AND UNCOVERED, POETRY with tags , , on April 30, 2010 by echostains

Maya Angelou

I came across this poet the other day and was very touched and moved by this beautiful poetry.  Maya Angelou (born 1928 USA).  She has been called ‘America’s most visible autobiographer.  She wrote this poem in 1965 and I think it’s as relevent today to our human situation and the things we take for granted – things we think we want and those which shall eventually imprison us.

I know why the caged bird sings by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

Lots of information about this poet here

Lots of her poetry here

Maya Angelou website

Image from here

Whatif the whatifs come true?

Posted in POETRY with tags , , on April 17, 2010 by echostains

Shel Silverstein

I came across this poem again the other day by Shel Silverman. It reminded me what a talented man he was.  Silverman (b. 1932 -1999 America) was not only a poet, he was a screenwrtiter, illustrator of childrens books, musician, cartoonist and singer songwriter.  ‘Sylvia’s Mother’ a hit for Dr Hook was written by him and he wrote many more songs.

  Life is full of whatifs isn’t it.  It’s begins as a niggling doubt, blown out of all proportion, a constant drip drip drip, then it gains momentum as you get older.  As you look back on those childhood whatifs (that usually amounted to nothing) you becomeonly too aware  of more serious situations that really can affect your life, like accidents, illness and  bereavement.  

Whatif by Shel Silverstein

 

Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I’m dumb in school?
Whatif they’ve closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there’s poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don’t grow talle?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won’t bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don’t grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!

 I’ve gone through these whatifs.  There are 20 mentioned.  I was a bit disconcerted to realise that 9 of those had happened to me!  I’m still here to tell the tale though 🙂

 

Lots of information about Shel Silverstein here