1997 Brooken Beauty ...another round

1997 Brooken Beauty  ...another round  

a new

nature-- there culture is seeing,

but the continuing change-- 

all death

of moments saved by 

painting them-- 

seeing, preserving

the wonder we faced, life

a painting seen on ones last bed

the pictures whirling-- past, 

the fading colors through reeds

the sunflowers,

by their repetition, comic--

brown, now, tragic stripes

the bread and the wine-- 

toppled still-life

unrealized, blank

dark now

inner form, emerges 

the striped torso

flying, 

over broken

ideal, 

BEAUTY, in this cycle

• 
  

to be used as pawns

to make critics bouquets

each of us only a page?

of a world? mosaic they say, pigeon holed,

in his place, playing one note only

NO, I want to play all the parts, At Once!

spoiled child and withdrawn from the game--

idle conversation, bores

Great voices showing direction!

each in democratic depth !

The modern mediocrity

to be, hung, as meat revolving 

all the broken pieces 

decorative, lowest denominators

but look the sun shines on us all

• 
  

a far off, waterfall spilling

silent-- yet continuing through

blackened space

to wildflower glow of back lit sun

and narrative builds and breaks

bird of great height

west of dream, this imagination 

a god flies unconcerned

power suit, joker, King

coyote warrior, 

blue man mind, 

artist poet 

the critical, bummer queen

cool princess, corrupting force

culture’s fashion, whore

the natural nude in 

sun warm, truth as nature 

OUT THERE

the whole cycle

muse in sun and naked flesh

the paintings revolving

through night

returning flower

hero in the sun

fading dream 

to blank

figure striped, there holding truth 

beauty in order and idea

come forward, 

recognition in the sun

steps out from the ground 

reaching from nature to cultural height

the repeated shapes, declare an end? 

walk about

a down turn 

the old dark bars, 

Achilles had stepped from

that proud darkness into a braver light-- 

a wrong turn?

I’m feeling so far from now,

looking-- for connection 

they’re all gone-- 

One went West!

• 
  

Maybe why I write this poem. Finding the order from despair and cynicism to the reaching of poetry in naturalistic form and symbol. All this attaining some similarity to the Epic form and a form of an art to follow for myself. A way to get through life as one gets through a journey, that cliched though archetypal symbol I hadn’t been able to shake.