Self Portarit with his Wife and a Glass of Champagne, Lovis Corinth 1902 
- Last seen 8 hours ago. Member since April 4, 2006.
- I'm a lyric diamond poet for 2555 comments and my motto is Modigliani's ghost.
- I am a man from (United States)
- When I'm not writing, I'm a professional artist/art professor.
- Visit my homepage at www.ebsqart.com/Artists/cmd_3133_profile.htm
- I support the site as a gold member
- I help out as a oldpoetry researcher
(29)
- I am in the groups People of the Other Village, Oldpoetry and Friends, bare limbs, The Cabinet
- I have 2555 comments, 11 contests
My Lists
My Poetry
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The Flying Cloud, sails
south round the Cape -
Broken on the wheel, stark silouhettes
Rake the ponderous sky -
Crazy Eddie sold beer nuts at Veteran's Field
back when a man was a man43 lines, 9 comments, April 24. In Society
My Stories
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Guestbook
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Dauzette on May 7I must say dear sir this is a magnificent page. The background adds such a touch, as well as the picture at the top. Off to read your work...
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Dalaney on May 7I love this painting..
It inspires all kinds of thoughts 
Love to you, my Artiste.
Mermaid -
Cvillelisa on May 6
I found the parrot poem. Written by my current poetic infatuation ( that is of the dead variety) Weldon Kees
Obituary
Boris is dead. The fatalist parrot
No longer screams warnings to Avenue A.
He died last week on a rainy day.
He is sadly missed. His spirit was rare.
The cage is empty. The unwhooked chain,
His pitiful droppings, the sunflower seeds,
The brass sign, "Boris," are all that remain.
His irritable body is under the weeds.
Like Eliot's world, he went out with a whimper;
Silent for days, with his appetite gone,
He watched the traffic flow by, unheeding,
His universe crumbling, his heart a stone.
No longer will Boris cry, "Out, brief candle!"
Or "Down with tyranny, hate and war!"
To astonished churchgoers and businessmen.
Boris is dead. The porch is a tomb.
And a black wreath decorates the door.
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NurseChilly on April 28god what a nipple she's got ... swoon...
