Street dead essentially
moving mirrors broken
backwards interred;
sheared with chalk
and wait for rain
little boys who run to water
pennies clutched in stubby fingers-
bricks which seem to have fallen
leave incomplete
torn sleeves, missing buttons
fast eyes which do not miss
the spasms in crabbed shoulders
hands collapsed into fingers
piles of the disregarded
rearranged
for the hint of the stench.
Such new religions pry coffins
from beneath the soot
of the new city
poems that do not dry
but weep into street dead
faults rumble of steam
footfalls turning corners
the melting clock slides out of the canvas,
the colliding voices hold eternity
between the planes; for an interrupted breath
corruption is naked,
dying.
Author notes
Image Basquiat: "Untitled"
In a list
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Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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Very interesting format.
I enjoyed reading this. It was very
thought-provoking. Thanks for sharing it
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the melting clock slides out of the canvas,
the colliding voices hold eternity
between the planes; for an interrupted breath
corruption is naked,
dying.
this last stanza pulls everything together very neatly at the end good write. -
Wow- I'm impressed.
Wonderful Job** -
good title strong opening stanza this part toward the end was inspired:"Such new religions pry coffins
from beneath the soot
of the new city
poems that do not dry
but weep into street dead
faults rumble of steam
footfalls turning corners
the melting clock slides out of the canvas,
the colliding voices hold eternity
between the planes; for an interrupted breath
corruption is naked,
dying." thank you for sharing these thoughts/snippets about Basquiat regards zaj
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I think the picture and your poem has at least one thing in common-- a full color palette. It's pretty rich. Not sure if the picture inspired the poem or you wrote the poem and found a picture to fit-- either way it works. Good to see good poems (so rare, cough-cough, on this site). Anyhoot, enjoyed it.
Although you don't need encouragement, here's some anyway-- keep writing them thar poems.
PS: I didn't spend any of your points when I saw this on the Featured poem list. Why is it that people click on that damed thing when all you have to do is go to your fav list or simply hit the link to your site? Laziness I'm sure. bleh . . .
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This isn't anything like anything I'm reading anywhere else. Therefore I'm not sure you will be popular.
Just keep that in mind.
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he was a man beyond his time, the way he painted and his surreal thoughts, his troubled soul with drugs and the hedonistic life style for a street boy all seemed to much..
as in this poem, with time and space melting and melding to find devastation and corruption in the empty streets.... all this we see on a daily basis
is there art there, in the chaos? - I do hope so.... naked and dying, always
G.x
- thought provoking Mistah Guitarman
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A bit surreal with perfect imagery. The wording is so concise yet lost in one's mind. I really like this, but I'm not really sure why. Great write. :]
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It is just like that isn't it. Colliding voices holding eternity between the planes
and yes, not even corruption can touch it. Art.
You make it sound so simple and that is a testament to your understanding of its nature, perhaps because it is your Nature.
There is a brokenness in language in S1,2 & 3. The pieces being assembled
sadness, memories, joy, junk, Then, Now, Tomorrow
it works building up to the last stanza.
Perhaps because I understand, I read this stanza as slightly sentimental or a tad didactic? But I have no real suggestion on undoing that and perhaps there is a place and time for such an arrangement of words ...
Such new religions pry coffins
from beneath the soot
of the new city
poems that do not dry
but weep into street dead
faults rumble of steam
footfalls turning corners
but the last stanza is sure a good evocation of the meaning of the word Art ...
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