Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Tag

Swallowtail Artistry   1 comment

Swallowtail Butterfly — Photo-Artistry by kenne

You pull over to the shoulder
          of the two-lane
road and sit for a moment wondering
          where you are going
in such a hurry. The valley is burned
          out, the oaks
dream day and night of rain
          which never comes.
At noon or just before noon
          the short shadows
are gray and hold what little
          life survives.
In the still heat the engine
          clicks, although
the real heat is hours ahead.
          You get out and step
cautiously over a low wire
          fence and begin
the climb up the yellowed hill.
          A hundred feet
ahead the trunks of two
          fallen oaks
rust: something passes over
          them, a lizard
perhaps or a trick of sight.
          The next tree
you pass is unfamiliar,
          the trunk dark,
as black as an olive’s; the low
          branches stab
out, gnarled and dull; a carob
          or a Joshua tree.
A sudden flaring up ahead,
          a black-winged
bird rises from nowhere,
          white patches
underneath it wings, and is gone.

— from Magpiety by Philip Levine

We Took Our Hearts Full Pleasure   1 comment

Nude (1990) — Abstract Art by kenne

 

My Voice

Within the restless, hurried, modern world
    We took our hearts’ full pleasure—You and I,
And now the white sails of our ships are furled,
    And spent the lading of our argosy.

Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,
    For very weeping is my gladness fled,
Sorrow hath paled my lip’s vermilion
    And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.

But all this crowded life has been to thee
    No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell
Of viols, or the music of the sea
    That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.

— Oscar Wilde

 

Bisbee Art Wall   Leave a comment

Bisbee Art Wall — Image by kenne

a nacreous tossing around at
the sides, a dappled silver
sunlight if looked one way, an

apocalyptic gloam if another,
exhaled from a seeming
mouth, feeding on what has

already eviscerated an unfelt
*****, a predator certainly its
own prey, a heat certainly

poison-breath on a cheek
falling when a meretricious
lover spouts that spurious

hypocorism, and also just a
wavering, iridescent puddle—
cornered, soft as a liquid steel

— from I in Graffiti Mural by Daneillo

“Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light.”   Leave a comment

Red Sky at Sunset –“Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light.” — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

— Dylan Thomas

Darkness   Leave a comment

Darkness — Photo-Artistry by kenne

I am the woman
your mother warned you about
(let’s face it she was envious)
I have long since lost my place
that musty corner
to which I was relegated
where nice girls sit quietly
legs crossed and demure.

(what point is there in that?)

I turn heads with my stride
I watch the eyes track my steps
though I pause not
in my progress.

do they tremble at my purpose?
or pause at my vibrant colored sheath?

I will not wait
until you deem me old
to wear red with purple
as I rock bold iconoclasm.
I am that version of herself
where holds are not barred
by convention or whalebone stays

crash those barriers my friend
be they concrete or glass.

I AM that woman you were warned about
who will challenge your ass*umptions

prove each wrong
geometrically, logically

I speak without being spoken to
(Imagine the gall!)
I have opinions
Well thought and articulated
I will speak them
Still

Aurora Phoenix

 

Finding Peace In People’s Faces   3 comments

Kae Tempest (formerly Kate Tempest) — Source: scenestr.com

 
I’m a new fan of Kae Tempest, an English spoken word performer, poet,
recording artist, novelist, and playwright — a great performer by any measure.
 
— kenne
 
People’s Faces
 
[Verse 1]
It’s coming to pass, my country’s coming apart
The whole thing’s becoming such a bumbling farce
Was that a pivotal historical moment we just went stumbling past?
Well, here we are, dancing in the rumbling dark
So come a little closer, give me something to grasp
Give me your beautiful, crumbling heart
Another disaster, catharsis
Another half-discarded mirage
Another mask slips
I face off with the physical
My head’s ringing from the love of the stars
There is too much pretense here
Too much depends on the fragile wages
And extortionate rents here
We’re working every dread day that is given us
Feeling like the person people meet really isn’t us
Like we’re gonna buckle underneath the trouble
Like any minute now, the struggle’s going to finish us
And then we smile at all our friends
(Click Here for all Verses)

 

 
 
 

Sunset Over The Mountains   3 comments

Sunset Over the Mountains — Photo-Artistry by kenne

SUNSETS

Pink – orange sunsets
          like all those
                                          time-worn loves
Always smile down
                       upon me
          whispering how good they were
The days
                       and the involvements

I can never turn away
                        from a hiding sun
No more than I can blot out
                                          hidden memories

It’s the last few moments
                         of either
    that promise the most

Smugness in lovers
                          is tolerable
In a sunset
It’s devastating

— John Boynton

Sunflower — Grunge Art   Leave a comment

Sunflower — Grunge Art by kenne

Sunflower

Night
has educated me
in the learned 
profession
of light.

— Lucha Corpi

Migration South   1 comment

Universal Flight” — Photo-Artistry by kenne

“When a person really desires something,
all the universe conspires to help that person to realize his dream.”

“. . .when we strive to become better than we are,
everything around us becomes better, too.”

“The closer one gets to realizing his destiny,
the more that destiny becomes his true reason for being.”

― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

Girlfriend   1 comment

“Girlfriend” — Photo-Artistry by kenne

There she was nude
sitting on the ottoman
in the window light
applying eye shadow.

Gazing at her silhouetted body
she knows I’m watching her
typically acting unaware
inattentive of my desires.

— kenne

Sabino Creek — Ash From The Bighorn Fire   1 comment

Sabino Creek — Ash From The Bighorn Fire — Image by kenne

It happens that I get tired
of revolutionary cafes
and peacock poets
of narcissistic reflexives
and the songs of the deaf.

It happens that I am terrified
by this hardened generation
that rushes out in search of absolutes
fashions names and blasphemies,
doctrinizes on the pros and cons
of armed struggle,
and meditates, with a beer in its hand
and a sour cry on its lips
on the cadavers of others

Who are  we?
Those same parishioners perhaps
who come and go indifferent
along the streets
on the Day of the Dead
with our hands full
of death’s-head cakes
and our hearts in ashes.

— from Day of the Dead In June by Lucha Corpi

Rainy Morning In The Canyon   Leave a comment

Rainy Morning in Sabino Canyon — Photo-Artistry by kenne

          Rain
          Sybilline heiress

     Droplight
     Lightning water

          air prison
          heart sugarcane

     Song crystal
     word song

          a promise
          a lie

     in drops of sand
     hidden.

— Lucha Corpi

Feeling High   Leave a comment

Purple Sunset — Photo-Artistry by kenne

About the time

I’m feeling high

I start acting funny

But don’t know why

 

Today becomes the day after today

Or is it the end of time

Only to be floating in

An ocean of deathless life

  

Feeling gratitude for God’s gift

Awaking the soul

Becoming void as I was

When I was not yet

  

“Turn from gazing after.”

To kiss the sky

Devoid of all

Foreign images

 

Only to be

Born again

From inside the outside

Looking in

 

Jimi had a spell

On his brain

Purple in color

Inspired by a Haze

 

Deluded by doubt

“Am I happy or in misery?”

To be answered not in the words

But the color of the font

— kenne

Katelyn Is Seventeen Today   1 comment

Katelyn Turner (03/15/14) — Photo-Artistry by kenne

The Eyes Tell You

Little girls have a mysterious power,

But not all can feel it – when she does,

You can see it in her eyes.

As she matures, she’s driven

To climb the tower of perfection,

Always resisting her indifference.

Her enigmatic power is needed

To stir the artist inside,

To triumph over the unenlightened.

In her way, she will find something new,

Something never before encountered

Placing art in a world void of feeling.

Inventive, she will act,

Sometimes seeking out failure

To turn it into a triumph.

Once her power is transformed

By the magical virtue of art,

Loving and understanding become simpler.

                         # # # # #

Now that they return home, I ponder —

Children and grandchildren 

are the beautiful mysteries 

that drive our emotions 

stirring each moment we share, 

not knowing if the same emotions 

transcend each communication in the moment,

ending in emotional question marks.

— kenne (07/07/14)

 

 

Kenne David, Katelyn and Kenne (07/06/14)

Southern Dogface Butterfly Art   Leave a comment

Southern Dogface — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Therefore am I still
     A lover of the meadows and the woods,
     And mountains; and of all that we behold
     From this green earth; of all the mighty world
     Of eye and ear, — both what they half-create,
     And what perceive; well pleased to recognize
     In nature and the language of the sense,
     The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
     The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
     Of all my moral being.

— from Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour by William Wordsworth 

 

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