In the dark hour
my soul vibrates on its wobbly tire,
while these scissors chop at old dead trees,
cuts a swath of two-edged tigers
no crayons will color . . .
all pale blue stripes and frayed albino curls,
my black toes squishing in sodden pampas
grass, claws retracted
like a clown’s weepy issue,
what use, what use
honk, honk, goes my funny nose
now giggle for me pretty girl
let me don this wig like a construction
hat, big shoes, slapstick horn
let me put on this comedic hibernaculum
magic red balls stuck between my fingers
let these eyes soak you up, until . . .
all your newspapers drown in mud puddles,
their inks running to a sticky purple goo.
03/17/2007 M. Andre Vancrown
| It's nice to be believed in, isn't it? Sometimes we tend to thrive too much on struggle and neglect that we forget what happiness and peace actually does. |
Side note there.
[censored]in' forever and a day at least since I last read anything from you/saw you post anything at all. And it's a pleasure, Michael, just as it was and I suppose will always be. I think it's good to return to old writes -- either to see how you can make them new, or to remind you of what and how you want to write.
I was just talking to Cliff about this actually -- because I feel as though it has been awhile since I've written something . . . not really sure what the word is . . . substantial? Not that what I am writing doesn't have substance, just . . . that something that feels bigger. Like there's an itch that needs scratching. And for whatever reason, it takes me an extra second to locate where.
Another side note there.
I don't think I've ever read this -- or if I have then I forgot, and reading it anew I appreciate its duality most of all. How it speaks of primal things in juxtaposition with somewhat absurd/clowning. It shows great breadth of human nature, and I think how we go about reconciling the world with our selves.
or something like that. All the best.
|| Posted on 2010-07-19 00:00:00 | by Lady of Shalott | [ Reply to This ] |
I don't believe poetry is a "lost art" for you, especially since it's so strong in your prose. That first page of your book is nothing short of poetry. I believe there will be a rediscovery for you...you may not realize it, or maybe you do, but I see the poet in you in everyday things. How you absorb the things we watch, analyze snippets of conversation, even the little dialogue exercise we had with the English translation vs. subtitles.
I'm excited to see what new things will be crafted from you...specifically the imagery. How I know it will transport me.
Keep going. I believe in you.
p.s. The Practice of Poetry!! You can use it too.
|| Posted on 2010-07-19 00:00:00 | by O | [ Reply to This ] || Old reliables to get through through the funk. I suspect it's a byproduct of the times, the atmosphere, the block on creativity, bane of muses. Van Crown is an old and honored name hereabouts. Spark away, spark away. Seeking same.||| Posted on 2010-07-19 00:00:00 | by Blue Monk | [ Reply to This ] |