Wednesday, April 2, 2014

History of Art 101

A cave painting in modest, abundant ocher started it all
When some cave-dwelling hominid who was probably suffering
After eating some tainted meat or poisonous berries
Or perhaps, having eaten nothing at all, starved and half-crazed;
Either seems more likely than a divine flash of creativity.
Whatever the cause, the product of this act represented so much.
It shows: the work of an amateur biologist depicting
The flora and the fauna in the simplest of form of stick figures;
The story of a hunter and how big that one mastodon was
And how it got away from the thrust of his flint spear;
And these simple works also show the high priest storyteller
Whose words take shape in these rudimentary drawings.

Later on the medium changed but the purpose remained the same:
To depict the human condition in all its glory and all its misery.
When words and art were interchangeable as hieroglyphics
And almost every trinket and building created was ornate and
With such opulence it would be fit for a pharaoh's funeral.  

Other noteworthy achievements in art came naturally with time:
The adding of a third dimension broke barriers and
Working with proportion gave shape to simulated reality.
Along the human timeline much changed, but still seemed the same.
The mediums expanded and contracted in posterity and innovation
With Sunday morning funny pages echoing the style of cave paintings,
And ancient mosaics now resemble my aunt's master bathroom.

As we approach modernity (and still even post-that),
The simple act of a utensil giving tone and form to the medium
Has become more than that. Seldom do painters define
A movement characterized by brush strokes and color palates.
Instead the focus has shifted to lenses and light imprinting
Form with movement and stasis. Simple, solitary acts of creation
Can manifest in the mass orchestration of Hollywood productions.

Yet something humble remains.

The individual, an amateur with the drive to capture
and not so much intending to create,
Takes their everyday trinkets, abundant in possession,
And captures the human condition to share with the world,
So that others can look on and say, "Yes! That's exactly how it is!"

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Our greetings sometimes equate
To the repetitive click-click-click
Of a gas range finding its flame.
But it takes no time until our pot
Comes to a rolling boil
---Bubbling and frothing,
And sometimes coming to the lips
Before overflowing into a steamy mess.

But in brewing our concoction
The recipe is seldom ruined
And hardly requires to start anew
With a fresh approach.
It is when the product tastes sweet,
Comforting and starchy with a flavor
Our tongues can't quite identify,
That we're left with  bowls empty
Wanting more and never sated.

It is in this fervorous hunger
That we fill each other's dish
To see each other smile
For such a small gesture.
We do this again-and-again,
Until the unthinkable has been thought:
We're finally full for the evening.
So what to do with our leftovers?
Save it on a simmer, for some breakfast
or perhaps, a midnight snack.

Monday, November 4, 2013

My cat's manic depressive
Who eats his feelings.
You can hear him crying
In our basement closets.
Sometimes he meows
About suicide; it's incessant.
However, the poor thing
Is mighty resilient  and
He keeps landing on his feet.

Monday, October 28, 2013

Oh How I Hate A Hiatus

Sometimes I feel like I'm in a slow strangle,
Hanging myself with a necktie.
Resigned to a life with the living dead,
Inching our ways towards the grave.
Yet our inching seems to be fast-paced,
As we're all asking ourselves,
"Where did the time go?"
In our trajectories set towards the future,
We spend our moments trying to speed
Through the monotony of the day-to-day,
But stay slow enough to clamor for
Those instances when we're really living.
Oh boy! Do we clamor. Reaching
For what we want when maybe we shouldn't.
But what's a night with friends behind the bottle
Without a little hangover?
Or the cooing laughter of a newborn
With out the tremendous responsibility of a child?
So in our collective clamoring, we should strive to live
As much as our time allows, and do what we can to break
Whatever slowly binds our bodies in order to live.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Love is a River pt. II

Love is a river
Not water from a faucet.
Not something you can
Turn on or off
or just wash your hands under
With some scented soap
That dries your skin.
No love is something else;
It's something you have to face
With no bridge to cross.
You have to roll up your pants
Or hike up your skirt,
And get a little wet.
Hell, and if it feels real good,
Submerge yourself
Like the good Reverend sang.
So why face it with trepidation?
Just approach with a sway in your hips
and maybe hold your breath
Just a little.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

You wouldn't even fit in my socks,
So before you say, "If I were in your shoes..."
Consider this:
You'd stumble on your first step forward,
And most likely trip with the next.
You'd fall out of them the moment you try
To turn the other cheek.
I just slip them in and go, whereas you
Would fumble with the laces.

My soles fit me because of the way I wear them
And the way I am, so don't bother to try and conform.

Saturday, May 25, 2013

Hey there little song bird
Sing one of your tunes for me.
Remind me of a time when
We both sang in the streetlight,
A tearful melody goodbye.
The final moment in our romance
of three summer seasons.

Our long duet started in that park
One warm July, when we resigned
Our love contingent on migratory patterns.
With each spring returning anew,
I turned to the west, hoping to see
Your little beak puckered in song.