My Poor King In His Shanties Who Applies For A Coffin Maker?

No need a scaffolding, a studio
for my new painting and a paint brush
paint or a big canvas?
I use my thumb for shading,
on a throw away news paper
with few pastels that belongs to my grandson
I draw my new king with a big moustache
and a dead fly on his chin as a birth mark?
A cigarette butt fitted to his mouth
tittled as 'My poor King in his shanties
who applies for a coffin maker? '
He reads of Picasso, George Braque
Modiglianni & Van Gogh?
I was not influenced by Cubism or Surrealism
Capitalism or Socialism
But only Humanism with a mug of cheap Milwaukee bitter Beer?

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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True Womanhood As Picasso Sculpture Defines

her head is a vessel wisdom
her waist slender supple life
her arms strong circle continuity
her hips wide birth bares all cultures
her dress patterns all ethnic communities
her hair is styled in rank embryo changes
her perceptions embrace all earth seasons
her determination sees possibilities solutions

her eyes wide open see with wisdom realities
her shoulders bare burdens sisterhood shared
her nose is long aquiline to perceive social necessity
her nostrils smell troubles brewing wise calms
her smile is gift embracing universal life circles
her nature true womanhood as Picasso sculpture defines

poem by Terence George Craddock
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For Pablo Picasso

I never can plumb the depths of your art
Nor fathom the gifts of your fallen heart;
I revere the skillful slither of you apt brush
And here pay homage to your pencil's dash.

Now queer man of fourteen names after saints and kin,
Let this rhyme titillate your somnolent spirit,
And your faded flair stir awake and keen,
To inspire your apprentices to attain your merit.

Awesome creator of the breathtaking Chicago Picasso,
That outlandish landmark that amazes so,
Yours countless nuggets of choice superior art;
Allow this humble poet your back to pat.

Almighty preserve your soul among the pure,
And may your treasured works forever endure.

poem by Hannington Mumo
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Emily Prayed

Cascades of earth’s roses
Blue Picasso
Water lilies serenade
Coco Chanel never married
Fashion changes like chameleons
Time is a diamond mystery
Art is universal youth
Have you been devoured by temptation?

Citadel of solitude protects integrity
When you love yourself you can be alone

Some have been raped
Some have had to endure incest
Some have had the devil defile them
Be slow to judge
Hear people cry

We are swirling dimensions
Always moving

[...] Read more

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Looking Thru the Divine Doors

Castles of Spain like Byron’s rhymes
Impulse of rising Goya’s soul
Waters as blue as serene saints
How the heart yearns for permanence
Fresco deeper than a bold sea
Picasso has left the vision of love
Firing squads trample the poetry
Dark colors in every ivory kiss
Matisse stands in the corridor
All resolution hidden in the doors

Red flag where women resurrect
Delacroix sees a new freedom
Sky is a great mystery lost in beige
Little do they know when rain rules
The earth is swept with storms
Joan Miró soft as fading memory
Dali as bold as brazen frozen sin
Alchemy of color like scattered poetry
Reality has many crevices

[...] Read more

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Digression On Number 1, 1948

I am ill today but I am not
too ill. I am not ill at all.
It is a perfect day, warm
for winter, cold for fall.

A fine day for seeing. I see
ceramics, during lunch hour, by
Mir6, and I see the sea by Leger;
light, complicated Metzingers
and a rude awakening by Brauner,
a little table by Picasso, pink.

I am tired today but I am not
too tired. I am not tired at all.
There is the Pollock, white, harm
will not fall, his perfect hand

and the many short voyages. They'll
never fence the silver range.
Stars are out and there is sea

[...] Read more

poem by Frank O'Hara
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Through Being Cool

Were through being cool
Eliminate the ninnies and the twits
Going to bang some heads
Going to beat some butts
Time to show those evil spuds whats what
If you live in a small town
You might meet a dozen or two
Young alien types who step out
And dare to declare
Spank the pank who try to drive you nuts
Time to clean some house
Be a man or a mouse
Waste those who make it tuff to get around
If you live in a big place
Many factions underground
Chase down mister hinky dink
So no trace can be found
Put the tape on erase
Rearrange a face
We always liked picasso anyway

[...] Read more

song performed by Devo
Added by Lucian Velea
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Poets of Cardboard

Sullen pirates steal the golden fire
Ezra Pound with terse tight words
Surrealism and Dali fight the world
Picasso only paints abstract lust
War infects Enlightenment poise
Poet Laureates of the system
Paris dapples stringent classical paradigms
Van Gogh’s potato eaters the man of earth
Pablo Neruda lets love come thru the soil
The Lost Generation, exiled
The Beats Howl with rebellion
Real art, real writers, street poets, angst

In the distance ice gathers
Modern fragmented man
Bureaucratic hollow man
TV man
Herd man
Images of success
Tummy tuck poets with face lifts

[...] Read more

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Ghost of Paris

Fauvist moon smooth like Newton
Relative without warning
Nothing shall stop the coming cubes
Ulysses talks a new language
Sate painters in café haven
Change the motif of dragons
Avengers of amethyst poetry
Language of the future laughs
Choreographed in splinters of war
Stravinsky dances without melody
Gertrude Stein sighs like a panther
Art fornicates with Paris

Form relinquishes like deco stars
Boundaries melt into stage sets
Embrace the modern deluge
Freedom and choice celebrate
Boundless sea of color
Surrealism tides of the Mediterranean
Chagall, Matisse, Picasso, Braque

[...] Read more

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Melding

These eyes see in the dark
but Picasso-like they only see fleeting images of you
in our soft-lensed youth.

These hands touch
in you the essence of my best years and yours;
memory caresses us
and its power keeps us as we were in the old photos
youth reveling in velvet arms.

You are so well known to me
yet still a mystery
and I have never known how
you do that.

You're the path
given me
to grow beyond myself
to experience
breathless dollops where the soul melds

[...] Read more

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Spanish Winds

Spanish silver eyes dream of summer nights
Lovers entwined like cathedral candlelight
Brusque bas-relief pastels of open space
Poetry rhymes in cadence of world art
Pilgrims of fine luster from a grand age
Walk quietly amidst Mediterranean stars
Mountain villages rest serene by the sea
Preserved time felt keenly on every street

Barcelona is a vision that always haunts me
Picasso’s world where the old and new meet
Catalonia a separate place in space and time
Hear the tide roll and feel the fire of soul
Hemingway hears bells drinking Spanish wine
History and wars like visions of Goya grow
I sit by the sea listening to a Spanish Guitar
Singing like the winds of Madrid from afar

Tonight Spanish winds caress lover’s hearts
As we gaze at the wondrous light of the stars

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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History Stuff

Magical Mystical history and mystery,
Painted and woven on tablets and tapestry.

Cave painted hunts and sand script on tombs,
We dig for our history then fill in the wounds.

The secrets of Stonehenge and Silbury Hill,
That tapping and digging will never reveal.

See Picasso and Van Gogh, read Byron and Shelly,
Then watch the war on a plasma screen telly.

Chipped marble statues partly destroyed,
The wisdom of Nietzsche and ramblings of Freud.

Thank Romans for wine and Columbus for tea;
Thank genetics and Science for deciphering me.

History is stuff that lives in the past,
Historical characters the sets and the cast.

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poem by Mark Fullick
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Sydney!

Picasso sold! This painting has just fetched A$20.6 million at auction. Learn how it will help us tackle one of the biggest health challenges of the 21st century.
Austalia!

Last night we saw one of our precious daughters Tharindu in the Skype from Dandenong North!
O once that withered flower with much obstacles bloom again, thank you very much!
'Mom & Dad! We're going to Sydney'
O that sounds good, travel dear
Because the life is a journey!
Do not worry we're behind you as the itinerary Guides!
Sydney Harbour Bridge, Darling Harbour, Opera House, Woolloomooloo,
Australia Centre, Opera Bar, Queen Victoria, King street, Pit street Mall
Bondi, King's cross, Paddington, Botany Bay, Tower Sydney
Sydney Cricket ground once I hit a glorious sixer in my previous birth!
Look around and your poor skinny Native Aborigine Mom & Dad there with the usual smile!

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Haiku Rule is No Rule

all the haiku rules
are no rule except
the three liner
i would concur

besides that
you can turn things
upside down
create another realm
with your words
so long as they jolt
the heart to things as banal
as a frog jumping
into an old pond
strike the mind
to give it another
good reason
for its existence

how could there be rules

[...] Read more

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Yet Another Neglected Masterpiece (53rd Birthday)

I released a masterpiece
When none of you were listening
The sounds of silence were deafening
You must have been out for the summer
Watching the Olympics or Obama
Praying for the fate of civilization
While I was slaving in the kitchen
(While she was sleeping in the bedroom)
To serve you with my inspiration
Poetic new cuisine
Basted for decades, a recipe
Not tasted since Verlaine

And now my mess of words, my dish
Cool and putrid, languishes
In the wastebins of rejection
On the dumps of your distraction
Condemned to death by unconcern
The amusements you call progress
I call poet injustice.

[...] Read more

poem by Frank Bana
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Birdwatchers Of America

It’s all very well to dream of a dove that saves,
Picasso’s or the Pope’s,
The one that annually coos in Our Lady’s ear
Half the world’s hopes,
And the other one that shall cunningly engineer
The retirement of all businessmen to their graves,
And when this is brought about
Make us the loving brothers of every lout—

But in our part of the country a false dusk
Lingers for hours; it steams
From the soaked hay, wades in the cloudy woods,
Engendering other dreams.
Formless and soft beyond the fence it broods
Or rises as a faint and rotten musk
Out of a broken stalk.
There are some things of which we seldom talk;

[...] Read more

poem by Anthony Evan Hecht
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She Doesnt Live Here Anymore

We grew up together, weve been here forever.
Barefoot in the summer, cold in stormy weather.
She taught me all there is, like magic and love,
Lots of forgotten words
But now, she doesnt live here anymore.
Shes off and shes gone, she doesnt live here anymore.
Im sorry thats all there is to it, Im sorry thats all
She dressed just like a painter, a female street picasso
And i, I will remember the heaven in her laughter.
And the scent of her sweet perfume when we made love
Under an august moon
But now, she doesnt live here anymore.
Shes off and shes gone, she doesnt live here anymore.
Shes gone since long, so long, she doesnt live here anymore.
She took off and left home, she doesnt live here anymore.
Im sorry thats all there is to it, Im sorry thats all. thats all.

song performed by Roxette
Added by Lucian Velea
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Idaho Dawn/ The Death of Ernest Hemingway

On that quiet dawn in Idaho
did you remember Montparnasse,
the cheery banter at the Dome,
good bread smells, spattering
chestnut husks and orange peel
on a garret fire in winter?

Did you see Gertrude’s peasant face
amid young Picasso’s glory,
embrace the barnacled Irishman,
scold the prince of bottled dreams,
weep for the mentor in his cage,
and rejoice in geniuses together?

Did you watch Joselito strut again
in the bloody sand at Cordoba,
savouring the triumph and the lust,
and run the glorious Gulf Stream,
crying hallelujah to the ocean kings,
drift free at dusk from Harry’s Bar?

[...] Read more

poem by John C Bird
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A Mother Does Not

A mother does not raise her child for to fight and die in war
Or to kill another Human Being in a Country from home far
That her son or her daughter should at someone else shoot to kill
A person they have never known or who have never bore them ill.

Picasso's 'Screaming Woman' is for all woman kind
The mother weeps for her dead child with grief 'out of her mind'
Mothers do not raise their children for to be remembered on War Memorial Day
For to fight in war for war mongering non combatants and throw their lives away

A mother raises her son or daughter so her seed of life will live on
That her genes will still be around when she herself has gone
From the World of the living to be numbered amongst the dead
I wish for my children to outlive me that's what the mother said.

A mother does not raise her child for to meet with an early death
Not for her War Memorial Day or the words 'Lest we forget'
She wants her son and daughter for to grow old and gray
And she does not wish to hear of War and War Memorial Day.

poem by Francis Duggan
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As Girls Sleep

She sleeps as only girls sleep
dreaming of babies and diamonds
or how that rich guy got away.
She slumbers with lips pressed tight.

Her eyes flicker like flames of
a new touched fire. Her hands lay
like guardians over her womb,
beneath her dress. She dreams
of his lips. Pressed close, skin on skin.

Once upon a dream she made love
to her sister's husband. Once upon
a nightmare her husband kissed her
upon her vagina. In deep sleep she
smells of ashes from Auschwitz, her
mother's family perished amongst flames.

She rubs her nose in sleeps' hold,
scratches her head with unpainted

[...] Read more

poem by Terry Collett
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