Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Flying high again

Writer's block's been squared away -- temporarily, as always -- but brush strokes now cut a swath pointillist on minuscule canvases, bits of cardboard hacked from a box. And I, plenty of I, which is fine, here & head & home. Universal statements aren't mine, but grand in a selfish sense & best kept shrinkwrapped save inside where things need no embarrassing gloss. The verse is enough.


No artist's blade summons the smell of andante
round stormwracked branch & volleyball nets.

A no sky soul under spell of blue sky,
upper respiratory ailing with pneuma --

dirty breaths agitate to make
tactile the recklessly flecked icon.

Canopy hot as Thera that thorned
lions to defy veneration, heart of sulfur

searching meridians for relief crests over
the breakwall of the quotidian things.

Cerulean foam beautiful & terrible moves
sprawling puppet whited with salt, hit

by a fifty foot wave's sensual thought
worth a penny or ten. Washed up

on green incense, I believe in
ataxia, welcome uranium & lead. I believe

everything can be equally quotidian, here. Seen
on the wing, the El Dorado of fools

who cut the grass slow,
who take this in stride when the sun says go.


ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

So you got high cutting the grass again?

More power to you, says I.

Mary Ellen said...

Stay away from the bad weed and you won't be bothered with ataxia.

I wish I could write like you, but I had a Catholic education and we were too busy learning Latin to get to the creative writing stuff.

Tengrain said...

Graves, you swine!

You are not a literary or artistic assistant, however, you might be a sous-chef at Famous Ray's.



Randal Graves said...

if, everyone always assumes the illicit. I'm just high on life, man.

nunly, 13 years of Catholic education here, so your excuse flies not high.

tengrain, no daily special for you. Full price.

S.W. Anderson said...

"I believe in ataxia"

Just when I think everything that can be said or written has been said or written before, here comes Randal with a breakthrough statement I'm sure no one has ever made or will ever make again.

Anonymous said...

I wanted to escape from Witch Mountain but I could not, the sludgy blues held me fast.

thatgirl said...

I believe in this Ataxia:

and I can actually somewhat explicate this (practice does make perfect)

Randal Graves said...

SWA, oh, you realists & your quaint literalism.

karl of the österreich, if Hendrix had a doom side project, this is what I picture them sounding like.

thatgirl, rock and/or roll! I recall you posting one of their tracks before at your place & it was good. I should pick up the two.

The verse?

thatgirl said...

I like some of your other ones better from a totally noncompositional gut reaction standpoint, but this one's good, scurvie alchymie created out of the scenery of every day is always a good thing.

Randal Graves said...

Hmm, I might dig this one a bit more - 'tis not entirely a nature thing, gloss begone, though mostly composed whilst tending the vast acreage - but this is why I enlist (read: punish) the Peonage for third party commentary.

Tom Harper said...

Writer's Block -- I hate when that, uhh

Beach Bum said...

Rock on Dude!

okjimm said...

hey... listen... I gotz nuttin to say... but have you a spare beer or two?

Demeur said...

A penny or ten for a thought? Come now we know they go for at least a buck. Inflation you know.

susan said...

I enjoyed your poem much more than the results of my drawing today. Continue with cutting the grass slow and smoketh not.

Randal Graves said...

tom, just think -

BB, don't be bogarting those corn chips, man.

okjimm, beer? moi? vino!

demeur, you assume I didn't mean British pounds.

susan, if I can elicit something half as swanky as one of your drawings, I'll have accomplished something.