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Frustrations of art, puberty and bad dreams

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  • Frustrations of art, puberty and bad dreams


    The final snow of the season but not the last fire
    Wooden beings, gathered limbs crack open
    Against the cold they conspire
    Awaiting the gifted child from the womb
    Let the energy of our heat the incubator consume
    Concentration of camps are now in the mind
    Lemko girl on her knees, sings, sublime
    Steep hills with houses surround the Warhol museum
    Trolleys broke down in the floods
    Deep and swelling waters breaching the dam
    It was then I knew the ocean was out there, somewhere
    So I stretched my canvas to brush
    The base of the painting I neglected to prepare
    All the colors but the blues ran into the black
    Frustrations of my creations and what the flesh can lack
    I let myself drown to float away from the flack
    Bad dreams carried me viciously into the pack
    Unprovoked confrontations in the ghetto
    Paths leading to the mountain meadow where the Aspen daisies grow
    We ran to the edge of the summer’s climax
    A Grizzly caught sent of a terrified girl’s first menstrual flow
    The result, a mortal attack
    We had to turn back
    Proceeding onward down to a white clover field
    To fresh girls that lie laughing, having had their piercings healed
    Lick the Honeybees stingers for the sweetness you were denied to try
    Mischievous little boy birds, wings of curiosity took to the sky
    I was to fat to fly
    So I stayed home to capitulate
    When they fell I filled a page but ignored their cries
    I was writing a dead hung man’s journal, the only one that survived
    The others were burned like you, smoke watering the eyes
    Ugly adolescence, doomed and deprived
    Pubescent boys and girls, obese callousness, derived
    Entries in their diaries

    “People share secrets on purpose
    All my lovers have been contrived
    Only the dogs sleep with me tonight
    Alone again in my cold bed the warm hand has arrived”

    You and a friend, if there is one
    Read and write and sketch about everything under the sun
    After puberty’s pillows have suffocated the sobbing
    Roll away from the tears attend to the throbbing
    We are alike
    Laboring on, allowing ourselves to fall in and out of sleep
    Subconscious cartoons edited into schizophrenia
    Drifting off, counting disingenuous sheep
    Continuous smoldering ashen the faces of archaic cave babies
    Corners of imagination, expected pleasures, pushed into constricting circles
    Shoved against the standing timbers leaves a stain
    Accused, confused, surrounded with shame
    We are never full or fulfilled
    But once delivered to the mongers, endlessly drilled
    Rugged patina pitted lock
    Silhouettes of faces, never mention your name
    Wet residue of your lips on a window expecting a rock
    Is it the bedroom door’s will, never entertain the knock?
    Virgins in white clothing mocked, with uncomfortable skinless scars
    Arousal confined, no fumbling loss, dark driveway cars
    Bedtime stories under canopy veil, glow in the dark crayon stars
    Be it the same with hell and hearts, you and me
    Passionate beasts ravage one another to have their bodies set free
    Revealing their art and souls
    So many never make it beyond the thresholds
    Where being pardoned of chores and scorn
    Forbidden children remain tethered to kites painted with suns
    Carried away in tatters by the storm
    Lame highways will never let us walk correctly with the ghost
    Crawling to petition instead
    We will never see that home or its gracious host
    Faceless witnesses come back
    Watch the remnants of a warm kiss evaporate from the glass
    As it always happens for the born and reborn
    The first and last night will inevitably pass
    At dawn away from each other we turn
    Outside to an unforgiving world
    To often we yearn
    For the final snow of the season
    Not understanding what has been given away
    Abandoning the years we saved ourselves, for no reason
    Scribbling down all of your day’s labor, later to savor
    Blank pages, now stories of favor
    Lessons be taught
    About art, puberty, bad dreams, all we discern
    Lessons we never can learn
    The frustrations that come from within us
    And the lasting fires that burn


  • #2
    My dear The second, how good it is to see you. And strewth! what a return from hiatus! It is a pleasure to enter second-world again - every line turns down a new path, offering dizzying vistas, or breaks open something sealed and spills its treasure, trick, or terror.


    • The second
      The second commented
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      Thank You Kindly Grant

  • #3
    I'm on Grant's page here, and this is another of those pieces that is going to take repeated visits to even begin to absorb. Bravo TS. Bravo.


    • The second
      The second commented
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      Thank You RLW

  • #4
    you have uncorked frustration and what flows out is dazzling. wow!


    • The second
      The second commented
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      Thank You LG

  • #5
    Wow! The amount of content here, the muse endlessly flowing like a river. I sit in wonder asking myself, 'How did he do this. What broke the dam?' How can I adequately respond to this epic script. I admire this and you TS. This is an extension of you, your intensely provocative mind. Let the river flow endlessly for all our pleasure!


    • The second
      The second commented
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      Thank You BDB

  • #6
    The second With this piece like so many others that come from your genius mind soul I can read through or pick one line sit and be almost overwhelmed by thought and feelings and awe. I am in total agreement with grant hayes and if I may borrow his line, this offered up dizzying vistas...Forbidden children remain tethered to kites painted with suns
    Carried away in tatters by the storm


    • The second
      The second commented
      Editing a comment
      Thank You Suz-Zen

  • #7
    A very powerful piece! I can only echo the words of those before me...


    • #8
      You speak of things most people are afraid to even acknowledge - the dam has broken and cannot be corked. Very strong TS.


      • The second
        The second commented
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        Thank You Alexandrathelate