Showing posts with label pickin'(theMindof)theFro. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pickin'(theMindof)theFro. Show all posts

Thursday, April 4, 2002

see through effect

this thin paper
allows for a see through effect
don’t quite know
what to think about that
as someone in the room
burps out loud
it’s day to day really
like a patient dying in bed
one day the pen can’t be stopped
the next day brings empty pages thoughts
caught in the blinds
up behind the best seat in the house
a painting of the patient man waiting
until he has some confidence
before he attempts to climb down
from his perch high above
as if height mattered
it never has
this short man has a story to tell…

Wednesday, April 3, 2002

thought expands

right in the middle
too much to expect sun
rob the rich of thought
put yesterday back
what now as thought expands
relaxing with emptiness
or hours not speaking
in because he put himself there
who yawns when they are not tired
what now when thought expands
only wish to capture with pen
all that the eyes might miss
all the detail overlooked
now under the influence
of inspiration
what moveable object will go
untouched
what Rimbaud never shared lost
found in recesses of the imagination
found in a thought given
standing tall now as the short man
swears he has been improperly judged
indecently exposed and he has been
in good company reaching into
the empty heart too full to comprehend
and he will stumble now
yet to be determined
what now as thought expands
Rimbaud whispers in the dark
moving this pen
vision he no longer has to imagine
only open eyes
what now when thought expands…

whatever comes next

he’s got an idea
and so he dives down
and swims to the bottom of the mug
holding his breath
hiding-almost
but he does want to be noticed
this time around the edge
watching her dance
suddenly remembers he doesn’t swim
he now sits at the bottom
waiting for salvation or death
surprise or whatever comes next...

subtle hopeful shimmer

subtle hopeful shimmer
in the ash tray
catching some extra sunshine
the day before to get
him through another cloudy day
the weather no longer seems
to govern his mood
rises above that of any ‘normal’
or recognizable place he has been
sitting still enough to be a painting
too long and it’s time to move
where his heart might be appreciated
and no one really knows
as he often finds out
searching so hard can reveal
that what is being search for
lies quietly beneath his fingers…