Posts tagged with ‘minimalism’

X perhaps

has a distinctive shape,
a deep green
yellow space

in tongues.
There is no writing
in the lake.

The throat
wheels
on Tuesday.

Scalings of a sentence
form a third kind
descending
toware me
through seasons.

Why the delay
of useless objects?
Who told you these things?
I do not recognize this music

seed text: The Lion Bridge, by Michael Palmer
art by dead_lawns

X perhaps

has a distinctive shape,
a deep green
yellow space

in tongues.
There is no writing
in the lake.

The throat
wheels
on Tuesday.

Scalings of a sentence
form a third kind
descending
toware me
through seasons.

Why the delay
of useless objects?
Who told you these things?
I do not recognize this music

seed text: The Lion Bridge, by Michael Palmer
art by dead_lawns

Cruel

You are cruel,
bad-looking,
equally painful /

and the autumn air,
can’t undertake to work
from subsequent and more cruel occurrences—

enough material 
without the thought.

seed text: The Turn of the Screw and Other Short Novels, by Henry James
art by d0125

Cruel

You are cruel,
bad-looking,
equally painful /

and the autumn air,
can’t undertake to work
from subsequent and more cruel occurrences—

enough material
without the thought.

seed text: The Turn of the Screw and Other Short Novels, by Henry James
art by d0125

Almost Go On

What he gave them
wouldn’t almost go on.

She told him
that his house is poisoned
and modesty
anything 
conferred
by the 
the smooth hard floor.

His poetry
still passed:
a sort of sense of looking
in simplified, intensified essence.

I will go
about my absence
a new person:

the matter
going off there

inveterate,
afraid.

seed text: The Turn of the Screw and Other Short Novels, by Henry James
art by d0125

Almost Go On

What he gave them
wouldn’t almost go on.

She told him
that his house is poisoned
and modesty
anything
conferred
by the
the smooth hard floor.

His poetry
still passed:
a sort of sense of looking
in simplified, intensified essence.

I will go
about my absence
a new person:

the matter
going off there

inveterate,
afraid.

seed text: The Turn of the Screw and Other Short Novels, by Henry James
art by d0125

The Stars

The stars—
where did they take you?

Into themselves.

Their black mouths
wrapped in silence.

The iron
nakedness.

There is only one subject:
the blind man
at the windows

the eighty-third room
the blue the green
the shadow
and the sea.

seed text: The Second Four Books of Poems, W.S. Merwin
art by cimek

The Stars

The stars—
where did they take you?

Into themselves.

Their black mouths
wrapped in silence.

The iron
nakedness.

There is only one subject:
the blind man
at the windows

the eighty-third room
the blue the green
the shadow
and the sea.

seed text: The Second Four Books of Poems, W.S. Merwin
art by cimek

Lake

A hundred years from now
it is raining in my room.

From the window
is seen
eyes looking at themselves
on a white horse.
Beyond that, the hillside.

Over the ocean
two old peasants
dream
of an angel

its threads made
by the light of the candle
in many dwellings.

Man makes his poem
because
the hard road
smells.

All things must vanish
into the lake.

seed text: Eyes to See Otherwise, by Homero Aridjis 
art by I Am Shipwrecked | Collage Art

Lake

A hundred years from now
it is raining in my room.

From the window
is seen
eyes looking at themselves
on a white horse.
Beyond that, the hillside.

Over the ocean
two old peasants
dream
of an angel

its threads made
by the light of the candle
in many dwellings.

Man makes his poem
because
the hard road
smells.

All things must vanish
into the lake.


seed text: Eyes to See Otherwise, by Homero Aridjis
art by I Am Shipwrecked | Collage Art

of what use

of what use is
the ex-inner sanctum

to live in
says the universe

yellow pink light
of a fractured Heaven

the memory of something 
we dream

a long, soaking rain
bonytoungued

part of a swarm
awkwardly on top of itself

its specificity
inverted

among the xylophone-flora
I could have hatched

as others have
atonal though rhythmic

a kind of finesse
of being

seed text: The Arcadia Project: North American Postmodern Pastoral
art by aci2

of what use

of what use is
the ex-inner sanctum

to live in
says the universe

yellow pink light
of a fractured Heaven

the memory of something
we dream

a long, soaking rain
bonytoungued

part of a swarm
awkwardly on top of itself

its specificity
inverted

among the xylophone-flora
I could have hatched

as others have
atonal though rhythmic

a kind of finesse
of being

seed text: The Arcadia Project: North American Postmodern Pastoral
art by aci2

where love resists

so much rain
in the mind’s
soundless azure:

night’s improbable snake
with his voluptuously swept
single feather

fanning out,
a dense powder
of good acts

ghost of lillith,
the volcano they called the “phonograph”

/

leaning on the broken column
I find my impossible cigarette

but that’s life
unless I surrender
to the face,

a music of whimpers
within your watery brow

between two chiseled
enormous indigo flowers



seed text: Captive of the Vision of Paradise, by Ivan Arguelles
art by zenoiii

where love resists

so much rain
in the mind’s
soundless azure:

night’s improbable snake
with his voluptuously swept
single feather

fanning out,
a dense powder
of good acts

ghost of lillith,
the volcano they called the “phonograph”

/

leaning on the broken column
I find my impossible cigarette

but that’s life
unless I surrender
to the face,

a music of whimpers
within your watery brow

between two chiseled
enormous indigo flowers


seed text: Captive of the Vision of Paradise, by Ivan Arguelles
art by zenoiii

over it

it was nice just being
over it
one might say

sudden reversal
on its hinges

like serious implications
of the sparse
though pure
flag
stricken with the power of the floor

its truly sensitive surface
all but unreadable
in the new financial age

losing permanently
the orchard that was right for you
in the new climate
you thought your life had been

seed text: Flow Chart, by John Ashbery
art by jccssd

over it

it was nice just being
over it
one might say

sudden reversal
on its hinges

like serious implications
of the sparse
though pure
flag
stricken with the power of the floor

its truly sensitive surface
all but unreadable
in the new financial age

losing permanently
the orchard that was right for you
in the new climate
you thought your life had been


seed text: Flow Chart, by John Ashbery
art by jccssd

in general

We should have pleased each other
in general,
a single human being.

The force of 
abstemioussness
without preparation.

The contemplation of truth—
a description of 
what scripture tells us is certain.

A privilege torn by power
and the common question
in a strange dress.

At once 
a convenience that 
attacks upon him,

a sufficient specimen
that will grow in the open air.

seed text: Boswell’s Life of Johnson
art by rudydesouza

in general

We should have pleased each other
in general,
a single human being.

The force of
abstemioussness
without preparation.

The contemplation of truth—
a description of
what scripture tells us is certain.

A privilege torn by power
and the common question
in a strange dress.

At once
a convenience that
attacks upon him,

a sufficient specimen
that will grow in the open air.

seed text: Boswell’s Life of Johnson
art by rudydesouza

the palms of my hands

an exultant cry
with its pleasing forms
was in no wise 
their true condition

a habit of careful thought,
a pen of fire
across the gulf

spring in its
unerring providence

the scapegoat
unenlightened by
a
perilous journey

and all the
safe-conduct
built by Moses

to see his guilt
wide open
in the advancement
of every degree

a single point
that
the mountain
continues to
thirst for

_______art by julietwitchell

the palms of my hands

an exultant cry
with its pleasing forms
was in no wise
their true condition

a habit of careful thought,
a pen of fire
across the gulf

spring in its
unerring providence

the scapegoat
unenlightened by
a
perilous journey

and all the
safe-conduct
built by Moses

to see his guilt
wide open
in the advancement
of every degree

a single point
that
the mountain
continues to
thirst for

_______
art by julietwitchell

Ego


It is a mist
disclosing another place

with no knowledge of
a particular.

The people
leading me now

dragging you after
to make you

open up
at its feet.

There roses
devoured us all.

Yet the eyes
in the air, surely,

as sun
forgotten sits

to keep its own
toward impulse.

seed text: The Collected Poems of Robert Creeley, 1945-1975art by wagicmagic

Ego


It is a mist
disclosing another place

with no knowledge of
a particular.

The people
leading me now

dragging you after
to make you

open up
at its feet.

There roses
devoured us all.

Yet the eyes
in the air, surely,

as sun
forgotten sits

to keep its own
toward impulse.


seed text: The Collected Poems of Robert Creeley, 1945-1975
art by wagicmagic

Wave Land


The light of hemp urges
when I turn on the bulb

sealed
across the page
by withering statement

as if
in loafish glare
at the high ice
of summer solids.

Can a steeple
fuse
a mildness
from their noses?

Those locks are scald
in the greenery
of conduits—

oils gone earthen
in Wave Land.

seed text: Solution Passage, by Clark Coolidgeart by 1924us

Wave Land


The light of hemp urges
when I turn on the bulb

sealed
across the page
by withering statement

as if
in loafish glare
at the high ice
of summer solids.

Can a steeple
fuse
a mildness
from their noses?

Those locks are scald
in the greenery
of conduits—

oils gone earthen
in Wave Land.


seed text: Solution Passage, by Clark Coolidge
art by 1924us

uttered


I part thick curtains
of love itself.
A gentle combing out,
stages of purgation
the happy atheist could not accept.

The possibility of going out
to observe that it strikes
in the early part
of constant self-digestion,

the ultimate human value
never without self-consciousness
such as a death or a civil war.

Miscellaneous
emotional weight
fills
his tonal horizon—

irruption of the visionary
uttered from the dry well.

seed text: Finders Keepers, by Seamus Heaneyart by so_may

uttered


I part thick curtains
of love itself.
A gentle combing out,
stages of purgation
the happy atheist could not accept.

The possibility of going out
to observe that it strikes
in the early part
of constant self-digestion,

the ultimate human value
never without self-consciousness
such as a death or a civil war.

Miscellaneous
emotional weight
fills
his tonal horizon—

irruption of the visionary
uttered from the dry well.


seed text: Finders Keepers, by Seamus Heaney
art by so_may

these eyes


I am these eyes
and whales filled
beneath the air flowing

I was born
like a winged tiger
bound for the other world

fauna pricked to madness
ripped from
the dark shaped that moved

allowing blind justice
into a fiery statue

a way of forgettings
with the eye and hand.

seed text: Eyes to See Otherwise, by Homero Aridjisart by benjaminedward

these eyes


I am these eyes
and whales filled
beneath the air flowing

I was born
like a winged tiger
bound for the other world

fauna pricked to madness
ripped from
the dark shaped that moved

allowing blind justice
into a fiery statue

a way of forgettings
with the eye and hand.


seed text: Eyes to See Otherwise, by Homero Aridjis
art by benjaminedward

sparing


He examined himself
with his long, discolored face
a few weeks old

cheekbones to tell him
new crimes

sparing feelings
to unnerve
his mouth.

He breathed promises
we must define
with fabric
to the most urgent needs

for these ideals
get him off

for a minute
around the head

into the pool of
your bloody agenda—

and there is the shadowplay world
almost shocked out

in all the years
not leaving Paris.

seed text: A Place of Greater Safety, by Hilary Mantelart by Thomas Robson

sparing


He examined himself
with his long, discolored face
a few weeks old

cheekbones to tell him
new crimes

sparing feelings
to unnerve
his mouth.

He breathed promises
we must define
with fabric
to the most urgent needs

for these ideals
get him off

for a minute
around the head

into the pool of
your bloody agenda—

and there is the shadowplay world
almost shocked out

in all the years
not leaving Paris.


seed text: A Place of Greater Safety, by Hilary Mantel
art by Thomas Robson