As Old As Art
They stood for something in a time when everything was lost.
As the times changed then so would its people change too, it was that simple, and on a grand scale.
So the painting was global in that, they would be so open as to take in the whole world.
Not attached to a part of time but be able to reach everyone for all of time.
This was achieved by keeping things very simple and only using colours which were common to nature.
It was getting late now, and as the moon went down behind some clouds, he decided to call it a night.
Poetry here.
Re: Poetry here.
Dirty and battered, dusty painting of now, colour faded aesthetic.
The paintings were like windows to a church, what projecting light into the space of the viewer was.
They stood for something in a time when everything was lost. As the times changed then so would its people change too, it was that simple, and on a grand scale.
So the painting was global in that, they would be so open as to take in the whole world. Not attached to a part of time but able to reach everyone for all of time. This was achieved by keeping things very simple and only using colours which were common to nature.
It was getting late, and as the moon went down behind some clouds, he decided to call it a night.
The paintings were like windows to a church, what projecting light into the space of the viewer was.
They stood for something in a time when everything was lost. As the times changed then so would its people change too, it was that simple, and on a grand scale.
So the painting was global in that, they would be so open as to take in the whole world. Not attached to a part of time but able to reach everyone for all of time. This was achieved by keeping things very simple and only using colours which were common to nature.
It was getting late, and as the moon went down behind some clouds, he decided to call it a night.
Re: Poetry here.
many-sided man
you can take office anywhere
as farmer, legistrator, fisherman, builder
do you able to combine numerous talents
as soldier, statesmen, cook, and blacksmith
you can take office anywhere
as farmer, legistrator, fisherman, builder
do you able to combine numerous talents
as soldier, statesmen, cook, and blacksmith
Re: Poetry here.
The artworks are used, to usurp the existing paradigm and supplant it, with an aesthetic of wonderment, engagement and ethical potentiality.
To follow what is happening in the world and make art that is politically, philosophically and anthropologically aware, and that wants to intervene.
To follow what is happening in the world and make art that is politically, philosophically and anthropologically aware, and that wants to intervene.
Re: Poetry here.
To float above the chaos is where the work is positioned. To delve too deep means becoming tarnished by the brush of now. Float over the chaos as steam does hot water. The steam is a part of it yet wants to go where water cannot.
Re: Poetry here.
The paintings were like windows to a church, what projecting light into the space of the viewer was
Beaten up and damaged battle flags of perception
Beaten up and damaged battle flags of perception
Re: Poetry here.
Steam goes where water cannot yet is of it
Re: Poetry here.
Fair Trade
In wars
we trade with the enemy:
left arm for a right eye,
burnt face for a kidney,
orphans for orphans,…
it’s not always a fair trade
but the one who was counting
is already dead.
It’s all so practical,
supply lines for
our tools:
shells, bullets,
gas for our trucks, tanks,
and our flame throwers too...
paper clips, pencils, official forms
that need to be filled in
with the names of the dead.
Surgeons operate
on conveyor belt
of young people,
so full of blood…
and we don’t always have
the right kind
to fill them up,
help them to kill
more boys,
on the wrong side,
heroic dead.
Our pilots drop bombs
on your village,
in exchange for the same...
our wives will weep for us,
answered by the sobbing
of your loved ones,
back where you have been
dragged from, or duped,
to come here,
to be crippled or dead.
When it’s all over
with nothing accomplished,
our leaders will make
noble speeches
while wreaths will be hung
over crosses in neat rows
in white forests,
flags draped over caskets,
and the heroic wool
over stupid, stupid, gullible minds,
lamenting the fate
of the glorious dead.
In wars
we trade with the enemy:
left arm for a right eye,
burnt face for a kidney,
orphans for orphans,…
it’s not always a fair trade
but the one who was counting
is already dead.
It’s all so practical,
supply lines for
our tools:
shells, bullets,
gas for our trucks, tanks,
and our flame throwers too...
paper clips, pencils, official forms
that need to be filled in
with the names of the dead.
Surgeons operate
on conveyor belt
of young people,
so full of blood…
and we don’t always have
the right kind
to fill them up,
help them to kill
more boys,
on the wrong side,
heroic dead.
Our pilots drop bombs
on your village,
in exchange for the same...
our wives will weep for us,
answered by the sobbing
of your loved ones,
back where you have been
dragged from, or duped,
to come here,
to be crippled or dead.
When it’s all over
with nothing accomplished,
our leaders will make
noble speeches
while wreaths will be hung
over crosses in neat rows
in white forests,
flags draped over caskets,
and the heroic wool
over stupid, stupid, gullible minds,
lamenting the fate
of the glorious dead.
Re: Poetry here.
Predation
If believed in ‘god’
I would have to hate ‘his’ ‘Intelligent Design’:
“Eat and be eaten!”,
that’s the commandment,
obeyed by ‘his’ creatures:
the lion rips the throat of the zebra,
a pack of wolves tears a deer apart,
the fox devours the rabbit,
the cat ‘plays’ with the mouse,
praying mantis munches on butterflies,
Venus flytrap digests insects,
humans, on top of the food chain,
kill, use, torture them all,
including their own kind.
If you are a true believer
how can’t you see that
it would have been nothing
to your ‘omnipotent’ ‘father’
to base ‘his’ design of all of us
on photosynthesis?
Did ‘he’ like pain, fear, suffering?
Is it divine entertainment?
We did not deserve
to be condemned
to live on a planet
dominated by teeth and claws!
This ‘design’ is anything but intelligent:
wasteful, cruel, inefficient;
needlessly too complicated:
we don’t absorb sunlight
as plants do, turning photons to food,
we receive it indirectly,
in a parasitic way,
by devouring each other!
No loving ‘god’ designed us…
blind, evolving nature is our true mother!
If believed in ‘god’
I would have to hate ‘his’ ‘Intelligent Design’:
“Eat and be eaten!”,
that’s the commandment,
obeyed by ‘his’ creatures:
the lion rips the throat of the zebra,
a pack of wolves tears a deer apart,
the fox devours the rabbit,
the cat ‘plays’ with the mouse,
praying mantis munches on butterflies,
Venus flytrap digests insects,
humans, on top of the food chain,
kill, use, torture them all,
including their own kind.
If you are a true believer
how can’t you see that
it would have been nothing
to your ‘omnipotent’ ‘father’
to base ‘his’ design of all of us
on photosynthesis?
Did ‘he’ like pain, fear, suffering?
Is it divine entertainment?
We did not deserve
to be condemned
to live on a planet
dominated by teeth and claws!
This ‘design’ is anything but intelligent:
wasteful, cruel, inefficient;
needlessly too complicated:
we don’t absorb sunlight
as plants do, turning photons to food,
we receive it indirectly,
in a parasitic way,
by devouring each other!
No loving ‘god’ designed us…
blind, evolving nature is our true mother!
Re: Poetry here.
Earth is like a soap on a rope
Earth is like a soap on a rope
twirled around by the sun,
year after year,
in an endless run.
I wonder if the sun is aware
how sick, how beyond hope
how badly infested by us
this poor globe is at the end of the rope.
If I were the sun
I would not want to know…
…I would open my hand;
let the poor bastards go.
Earth is like a soap on a rope
twirled around by the sun,
year after year,
in an endless run.
I wonder if the sun is aware
how sick, how beyond hope
how badly infested by us
this poor globe is at the end of the rope.
If I were the sun
I would not want to know…
…I would open my hand;
let the poor bastards go.
-
Dalek Prime
- Posts: 4922
- Joined: Tue Apr 14, 2015 4:48 am
- Location: Living in a tree with Polly.
Re: Poetry here.
Ned, love you're poetry, and what it's saying. Cheers.
Re: Poetry here.
Thank you, Dalek, they are samples from my poetry collection I published in 2013, under the title: "The Prism of my Mind".
Available both in print and on Kindle.
One more before I leave the stage for someone else -- it is a short Haiku:
Evolution
While thumbing his phone
he walks into a lamp post.
Evolution sighs.
Available both in print and on Kindle.
One more before I leave the stage for someone else -- it is a short Haiku:
Evolution
While thumbing his phone
he walks into a lamp post.
Evolution sighs.
Re: Poetry here.
Movie
Dictate
Future
Dictate
Future
Re: Poetry here.
One of the greatest poets I know: Attila Jozsef (Hungarian) wrote a poem commenting on how the worst butchers in history were innocent babies once. There is an image in that poem that has been haunting me for fifty years and now I will attempt to translate it into a haiku format.
Infants
Don't trust the infant:
while it's smiling at the breast,
grows its teeth and claws.
Infants
Don't trust the infant:
while it's smiling at the breast,
grows its teeth and claws.