May 2016
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Spun in a windstorm of caustic insisting
Plastered like mud on the walls of Pompeii
Frescos of joy before charcoal was misting
Writing in ash, catastrophic display
Poetic spittle once cast to the broken
Scribbled in diction now smeared in the rain
So many follow yet nothing is spoken
Below these skies with the cherry red stain
There in the distance a magpie is flying
Scavenging wings while you shout from the ground
Above a truth midst the unending lying
Circling nightmares of places you’re bound
Can it be art if it’s not as remembered
Past of the days when you ****** in the snow
Spelling your name as your mother was watching
Turning in shame as if she didn’t know
Damning Picasso for changing direction
How can a nose sit so far from the face
*******’s spilled paint way beyond your detection
Charging a gallery, demanding your space
Photo laced albums of cellophane pages
Developed by hand in a room with no light
Look at these kids and their digital stages
Feigning creative, it just isn’t right
Does this explain every tactical action
While you count blocks as if streets don’t exist
Pulling a woodpecker’s tail to get traction
Hiding the reason you just can’t resist
You say that art can be all that we’re thinking
Then in the same breath you say it’s not true
Often we wonder if you have been drinking
Make up your mind, it’s the least you can do
You are all artists, yes you who are reading
Writing your words that you put on display
Spilling your heart while emotions are bleeding
It breaks my heart when I hear someone say
It can’t be art, all those losers are dreaming
Seeing and clicking and sending and such
Downloaded images, videos streaming
When the truth is, you are just out of touch
Spun in a windstorm of caustic insisting
Plastered like mud on the walls of Pompeii
Frescos of joy before charcoal was misting
Writing in ash, catastrophic display
Poetic spittle once cast to the broken
Scribbled in diction now smeared in the rain
So many follow yet nothing is spoken
Below these skies with the cherry red stain
There in the distance a magpie is flying
Scavenging wings while you shout from the ground
Above a truth midst the unending lying
Circling nightmares of places you’re bound
Can it be art if it’s not as remembered
Past of the days when you ****** in the snow
Spelling your name as your mother was watching
Turning in shame as if she didn’t know
Damning Picasso for changing direction
How can a nose sit so far from the face
*******’s spilled paint way beyond your detection
Charging a gallery, demanding your space
Photo laced albums of cellophane pages
Developed by hand in a room with no light
Look at these kids and their digital stages
Feigning creative, it just isn’t right
Does this explain every tactical action
While you count blocks as if streets don’t exist
Pulling a woodpecker’s tail to get traction
Hiding the reason you just can’t resist
You say that art can be all that we’re thinking
Then in the same breath you say it’s not true
Often we wonder if you have been drinking
Make up your mind, it’s the least you can do
You are all artists, yes you who are reading
Writing your words that you put on display
Spilling your heart while emotions are bleeding
It breaks my heart when I hear someone say
It can’t be art, all those losers are dreaming
Seeing and clicking and sending and such
Downloaded images, videos streaming
When the truth is, you are just out of touch
Based on something I read where one was saying these kids now a days with their digital art, their I-phone photos are NOT artists, it is NOT art, because it is not how they did it in the past or something like that. Then followed it up with something stating all creative thought is art. Hypocrite is what came to my mind. I am not fond of all types of art, I will admit that but it is still art, it is still someone's expression and feelings. I do a lot of digital art and I'm sorry, I just took offense to this. I believe we are all artists, everyone of us who take the time to express themselves by posting a poem on this site or placing a digital photograph on the internet or anything creative. So keep creating Hellopoets, your art is beautiful.
