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Once pen is put to paper
have a deeply felt responsibility
to complete their works.

Even when drawing for themselves,
they are secretly drawing for you,
their invisible audience.
Tertius Oculus Feb 2019
As I arrived at the apex of my life
I took a look around and saw
that I was not myself as I once had been,
I am now a faint copy, soft lines with blunt edges.
There was nothing sharp, dynamic or bold left of me.
I sacrificed my inner fire to create
a more welcoming environment for somebody else.
I had turned myself into a picket fence
when I was once not only a steep mountain
but the entire horizon.
Glenn Currier Dec 2018
“It is our function as artists to make the spectator see the world our way not his.”   - Mark Rothko

To have the guts like Sinatra’s to declare
through regrets, tears and despair
“I got through it all and did it my way”
Oh, to trust the power in me and stay
always authentic and true
to my point of view
no matter how out of sync
or what proper poets think

The Rothko chapel with its paintings of black
took me completely aback
they seemed non-paintings to me
but I sat in the changing light and could see
the artistry in that quiet urban place
I could feel his gentle grace
he forced me to see his world
in his hues and strokes and curls

A Rothko or Sinatra I am not
but if in my lines are caught
the sweet or dark breath of my muse
if I speak in my voice with its hues
maybe a whiff of spirit there
will cast a piece of my soul and snare
someone’s musing causing them to write
and fling out their world in their light.
The Rothko Chapel is on the University of St. Thomas campus in Houston, Texas.  It is an irregular octagonal brick building with gray or rose stucco walls and a baffled skylight.  It serves as a place of meditation as well as a meeting hall and is furnished with eight simple, moveable benches for meditative seating. About 55,000 people visit the chapel each year.  Fourteen of Rothko's paintings are displayed in the chapel. Three walls display triptychs, while the other five walls display single paintings. Beginning in 1964, Rothko began painting a series of black paintings, which incorporated other dark hues and texture effects.  [Based on article in Wikipedia]
Taliesin Dec 2018
See them go..
A million suicidal shamblers, staring out
Hatred and beauty and dilated eyes
And long hair punks waiting for a revolution that will save them. United in disunity, calmed by deaths and shocked by wonders of medicine
Cool and collected, lost and dyslexic
They wonder at the halogen lights and stare at extinguished candles
Catching at the edge of their sight a whiff of angel-smoke
How many were cast out and how many ran
To this mecca, this eden, this dying heaven
Filled with the dead? Who knows
They are the ones who wander in daylight through the city square
Swigging red wine and chanting obscene hymns
Naked millennial drag kings of all they survey
living in art deco flats, old factories and empty rooms
they lie awake and listening to the shunting streets outside
and the symphony of buskers on the corner.
They love each other in wild ******
Dancing to rhythms stolen from slave songs
Screaming, bellies full of claret
And brassic basic dysphoric cravings they writhe and fall
And hum against each others’ bodies
Drawing knives along each others’ veins
And hope,
Frozen,
Waiting for the revolution.

That will save them.
Ayan Dec 2018
Strokes of paint,
Smudged over the face.
Hiding below it
The skin fades.

                The touch remains -
                That of a mother's hands
                Over her child's face.

For behind the canvas
Is where the art is,
And it's not up to us
To make a masterpiece.
But to try...
...Is what makes us artists.
B Nov 2018
If a painter
took his brushes unto me.
Would I remain a stranger?
His hands were stone,
cold and alone.
Yet his eyes steady as a storm.
And I, a simple masterpiece
afraid only to be torn.
Denise Uy Oct 2018
Ivory frozen in grace,
Lifeless sight unerased.
They take their place
in the hall of fame.
The artist, the art,
we know their names.
Art <3
Gabriel Bonney Oct 2018
Why I cannot tell you,
I do not know.
Why I can't bear to speak,
I'm not sure.
Why I can only communicate my soul this way,
I don't understand.
Why this is the only language I'm fluent in,
I have no clue why.
This is why I seek out people who speak like me,
born with a stranger's tongue,
a dialect not many can comprehend.
This is why I can only talk to them,
sending riddles and broken words
even they may not understand.
It's why I don't perceive the language of this world,
but only the coded words found deep in art.
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