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Mitch Prax Aug 17
You are
the kind of art
that would lure Picasso
and be unable to turn away.
You are the masterpiece
that no one could
understand.
AD Mullin Jul 29
When the rhymes start poppin'
and the beats start flowin'
it's probably a sign that
it's time to get going
and maybe just maybe even

((( CAUSE A COMMOTION )))

Now is the time
where the hero-self
starts bubbling up
its a time to start stepping
stepping into the presence
stepping out of the prison and
into heaven.
Cause it be all effervescing like:
pop, pop, pop

then I turn around to have a see
and as I am looking up and down
at the old me, well I gotta confess

I don't like what I used to be
while at the same time
I've got to admit
I love that man-boy too
cause he was me and he was you

You see, I was an egocentric
and a pretender
who was never ever ever gonna be a contender
when I realize that if I linger to long
it's my past that pulls me out of song
and I refuse to be losing ******
so let's turn back to front and centre
leg go and
just trust, trust, trust

I am getting wide awake on these energies
gonna ride these waves if you please
unless my trust is misplaced in
post-modernity

I figure it's time
that I unsettle my debts
from my colonization, my plebiation,
and my consternation.

The only way out seemed to be within.

Cause what's wrong with the world might be what is
within

So unfurled my flag
let the mystery free
raised my fist and shouted
Pleiades, Pleiades, let me hear you sing
It's time for us Man
lets bring down that sweet thing

I can't put my finger on what happened next
We've all been waiting for that
lighthouse bringer, that aetheric singer,
someone who was willing to point that finger
I just didn't think it was going to be a ginger.

Then I fell asleep and when I awoke
who was I but a medicine keeper

If I ever learned nothing from Pablo Piccaso
is that it ain't no fun living like a big *******

Just funnin' Pablo, don't take no offence
I love it how you went swinging for fence
every time you woke up
to live in the moment
but it's what you saw and
how you saw it that makes me feel
- raw, raw, raw -

As I tried to deconstruct your craft
it deconstructed me and
the only way out of the enigma
was to twist myself up into a new reality

So there I was sitting
my flag unfurled
in my missed fortune
lost in-between
feeling unseen

A look in the mirror revealed a fractured self
a person separated from his wealth
so I said **** this and went looking for health.
Written August 2019
Sydney V Nov 2019
There is a melody that sings,
of a dream lost in time, with music
that fits the space  
that can’t be filled.
She is as real to you,  
as the wood in your hands
and at night, beyond the timbre of your guitar  
that murmurs melodies about a world
too many understand.
What once was elegant boulevards
in Madrid, are now  
a melodic strain  
of fleeting moments, trapped  
in colorless discontent.
This is an attempt at ekphrastic poetry, which I based of the X-ray version of 'The Old Guitarist" by Pablo Picasso. I highly suggest looking up this image, as it speaks differently than the one that is commonly known, and it may make the poem easier to understand.
J J Aug 2019
Along the grass,beneath the sky
The draconic sun vitrified
The lover figurines.
Flattening them
Adjacent to the surface,
Skin blent in crackly tessellation,
Deforming to fit the sphere,adhering to it's
Wondrous silence.
Frail limbs minute,heart's heavy as whole islands.

Is it not love embodied to lay defined as an image?
To be held as shatterless glass,reflecting it's deity's melting
In progress, 'neath the star that impelled a shelter,
The star that paved their meeting,that overlooked
Their life and death in a predetermined stasis,
The divinity that shimmered underfoot at all times,
The star that held all places of the earth in one.

The figurine lovers, faceless mannikinis
Sentenced to worship forever without a choice,
For prior love, for prior sins,
It matters not--they rot and twist as the Sun's play-dice.
each morning when she brushes her makeup on her face
she feels like picasso painting a masterpiece
she is a beautiful piece of artwork
Hunter Green Jan 2019
The paintings!
The rain has destroyed the art.
The colors drip like blood from the canvas,
The shapes mix together and blur with the meaning.
No one could plan this.
The memories!
The shame has broken the heart.
My honesty crumbles each time I’m reminded,
Their brush strokes fade under new ones,
Like no one minded.
EP Robles Sep 2018
PICASSO where do you draw the line!
     disjointed reasons
etched across my mind
a
  proverbial t hou ght
o  n
hinge
what say you my man - so abstract!
     rejoicing voices
love s hare s  bisecting angels
and pleasure di verge across
p o in ts
a fissure in creativity moves!
     you  c r a w l e d  out
punching real ity  in the jaw

shattering concepts --
creating new law!

:: - ::
Lovely art.  Surrealism and abstraction are best for me.  Realism is the thing outside the window.
Introducing Picasso and Nunez aka ANu Picasso a pair of L.A. poets and painters coming to a gallery near you.  

Our first big gig will be at the Nuetra Gallery and Museum on Glendale Blvd. in Silver Lake coming up in September.

Come check out East and West Balanced, it will surely be an art show you'll always remember.  

Curated and coordinated by the one and only, Dulce Stein, Dulcepalloza 2018 guarantees a good time.

Just another ditty on who we are, this is a poem my partner Picasso put out:

BALANCED

He is the torch
I am the white
He is the dark
I am the light
We don't impress
   to be blessed.
We're blessed
   to impress
Hate us or love us
But don't love to hate us
We're the Ying and
the Yang of this Earth
Both with the
same day of birth
He is the east
and I am the west
But together we're
simply the best.
You are all cordially invited to the Neutra Museum and Gallery in Silver Lake, CA for our first big show at Dulcepalloza 2018.
Exact dates will be posted in subsequent poem.  Follow or stay tuned for details
Hae Sun Jul 2018
Today I saw Picasso’s self-portraits only to realize that at 14 years of age, he painted a man 5 times as old as him, believing that it was how he looked like or at least how he sees himself. At 15, he painted a woman who, under any circumstances, does not look like him nor his mother. As he grew older, the paintings became more distorted or rather abstract and surreal that some even looked like there was more than just one person in the frame. His last painting, I assume, is a face but if you look closer you will realize that they are pieces from different puzzles, that somehow, although they fit together, they are not from just one thing – but aren’t we all are?

Picasso, consumed his days thoughtfully to paint such masterpiece that reflects who he is – that he is not just any other person, that he is not just one person. He is a combination of many, the past and present, his mother and his father, the anima and the animus – all these are parts of himself, who, when put together become the Picasso who he knows.

Picasso has mastered it ahead of us – that we are more than just a face, we are a parade of many and if we do not recognize it, we might end up painting faces we don’t know, becoming a stranger inside a home.
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