#collage
Couldn't go to a festival because Washington, spring starts sharp
automatically surging all freeways and detours with people in cars
just wanting to enjoy the weather we crave while 'gray' layers-up
Construction meant my plans derailed to Goodwill treasures instead
of sitting in my 4 door karaoke room with a steering wheel praying
my freshly single *** would find a pretty face in the lane next to me
Rather, a pair of '68 Time-LIFE Library of America beauties found me
ready to be chopped up for paper collaged creations with red tallboy
on my floor texting freshly moved friends in panhandle, somewhere
The South Central States: Arkansas, Louisiana, Oklohoma, and Texas
Thumbing through one of two to find ole Clarence Krigbaum smoking
his prideful cigar in the middle of his gold fire-hazard of a wheat crop
Clarence, in your hay day to my today - I wonder how your LIFE and TIME Central '68 pride field pictured derailed what you'd planned
I wish Mr. Krigbaum, wheat king risking blazing dreams, you'd see
who spent floored TIME Central '26 Western pace staring at your face
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 3:01 PM UTC
The time of man
Chooses the future
Is it true
or only a violent episode?
The growth of the unique
Are revolutionizing our ideas
Stripping away the broken
In public by an audience of connoisseurs
The king is dead
What will the robin do then, poor thing?
Suds in your eye
Household words
Two thousand years of war
Enjoyed at home
In a city in love with
The critic's view
Sep 25, 2023
Sep 25, 2023 at 8:29 PM UTC
Thought is finding its shape,
Becoming stronger¹,
And word by word,
Layer upon layer,
Self-erasing,
Taking form².
The mind is a collage
Creating itself from cut-up scraps¹;
It is a sculpture built by a flowing
Fountain of sand,
Both constantly being eroded
And being formed
And grown by the erosion²,
The sculpting fingers of erosion¹,
The sculpted shadows of forgetfulness².
Grains of memory
Beneath the fingernails¹,
They fall, they forget;
One remains².
Mar 22, 2022
Mar 22, 2022 at 6:12 PM UTC
Day and by night
A girl with no doubt
Still exerts a sort of tidal pull of possibility
I suppose I’m lucky I wasn’t killed in those early days
I learned to be very careful
You know that you are in an extraordinary place
I have greatly expanded my knowledge and understanding of how these work
And probably just in time
Lived richer, fuller, more satisfying lives than you can imagine…
I want them to know that they came from
The beauty of the mountains, meadows, streams, and sky,
That beauty is clear
Blooming Beauty is Boundless
Painless, selfless, endless
It reflects contentment
You should live life based on how you feel,
Extend human knowledge as an explorer,
And always want to fight evil.
Thank you
Peace out
Respectfully
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 1:29 AM UTC
i always said you were the star
some kind of genius
and then right out of the blue,
he makes his garden.
sweetness.
opposite of terrible.
as had been before
what a tragedy that had been,
one of the few mistakes made,
one that proved victory forever
lovers always loved again,
he'd believed that.
a dream of happiness
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 12:46 PM UTC
No matter what you do
Your past will always haunt you
How hard you run
How long you hide
Past will always find you
Tear you from the inside
Present the world in the collage
Of what you really are
And in the end
All you can do
Either embrace your past
Or curse yourself
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 12:27 PM UTC
It's best on the carpet
kneeling over clippings
vogue magazines and
national geographic
******* from some early year
I cut them up and paste them
sense of control
of placement
tall cotton socks
two-dimensional
nothing digital
shapes in shapes
any way I like it
torn edges
blue paper
make waves
for imaginary boats
capture a memory
a moment
in a scene you can hold
make your own
what could be better than that?
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 3:46 PM UTC
there's a letter I wrote you with no address
in a box beneath my bed
and this isn't a metaphor for the time I spent waiting for you
there's scattered words in my head
playing like a broken record
a collage of tired clichés
holding just enough truth to echo the memories of you
there's nails on my fingers bitten to the brim for every time your name's been in my mouth
and I've tried to wash it down
but something about the wiring in my brain
has fooled me into believing my excess of love
will make up for your lack there of
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 9:30 PM UTC
A genie working on a 9 to 5
Faces telling him to stay alive
Oh no, no!
It is the freakiest show
Their devils sleeping under their bed
But they've got him on house arrest
Oh, why
Are we so eager to try?
Don't mistake me for misunderstanding that you had it bad
Just like your dress this predicament is just a fad
Hey, little gender-bender
Watch for return to sender
Make sure you're by the coast
That's where they'll love you the most
No time for entitlement
Your words are sentient
Trade a board for a pen
We don't need no citizen
I got a secret
I want you to spread it
Play them anything
Show us something
A kid jumped off of the rooftops
To make his way safely to the candy shop
Oh, how
Do people notice a house?
The wise fool begged in the biggest square
They put him in the alley and they listened there
Oh, when
Did they do the "paper-bend"?
Don't mistake me for misunderstanding that you had it all
This crass crusade will surely stop at the nearest shopping mall
Here comes the space heater
With a 9 millimetre
People say he's colour blind
Who's court, his or mine?
The joke from the chieftain
Is that he's a Bohemian
Who you are is never born
Gotta start out forlorn
I got a secret
I want you to spread it
Dance in the streets
Trust your heartbeat
If you are deaf, well, we all feel what we've gotta say
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
I used to write with words
Embodying my individual emotions
In splotches of paint
Now
I write with phrases
Stringing words together to paint a picture
No longer simply splatter paint
...
But a collage
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
Green night in the middle of the day…
Fire rising to ****** the moon,
Uncle Sam’s praying in my room
And the 8-ball will not say
Why a woman holds a gun
To her husband’s sleeping head;
Does she play or just wish him dead?
An armadillo’s included for fun.
Uncle Sam’s lost his hat in the fire
Maybe that’s why he’s praying.
Not for the country he should be saving
While we are conquered by liars.
I’ve tried to make sense of this before:
Masked fiddlers strum in the conflagration,
Dead books, butterflies and chimps run the nation,
…there is luggage on the floor.
Should I run from the scene,
Or stay and try to fight?
I can’t read my books in the deepening night
And there’s a skull waiting just to scream.
The man sleeps on with a gun at his head
And I see another skull by his side.
It must be a sign saying: “run and hide”.
But why can’t I do it?
There’s no way to get through it,
But I must wake up and fight or I’m dead.
June 1, 2006
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 8:00 AM UTC
Terrible remains,
I make them part
Human refuges
in a misused heart
I hang my canvas high
over your head
a painting of a life
not yet led
I place my hand on your anthology
I dissect your words in an attempted autopsy
Inside I find lovers that speak like mourners
my thoughts bleed and accumulate in your corners
I press myself against your notebook
escape others estranged look
And fill your pages with my red
until you're happy and well fed
our bodies are an assembly
our only vessels, bruised and trembly
my armadas of paper boats
may slip through the cracks
to fill us both up
with all that lacks
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 6:43 PM UTC
Here
is worship
And
here namaaz,
Here
Sun Temple
And
here is Taj.
One
singing in temple
and
Dancing day night,
Another
Meditating
While shutting
His sight.
Bible
Is here
And
Here Ardas,
This India
Not Country
but a collage.
Ajay Amitabh Suman
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC
Her trojans in my head
Even when she’s out the door
My body inside my bed
Outside, the rain starts to pour
I see her polka-dotted rain coat
And I long to call her phone
My fingers don’t do what they’re supposed to
Paralyzed by those **** trojans
All in my head, attaching to other nerves
My thoughts crowd around her
The image stark in my mind
She remains so fine and beautiful
But, all I want is to forget
Erase, delete all the regrets
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
In all the pieces of past bits in
Collections and recollections
Every painting and every map
Intentions in all the broken plants
and ripped paper
brought to fullness;
A mirror
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC
Ancient gods beat endless tender minds,
Simple empty sleeping.
Human touch ********
Save dark heart,
Power burning stars forgot skin
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 6:02 AM UTC
He takes photos.
His books are filled
With spilled coffee.
Wavy sun ray hair
Lime green citrus eyes
Sturdy safe shoulders
Rich, melted dark chocolate voice
Pouty peony puckers
Stolen lenses
Quirky movies
Oversized sweaters to cover his quivering hands when he cautiously holds hers.
He reminds me of a child's desk
That was personalized by doodles dinged and carved into it over the years
The desk that his parents probably adore.
He is a collage of all the things he photographs.
He takes pictures of anything and everything
To make himself whole.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
She is a collage
She is a collage of aspects
Too surreal and abstract
For me to really grasp at
But I love her all the same
And I love her all the more
When she opens up the doors
To the library of her mind full of
Experiences and wisdoms
That drown me in a downpour
Of flamboyant and intense colors
That make up her life.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
Do it quickly,
God forgive me
Her eyes drifted dreamily
His teeth worked against her neck
Lord of the flies, favor me now
... had already pooled in it, something viscid and alive
I am the resurrection of death
He's undead, Ben
We must go through bitter to taste the sweet
blood.
Now your end.
LET ME GOOOOOOO----
and the blood that pulsed from his chest turned black
Look out!
You killed the master!
I'll be back
They were in the streets, the walking dead
They go crazy on the inside.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
Should I tear myself
To pieces and glue myself
Together to look like
A piece of art the world
Would rather have seen?
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
I sprang up from white dust
onto the shore & my mom calls me the Lying Cat—
I tell the truth whenever I’m awake.
I walked to the place where
everything sunk beneath the boardwalk
and pumped water out of a dead tortoise’s lungs.
If I punch his chest, I wondered:
would his soul creep back into his heart?
I couldn’t care for anything at that age.
Now I drive Cadillacs into expanding skylines
and with crusted fingernails,
dig my plastic shovel to find sand dollars
but it’s all empty.
Last week, I thought:
(I see a wilderness for you and me)
but that wasn’t very original
Tomorrow I’ll curtsy on flashing meteorites
and court double winged men on Mars.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC