"collages" poems
The moth with newspaper wings sat under the arrow lungs of the eyeless
blood dripped falcon, more whole than the super-glued roman sculpture.
Next door a 50’s con held up church with a roulette table in the kitchen,
and boarded up the massage parlor
downstairs.
The eye of the man was a centrifuge of ducks, mallard and hen, spiraling
outward into evaporated roach-ground
asphalt.
Next door, slits in the picket fence displayed perfectly formed **** & broach,
empty shoes made of feet below, blending
fields.
The marble foundation formed from twine lollipops and fuzzy candy tabs,
ice-etched to the frequency of splintered seashell
angels.
Next door through the forest of knives a spaceship bearing gargoyles peaked
bodies through collages of faces in technicolor sepia
mitosis.
The heiress molted into tiled pieces, her own dog and sunhat caught in blizzard
cuneiform, kaliedescoping again to fractalled inchworms cemented in motion.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
He finds the clues
come to him like fireflies
swarming around him
in the air
murderers all have
long shadows
& some were born
with silver spoons
in their mouths
& others not
He assembles collages
of cases from newspapers
to see which ones
remind him of which
& drinks too much
as the night holds him close.
He's got a Dame in town
he knows she's bad news
He knows his whole life is
a case of Win or Lose
A card trick
played by a blind man
he has too many regrets
& yet none at all
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
The sad day was soon to come
When voices forever fall dumb
The bell will chime but one last time
And I recall that last sad mime
To write a speech I was requested
Or at least it was suggested
but on looking back all that I saw
was shadow memories, ever raw
Happy times it seemed had faded
Smiles not again paraded
Since I was a child of six
And what happened then betwixt
Twenty-three years had passed
And the thought made me aghast
Because through the time I could not recall
Happy memories at all
Threads of memory imbued with sadness
Even better times I still felt downcast
For you are a family of five, and I am one alone
With no place to call a true home
I have lost something that I never had
Could I really be so bad?
The collages show the five of you smiling out from luxury
The five of you, but never me
Holidays to far-flung places
Happy looks upon your faces
Where are my shared memories?
Dig through the ephemories
Now they will never be
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
*You used to paint pictures
with me. You were always smiling
when the brush glides on paper
as the colours spread everywhere.
Patiently, you'd recreate every
bit and impression of reality,
and add a version of your own,
until the picture will be perfect
with magical meanings
only we would have known.
But patience is a virtue
your self never learned.
One day, you were snapping photographs,
capturing moments, developing pictures,
pasting collages -- a panorama of
life you chose.
For weeks and weeks on end,
I went to those places where we used to paint;
Time is such a mystery to have put distance in a memory.
I would trade my whole life just for you
to colour it again. Like old paintings,
bring back its vividness; restore it.
And now, I am on this bus.
In transit.
A gift-wrapped box inside my bag.
I am sending it to you personally.
Take pictures with it and
live a happy life.*
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 4:45 AM UTC
Let's go for a naked dip-
my bathing suit is cute but so is my birthday suit-
oh egg head
don't fall and crack
spill brains and embryo everywhere,
not good for the kids at all
might leave mental scars on long-term memory
let's get tatted like good old native americans
I am Chief Awesome
you are Franchise Emperor
pouring fries and salt into my arteries,
slow, delicious death
why must thou be so appealing?
Don't be so stupid
taste buds are my best buds
blooming like beautiful bulbs in berry season
blossoming
absorbing flavors and releasing neurochemicals
oh so sensible and seductive
get a hair cute Mr. Scrutiny,
you are outdated and overrated
Power-aded lemon-tossed
concluded in cuddling under stars and blankets
blame the infantry
they couldn't save themselves
poor things
just doing duties
just not all appreciated
but we do the appreciating
graphite collages and collagen fills
spill orange juice on tables
perpetually sticky
dodgeball eyes
yes we will be friends.
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 11:15 PM UTC
Hanging in space,
suspended in nothingness,
tiny little cubes
with rounded edges
glistening brightly
like bulbs;
they're moments.
Some moments are nice
and some worth writing about.
The best moments **** time;
Earth spins slowly,
your bones tilt
your guts twist
and then it's over
like blown-out candles
just like that.
The tiny little cubes are snapshots,
they capture the moments
and they won't shake them after they come out.
The cubes are collages
of your entire life
of the feelings you've felt
the experiences you've had
and your love wrote a cute note at the bottom of the picture.
The tiny little cubes go unnoticed
by most people
but you.
However,
the moments still exist
as long as there are someone
to remember them.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
Stomach full of liquid.
Black eyed peas
And obsession with relish
Finally paying off.
Trees
Collages
Dancing
Seductress.
Knowledge
Healing
Three small boys dressed as their fathers
Playing checkers
Giggling
Marimba chops
Echoing
Twice stolen earphones
Volume control
Old south
1933
Shallow grave
Shallow sleep
Fresh cars
First to drive
Survive.
Sonic
Pescetarianism.
Cherry Lime-ade
Walking on the
Green grass
REM interrupted
Curious hands
Laced between
Fingers
Three sizes smaller
Sinking
unbiased truth
peeking an ugly face
around her corner.
Talk of mustaches and
****** orientation
The price of documentation.
Embrace
certainty within confusion.
Tuesday.
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
It is so much fun making things.
Cutting construction paper,
and printing pictures from the computer,
and making solar system posters,
with colorful comets, and nebulas.
But without my good friend Elmers glue
I don't know what I would do.
Just a dot, and spread it around,
and you can stick Ganymede next to Jupiter,
and make all kinds of cool collages.
You can make little game pieces,
and play galaxy battles with grandpa,
but without Elmers glue
everything would fall apart,
and all the papers would seperate,
and nothing would work!
That's why I love Elmers glue.
Its like love,
because it fixes little broken plastic hearts,
and keeps beautiful pictures, and strong paper together,
so that you can make beautiful and strong things,
which is what love is.
So you can sort of say
that Elmers glue, kind of
is love.
Which is why I love it!
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 7:20 AM UTC
Collages diffuse vanilla vistas
such effulgence waltzing to violet tempos
though the forestalling of waterfalls
evolves into a gargantuan war
weapons whistle from the mountains
beatitudes of mirth shan’t ever be eradicated
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 4:12 PM UTC
Is it true
what you said,
in the grip of the plague?
That you would love me and my broken musicbox.
I said the worst thing I could, to save you from pain...
Oh the pain it must have
caused,
Accusations,
allegations of my limitations,
I know something in you
still feels my wet tears on your hand.
Twice from the chasm edge you recalled me.
Now I wonder,
if there is a miracle left in the bag of light.
Didn't I bring a sparkle to your laugh
in the days before I tasted poisoned honey.
I built collages for what I thought was you.
I see the weariness in your words,
shake me from this world.
Once,
you made me smile through agony,
when I fell from the greatest height.
Now,
the very thought of your smile,
drives a thousand pins into my head.
Tomorrow,
another piece of me will be missing,
never to be recovered, permanant loss.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 1:45 PM UTC
What is quantifiable are the symbols. What isn't quantifiable are the zones between the symbols, unless there are many symbols present that form spaces.
There are partial symbols, i.e. a gesture of an animal is present but not the form of the animal.
Reality stays more abstract with partial symbology.
What is known about the symbol gives reality meaning.
Speaking of visions as symbols separates the meaning from the visual experience.
The person who doesn't see the symbol as the reality has not been exposed to reality which is somewhat hard to ascertain.
When, in dreams for example, there are just collages of things, it is hard to say that it is more than a collage. But if I recognize symbology, it allows me to see every part of the picture.
Symbols are more for the artist than the scientist who simply wants to verify what happens in reality. While transcendent of verification of meaning is reality "filler", yet it attains to meaning only if it is seen as symbol.
The filler is more abstract because logic only exists here if we consciously give something meaning. Otherwise a huff of a dog, for example, is merely a passing image.
Since concrete objects already have existential meaning, they cannot constitute as filler.
Visions, because they only partially exist, calls into question existence itself.
In filler reality, it becomes participatory as to giving reality meaning or just enjoying the visions.
What separates this filler world from normal mind is that meaning is no longer the key to reality.
Simply experiencing the visuals explain reality in an easy way.
Meaning almost ruins the mode of experience.
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 9:29 PM UTC
♠ ♠ ♠
Pseudo-Oriental visions
Haiku, Tanka, exotic terms
Vapid New Age vibe-transmissions
proliferating eastern germs…
Anarchistic thought collages
Existential lacerations
Nihilistic heart-massages
Incoherent lamentations,
Communism on a mission,
grievance-mongering, stewed in hate;
pounding Fascist fusion/fission
chanting harshly “ours the state”,
Hymns to Gods who choked on *****
undertaken in overdose;
rocks that never rose to comet
rolling – but ending comatose,
Hipster ironies, tongue in chic
Metro-wimps who feign the normal,
Redneck rantings up the creek
semaphoric, semi-formal,
matron’s maudlin observations,
motivational hypnosis,
(sentimental medications
offered prior to diagnosis),
coldly abstract neo-nonsense
read (by dullards) as cutting edge,
letters void of correspondence;
well-trimmed words’ linguistic hedge.
Climate whining (tried untrue)
with eco-prophecies warning doom,
Wiccans and tree-sprites trying to
undo the curse and lift the gloom,
Feministic tribal ranting,
Race-complaining, agitation,
GLBT gallivanting –
all are blights upon our nation.
Boring modernist excess,
(no longer daring – formulaic)
confounds – yet never can address
what’s wrong, and so becomes prosaic.
Lists like this are perhaps the worst;
another symptom of our times:
we who are woefully unversed
in rhythmic complaining that rhymes.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
O yesterday,
you hold on dear
I, the all you know
Of collages unto kaleidoscopes
Images breathe on their own
Then go they dancing
Whirlwinds and prancing
O dare be what you are
You are you, loving me
All the day are enchanting friends
Who want their Star,
in the Loving sea
She’d be swimmy splashing, laughing
All Loving and power
Seeing you seeing,
my eternal tomorrows
Painting destinies
In breath,
in love all can be
I know I am that I am
And you are knower of all of me
Would I hop upon the mountaintops
And toil the toilings of your depths
Into the night,
you are the consoler of consolidations
Then they are dancing
Whirlwind and prancing
What of this day,
that tomorrow I don’t see
Tis this the time for wooing of me
Where is the love I give by day
That I doubt in the night
By morn she waits
Am I not form imagined as Love
Giving thy Gifts within thee boundless
I am knower of knower,
that Love I am and ever shall be
Where are my echoes,
is there anything real,
in what I think I see
Woe the tree who falls,
they say does not be
Woe her squirrels,
woe is me
Do I,
or shall I live a fantasy
For what of time,
would you behold of me
If Love I’d rather be and see
Through whirlwinds,
and in my Garden,
they’d say I be
Just a day away,
tomorrow I’d be dancer
In love,
thee prancer,
every color of thy need
Who hears drumming,
every Heart weaves
The yellow brick road,
where all Rainbows
are
Singing and dancing,
loving and laughing
All Hearts and Hands
of form of dust, a Glistening sea
Today’s thy day
Emerald City be
With the Courage of one foot in tomorrow
Allow yesterday to be but prophecy
For this is the day the All You Know too Sees All You Need
For I am Rainbow dancer, Whirlwind and Love
Delightful prancer, tomorrows beholder
One who would bid your Love Dream be
One of One and Infinite Sea
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 9:25 PM UTC
*Where have you been with your words
that you vowed to whisper softly
until they tumbled over the moon?
Tranquil images are all I can see
in your rhymes
that sank deep into the night
too soon.
Where are the eyes that lit up my world
and filled my pockets
with dreams of a life that shines?
I am realizing now
that what I once was
you have steadily changed
as you exhaled your lines.
Is my hope a golden thought
I love because it dwells
in my emotions
becoming a journey
where I drop to my knees,
spelling out words
then wonder where they lead
into my own circumstances?
Sometimes, when I sleep,
I glide over shells,
holding the hand of life,
forming collages, I could never forget
even when I am weary and I speak
of past things I should have forgotten
over the years.
Where have you been with your words
that make me smile in knowing
I have found my safe harbor
where I can be quiet
and revel in the tranquil images
you create
in my heart and soul?*
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 1:14 PM UTC
Thèmes
Choix d'un thème pour un album ou une carte vous aidera à affiner votre choix de materials.Who est le public visé? Est la carte ou un album lié à une fête ou un événement important? S'il n'y a pas une personne en particulier ou un événement associé au projet, l'adoption d'une couleur ou un motif régime prévoit unité et balance.Examples de thèmes populaires incluent: vacances, bébé premier, anniversaires, obtention du diplôme, animaux, années scolaires, les anniversaires, les mariages, roman, prix, favoris (cadeaux, livres, films, émissions de télévision, des jouets ou des modes), le
jardinage, les vacances, les partis, les sports, souvenirs et mementos.After choisissant une conception unifiée, trouver des documents qui illustrent votre message. Matériaux
Les matériaux les plus indispensables sont cartonné, papier, colle, outils, stylos, et des embellissements de coupe ou photos.Cardstock robe soirè peuvent être achetés individuellement ou en packs de valeur; packs de valeur sont utiles si vous créez plusieurs albums et cards.Cardstock et du papier ordinaire est disponible dans des couleurs unies ou du papier patterns.Patterned peut être utilisé comme arrière-plans, des bordures, ou du papier de coupe embellishments.When, sauver les restes pour des projets ultérieurs, vous pouvez embellir d'autres projets ou utiliser de plus grandes chutes en photo mounts.For une aspect texturé, papier de déformation;. carton est plus facile de se froisser si vous appliquez quelques gouttes d'eau adhésif, des outils et des stylos coupe sont très variées. Les types de base comprennent liquide et le bâton de colle, du ruban, des ciseaux, tondeuses, des marqueurs et des albums de pens.For de pigments, toujours utiliser des matériaux sans acide qui ne traverse pas le pages.To créer bords bordée sur les pages de scrapbook ou des cartes, utiliser des ciseaux spéciaux, comme puncheurs. ondulées et de la vallée de pointe, ou en forme embellissements
améliorent le thème choisi albums et cards.Cutouts, des autocollants, des rubans, papyrus, vélin, les timbres et les citations sont des choix populaires, citations peuvent être employées par achetées quote-livres, manuscrites ou tenue mere de la mariee imprimées à partir d'un ordinateur Photos personnaliser n'importe quel projet de robe soirè métier;. ils peuvent être imprimés à la maison, ou développés par des boutiques et drugstores.Photos d'impression en ligne sont généralement organisés par ordre chronologique, en collages ou categorically.Categories incluent, mais ne sont pas limités à: des événements, des activités, des familles, des couleurs, des particuliers ou actions.Although ce sont des techniques de mise en forme les plus populaires, vous devriez Étalez vos photos seront cependant mieux s'adapter au thème de l'album ou carte.
http://www.modedomicile.com/robe-de-soir%C3%A9e-c-5
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
We had a shelf life,
an existence that we
played like a broken
fiddle, out of tune...
But now every string is either
broken, worn beyond its
reproductive rhythm.
Were not creating vibrant
versions.
Just broken, collages that
are just not a complexity
more a diluted, infertile
copy
broken and substituted
never to be the real thing..
humanity is just a fading shadow,
fading under the unrelenting
sun of reality....
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 6:02 AM UTC
Electric neon
collages;
multi-coloured,
flashing, successively,
on and off
through the night's
empty
desert of ever shifting sands.
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 6:20 PM UTC
Please forgive me for my lack of meter and form of a paragraph. Let me take you to a day in my life, of what was supposed to be the conclusion, on February 9th, 2013. I was on the floor of my bedroom, the cold wood no match for my fevering body. My hollow gaze melting into the green walls, the picture collages of magazine cutouts I spent whole weekends arranging. There were no tears. No feelings beside this hungry ache of emptiness. The clenching grip of depression enclosed around my ribcage.
There were no tears because my mind was made up.
I drew the razor blade across the fair delicate skin on my wrist, perpendicular. I just wanted to feel something. One. Two more times, crimson paint flowing down my arm, onto the wooden floors. Steady stream, throbbing pain.
It wasn't until my head was light and vision blurry that I noticed my mistake. I cut too deep. But there were no tears. No feelings. Besides acceptance that my time has come. I slowly closed my eyes involuntarily, giving into the soft waves.
Feeling the grip loosen.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
Dying maple leaves
collect in shallow puddles
Autumn collages
Oct 18, 2021
Oct 18, 2021 at 8:42 AM UTC
I am envisioning a world of bots,
pulling us into the black hole
of innovation and technology,
with no trees, no schools, no collages,
nothing that is bricks and mortar.
Can you envisage a life on man-made oxygen?
Can you imagine the fantasy world
in movies becoming our real world?
I'm being ingenuously curious,
how long before
a plethora of machines and bots,
a metallic universe created by man,
replaces everything we have lived for?
A few more countable years perhaps.
Just the thought sets me off in trepidation.
I wish to somehow freeze and slowdown
the evolving era so the living flesh and blood
could be prepared for what they are about to face.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 2:53 PM UTC
There are some people whose worn and wrinkled skin only tell stories of horizons at the end of suburban streets and modern collages of white paper. There are others whose creases seemed to have transferred from dry soil that was cracked preceding water falling from the hose in that hand. American spirit was lost in those who spent their days nodding to a television behind them. Disconnected from hands that once felt the soil where nourishment sprouted now used only to unload cellophane wrapped vegetables from plastic bags. That spirit was carried on by a man born in Kentucky not fooled by artificial colors for he knew the full spectrum of letting the sunlight arch from ear to ear.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
I have been trying to socialize with more craftspeople
There are lots of color collages around here and I want to trade them for home improvement work
Like my bathroom tile is totally messed from all the cat litter
If one of my new acquaintances were able to fix it, I could give her/him a personalized wish board
I go to the bar by the lumber yard every weekday at 4:45pm with at least $8 in quarters
On full and new moons I come a little earlier and help them set up for the night
If Janky Mike comes around will you please tell him I'm just using the bookstore's payphone?
May your sons excel at binge drinking while simultaneously avoiding addiction issues
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:36 AM UTC
Sleep; an essential part of life--
a non-essential part of my night
I shall not travel to the land of slumber and
imagery that leave me to ponder and
decipher the undertone of my unconscious desires
Sleep, you will not store my memories tonight
You play as something illusory occuring past midnight
You vanquish the beginning of my day
and I fall victim of the bed to lay
for hours and hours when there is much to do,
much to ignore, and to fail to follow through
Sleep, I won't succumb to your relieving wiles
You interrupt my mind's process of files
and collages of information
Admittedly, you aid in the retention
of the aforementioned,
but I'd rather learn than burn away
precious time improving myself--
documenting my imbalanced mental health
or recreating art I wished I produced
Sleep, though I love the lucid dreams you induce,
sometimes they make me become more of a recluse
because I never want them to end,
so I stay alone to reenact and pretend that
for just a little while longer,
I can feel passion again
I've been desensitized in a chimerical fashion
I cannot endure this now so I'm commencing action
Sleep, I'm taking a break from your comatose spell
and the ephemeral dreams you compel
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 4:31 AM UTC
acknowledge me. seething with tumultuous needs, the crispness in your cocktail dress sways fingertips, interstices of unscrupulous overuse, the deep accreditations you accreditted to our use. The oral collages of fogs synthesized sacrilege. Organics and the ultramodern. Speak ballet with me, turn your head sideways while I look at you a new amazing way. Write your future in the dna of my hands, I read the secrets off yours.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 9:29 PM UTC