"cunningham" poems
like Pollock's paint splattering on canvas
like Warhol's Campbell soup in print
like Cunningham's democracy on stage
she loves him like that; she loves him like Art
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
"He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone"
****
*******
Cheat!
We condemn others,
For mirrored shortcomings.
"Love thy neighbor."
Mr. Jackson runs to catch the door,
You let close in his face.
As you rush to Church.
I help Mrs. Cunningham with her bags.
We stare a moment.
My friend says "you'll get good Karma"
I could use it in Hell.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
i'm the witness protection, so get with the program
i'm playing the dudes, like chess against an blind man
We can battle in your homeland, where your're the man
I'll call in from Pakistan, secured lines, I'm a grown man.
My confidence is high, light years past the sky
even a wise man asking, who is this guy.
Like Dan, I'am the Maine man,
you just a part of the plan.
Funny styles, like arnold doing the running man
I'm Arm strong, like Cunningham.
a good look, your'a short gram.
I'm am a cunning man
you are green-eggs and ham
eating you like a grand slam
recording it on my i-cam
coming out the pocket
like a bad stock pick
I'm a line-backer
like a brak-it,
I stopped it
like the opposite of a profit
you ***** made, hope ya bra-fit
you diss didn't even leave a scratch
i warren buffet, without getting off topic
these dudes need to stop it
perfect timing, equals a prophet
so the smart money is on me,
I'm like Master P- when it **** to making a profit
so these P'on's get peed on,
for ions, i'like tre songs,
My game that long,
I been gone
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
nobody ever “got it”
they didn’t seem to understand
that it was never about the drugs
they saw a waste of space
a low life teen
surfing on neon hallucinations
they saw angry decisions
blackened by ash
and a years destruction of a
pill bottle’s attach
said we should have listened
harder to those programs
the cunningham family ones
they show at school
the ones that showed us
drugs were “bad”
but those **** things
failed to inform us on the “noise”
the “noise” that would soon fill
the space of every broken
dream, promise, or heart.
the “noise” that weighed
down on us kids
that didn't end once it had
hit start.
they failed to mention
the pain and the stress
they lied and never told us how
life, school, parents, everything
was forever one big unsolved mess.
like a knife it slit into our souls
bleeding tears and dignity
we leaned over bridges to try and catch
our childhood memories
but we kept bleeding
losing ourselves in a void of darkness
falling
falling
falling
deeper into a blackened abist
and so we kept falling,
trying desperately to cling on to any branch
anything.
until our shaky blue fingertips kissed
softly against an ecstasy.
a cure
and finally for the first time sense as
long as we could remember,
the noise was no more.
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
Cyber Kids R Us!
Your Facebook took over my Myspace..
I had to Tag you on my Tagged Place.
Your so Tagged.
I Googled you and was wide eyed to my surprise..
I found you world wide web styled.
I found you had gleefully Twittered beautifully.
I searched you on Instagram.
And like dang Peeps on your page going ham.
And on Skype! Your tag line is so hype.
So your on my laptop. Owwee Bop bop!
I can even touch you on Imvu.
So owee baby @Yahoo..
Let me stop Twittering this thing.
Instagram @ Instagram strings.
Its making me google eyed.
Has my Facebook all hooked.
You have places and video's I ain't even looked.
It's like your my new Candy Crush game.
I'm all lit by your social media fame.
Yet I'm the Unheard girl lame.
But I wanna dine in your Cafe
or play on your Poker holdem staff.
Being your follower is such fun.
Add me to your Snapchat.
I'd be so down with that.
I am so here to Comment you've peeked such interest.
Gosh I made you a collection in my Pinterest.
But its a shame how I over looked your Youtube.
I feel a bit *******
Anywho..
Your such a Gift I need ya to know.
Long as we don't end up on Bill Cunningham show.
we can stay surfing on this web thing anywhere we go.
Oh I'm not a virus...
Just a cyber Kids R Us...
By selinasharday the HeavensRosepoet.
aka Heavens.Ebony.Rose #H.E.R
All rights reserved..S.A.M
if you repost plz post with credits to Author. Me!
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC
Ansel Adams and Minor White
Both saw the Light reach to infinity...
Edward Weston and Imogen Cunningham
Created Art in black and white Photography
Revealing the unseen that's right
Before our Eyes in plain sight
The Click of a Shutter seals
What the Negative will reveal
What it lacks for color Fades
Viewed in black, gray, and white shades
Plucked out in Artistic Form in sight
The sway and flow of shadow and light
They taught fruit to be Art and
The desserts to flow like rivers
The sharp flow of Sand awash upon
The banks of the Dunes and gone
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 1:33 AM UTC
cab cunningham tenía cincuenta años y un ciruelo
cuando descubrió la maldad
los ojos se le pusieron verdes la boca gris y azul alternativamente
daba señales como al empezar el día
eso no es todo:
del vientre le empezaron a subir vientos que lo hacían volar
y girar alrededor del planeta y de su casa
como un alma maldita o en pena que trabajara a todo tren
¡oh! cab cunningham no se hacía ninguna ilusión
con lágrimas secas regaba el ciruelo
que florecía de espaldas al asunto
peleando con los pájaros que lo venían a romper
eso daba música que cab cunningham escuchaba a la tarde a modo de consuelo
entre ciruelo y pájaros había una especie de tratado o misión
y prolongaban temores ruidos
miedos luchas elecciones furias
"¡oh cab!" solía decir cab
"he aquí que las casualidades que organizan tu cuerpo
son como los monos santos de Panini
caprichosos y verdaderos tristes"
decía cab cunningham y más
"oh carbono y nitrógeno detenidos por mí" decía
"¿oro serán ahora que termine? ¿adónde
irán ustedes huesos
o carne sangre ojo perfil dientes que era?"
nunca se supo adónde fueron o
qué fue de la congoja de cab cunningham los viernes por la tarde
cuando era hermoso y parecía encenderse
bajo el cielo imparcial
pero se supo lo siguiente:
toda la biología atada por cab cunningham
crepitó libre cuando murió
y áhi el ciruelo se detuvo
nunca más trabajó con los pájaros
nunca más hizo ruido, ciruelito
819
Erin Moran has died at the age of fifty-six.
She was special and a credit to all chicks.
She was adorable when she starred as Joanie Cunningham.
When a person dies that young, it's always hard to understand.
I learned about her death on Facebook and it made me feel bad.
When we learned of her passing, it was tragic and so very sad.
She had a wonderful figure and good looks.
When we watched her on Happy Days, we were hooked.
She died too young and her death has devastated her fans.
Sadly, we have to say goodbye to the talented Erin Moran.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 8:05 AM UTC
The world’s your oyster,
Your daddy said, but he
Lied as often as a parrot
Pees, strung you out like
Wet washing. You are the
World’s spit bowl, the some
Thing unmentionable beneath
Their shoe, or so it seems, at
Least to you, lying awake at
Night, watching the shadows
On the ceiling, feeling the
Groping hands of Cunningham,
Knowing what he wants, always
Wants, the groper of the dark,
Sniffing the air, remembering
The lost babe, the wrapped
Shawl, white like snow, the
Dead babe taken away, bad
For business, Mrs Griffen said,
Having a child around, best off
Where, you’ll get over, all things
Come and go. Never forget that.
White against the black dress,
The mass, the priest with his
Pokerface features, the coffin
Lowered. You know the tune
Of grief, understand the wants
Of men, feel the emptiness of
The world’s shell, touch the edges
Of love’s feel, and just when day’s
Light pushes through the shutters,
Cunningham turns over, farts
And mutters. Some oyster, this is,
You think, some relationship, what
A dingy room, what a life, what a stink.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
"Les femmes jouissent d'abord par l'oreille"
Dit Marguerite Duras
Toi, mon HYDRE-MUSE, tu jouis
Par l'oreille absolue et frivole
Magnifiée
Par la danse à contre-temps
De la poésie pénétrante
Du saxo et de la tumba
Du coupé décalé et de l'azonto
Entre violons et accordéons
Qui fait voltiger sur tes hanches
Toute la copelia complicada de ta libido.
Je rentre sans hâte dans la mue de la couleuvre
Et je te ceins la taille.
Réinventons les croisés en cinquième position
Du ballet classique de Noureev, Petipa et Balanchine
Et à quatre pattes virevoltons dans le Bolchoi.
Setenta y ocho :
Je te tatoue le bas des reins
D'un tatou boule qui exécute
Des renversés arrière multicolores
Dans les plus intimes sillons de ta peau.
Cero :
Verbum Sapientiae Principium Est !
De mon pinceau chatoyant je dessine Des pas de bourrée étourdissants
Aux confins de tes cambrures
Setenta y siete :
Tu miaules des entrechats charnels
Et tu tournoies comme un ventilateur
Et tu me dis : viens, mon prince,
Montre-moi tes ronds de jambes doubles
Ochenta y quatro :
je te prends par les orteils tout en te caressant l'oreille
Et je te dis vas-y
Cuarenta y cinco :
Dombolo baroque dès que tu bouges tes fesses pour m'inviter à tes
Messes de sabbat
Très y media :
Demi-pointe sur les tétons qui frémissent et qui clignent des yeux
La peau de ton aréole gauche danse la biguine
Ton sein droit fait voltiger du jus de grenade
Sesenta :
Un deux trois cinq six sept
Un seul fouetté
Tu enchaînes les figures libres et académiques
Passe après passe
Tu plantes dans le taureau farceur tes aromates
Et je crie Banco et tu me mordilles la paume de la main.
Setenta complicada :
J'aime notre gourmandise choreographee clitoridienne, anale, phallique et vaginale
Cet appétit colossal de ballet épicé à la Merce Cunningham, Alvin Ailey et Martha Graham
Qui nous prend entre deux morts de tous nos lacs des cygnes primaux
Nous en sommes les danseurs étoiles les solistes les premiers danseurs les petits rats les chorégraphes et les maîtres de ballet
À nous deux nous formons une troupe
Réincarnée
Et nous signons de nos plumes de chair notre martingale lubrique :
Un deux trois... Cinq six sept
Un deux trois... Cinq six sept
Un deux trois... Cinq six sept
Nov 1, 2019
Nov 1, 2019 at 3:31 AM UTC