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Amitav Radiance Sep 2014
Time is the eternal sculptor
Chiseling away through centuries
To create innovative masterpieces
Where many facets of life emerge
Bridging the past, present and future
Shaping the moments we dwell in
Where events are scheduled
To display the varied installations
Which cannot be replicated
Recorded in the chronicles of time
When our world will fade away
But time will be there till eternity
Relentlessly sculpting for the future
For, time brings change
And everything changes, except time itself
Mary Gay Kearns Jun 2019
Wondering the evening stillness
We left the bluebell beds
And the sculptured wooden rose
To trample the wearing pathway
Down to the campus amphitheater.

A patch of daylight brought the party
To look upwards where transparent rope
Made a crossing of wavering sun beams
A celebration of Art Installations with an
unexpected rhyme.

Downwards the plateau, a semicircle of grass
Melts into July’s empty classroom of books
As wasted writing and hours of hot fluttering
In a breeze with discarded wineglasses and cups
Await the sound of trumpets and a golden crown.

Love Mary ***
Anton Kooistra Mar 2016
The librarian walks around.
I look to my right and see a classmate watching videos on youtube about boards of canada, if she looks to her right there's a girl looking at her cellphone, the video has bicycles.
The people in the main hall can be heard all the way on the other side of the library.
I took no pictures today even though I brought my analog photocameras, there is no visual recording of this day.
I look to my left and see a large flatbed scanner, it says EPSON in big capitals and in smaller capitals it says "GT-20000".
The artworks behind the window looking into the hallway look partly improvised and partly thought out.
The reflection of a grey sky can be seen when looking up.
I think it should rain but the clouds seem reluctant to do so.
I will try to write a song today.
The brown artwork is a tree with roots.
I think that is a bit much.
The clicking subsides.
The librarian remains silent, with a sporadic amount of mouse-clicks to break up the quiet atmosphere.
I don't know what the song should be about, in fact I would like it to be about nothing which is something not easily done.
The silvery-blue artwork is made of old plastic bottles.
I liked it, it was great though I am not a fan of the cgi blood used in some scenes.
I can forgive them for it.
I am anton, I am a man in my late twenties.
The large television in the library is turned off.
The noise in the background is noticable.
The door of the toilet is opened and a girl with heavy dark make up steps trough and makes her way back to her work.
The scarf is plaid, red.
I rode my bicycle to my university, the road was broken up and I had to be creative in my driving.
I remember that my classmate records the traces of people trough frottage, it's interesting.
The fingers of students on keyboards seem to tickle my eardrums, they are a bit intrusive.
I will stay in school for dinner.
The white artwork is skeletal and weblike at the same time.
The words are on the wall and on the glass window.
I visited my personal coach who helps me in school, we discussed my plans for the weeks.
The amount of sentences should equal 26.
The noise of typing shortly intensifies.
The words released onto youtube spell titles of songs. 14
I am wondering what to do next.
I am wearing Adidas shoes, they were considered cool when my ex's uncle gave them to me as a present; I felt reluctant to take them.
I visit a university where I study arts.
The head of the author is filled with chaotic thoughts.
I think my classmate has a funny way of typing, she seems to be talking to a friend on facebook and I am not creepy at all.
The internet seems slow.
I think about the amount of documents that must have been scanned on the machine, there are scratches on it.
The voices can be recognized.
I saw monkey heads.
The cables of the computer hang against my feet and are slightly irritating.
The girl next to me changed between videos.
I signed up for a few courses, my academy requires it's students to do so.
I eat and drink at breakfast, lunch and dinner.
The library is lukewarm.
I notice that my fingers already hurt from typing, or maybe from sending text messages from my phone.
The radiator makes a low rumbling noise.
I record stories and poems on casette tapes, they find their way into simple installations.
The garbage bin is empty.
I watched the first episode of Ash VS Evil this morning.
I am warm, I am wearing a leather jacket and a fleece vest over a brown t-shirt.
From observation and randomization
judy smith Jul 2015
Fashion designer Dame Trelise Cooper is holding her first show in Wanaka to help raise funds for the town's planned hospice.

The September 30 Theatre of Fashion event is being organised by Wanaka fashion store Escape Clothing owner Lucy Lucas and the Upper Clutha Hospice Trust and organisers hope to raise up to $30,000.

Trust fundraiser Bev Rudkin said the show was "such a coup for Wanaka".

Wanaka hasn't had anything like this before and we know Theatre of Fashion will be an exciting event."

The event will be held at the McRae family's Glendhu Station Woolshed and will showcase the Trelise Cooper Summer 2015/16 collection. It will also feature three Trelise Cooper 1950s-inspired installations.

The event includes an auction of donated items, with all proceeds going to the Upper Clutha Hospice Trust.


photo:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses
Lucas lost her mother to cancer two years ago and says the hospice facility is especially important for the local community.

At the moment, Wanaka cancer patients and their families travel either to Clyde's Dunstan Hospital or Dunedin Hospital for hospice care.

The Upper Clutha Hospice Trust will be a tenant in the Presbyterian Support Otago and Mt Aspiring Retirement Village's proposed aged care/dementia facility on Cardrona Valley Road. Construction is scheduled later this year.

The trust is raising capital and operating costs for its patient rooms within the larger facility.

Lucas stocks Trelise Cooper in her shop and approached Dame Trelise to see if she was interested in helping the trust.

"Dame Trelise is incredibly generous with her time. She does a lot for community causes. Wanaka is so lucky to have her agree to holding this event, and for her to attend is even better. Guests are in for a treat. Trelise Cooper shows are always fantastic, with plenty of 'wow' factor," Lucas said.

Dame Trelise said she was only too happy to help: "Giving back to the community is something I have always believed in. It means a lot to me that my passion and the work that I do can be put towards something that really makes a difference . . . I have some very loyal customers in the South Island who have supported my label right from the beginning, and it feels great to be able to bring an event like this to them."

FAST FACTS

What: Theatre of Fashion inaugural show

When: 6.30pm, Wednesday September 30, 2015

Where: Glendhu Station Woolshed, Glendhu Bay

Cost: $65 per person or $75 for front row seats. Tickets from Escape Clothing, Ardmore Street, Wanaka, or the Upper Clutha Hospice Shop, Ballantyne Road. All proceeds to the Upper Clutha Hospice Trust.

- The Mirror

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
judy smith Sep 2016
Taos Pueblo fashion designer Patricia Michaels returns to New York City for “Style Fashion Week NYC”on September 10th to present her latest 30 piece collection at aspecial RSVP eventat Hammerstein Ballroom, 311 West 34th St, Midtown Manhattan.

Michaels was a finalist on season 11 of the Lifetime reality TV show, “Project Runway”, and “Project Runway All-Stars”, gaining thousands of admirers as the media world followed her success along with an excited and proud Indian country.

Michaels will present her trademark PM Waterlily line and her latest collection for Spring/Summer 2017. Known for her use of Native-themed fabrics, hand painted or hand dyed, cut and fabricated at her Taos, New Mexico studio, Michaels says she is inspired by nature walks at Taos Pueblo among the trees, wildflowers and water plants, and “seeds” are important symbols of her designs and concepts.

The following description is from the website, speaking of the “Modern Native” who inspires and wears her designs. “Patricia Michaels...will have a few pieces for colder climates as her woman travels to regions where during the summer the climates tend to be cold. She is a world traveler so one may made need that special look to freshen her palette.”

Those living in or near the New York area that are interested in attending can visit toEventbrite to RSVP for the September 10 event. Seating is limited.

We wish Patricia Michaels and PM Waterlily success in New York City and beyond.

According to their site, Style Fashion Week, producer of globally recognized fashion events, provides top designers a world class platform to showcase their collections. Each year Style Fashion Week presents the season's must see shows, unforgettable performances and exclusive installations. Our expansive Style Marketplace immerses guests in fashion as well as art and design. Guests directly engage with brands throughout the week.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
Its 8:30 in the AM
The Corn Moon
is being routed by a
Manassas cloud bank

NPR be barking
Irma this, Irma that
my tremblin Rav4
stuck in the rush
is idling behind
a pair of gray hairs
spewing
leaded premium
out the back
of a big old black Buick
sportin Florida tags

inching north up I95
I’m relieved to be
a thousand miles
ahead of the
monstrous *****
denuding Barbuda
deflowering the
****** Islands
and threatening to topple
the last vestiges of
Castro’s Dynasty
by disrupting upscale
bourgeois markets
for cafe Cubanos,
cool Cohibas and
bold Bolivars

she’s a CAT 5
counterclockwise
spinning catastrophe
churning through
the Florida straits
bending steel framed
Golden Arches
shaking the tiki shacks
gobbling lives
defiling tropical dreams

the best
meteorological minds
on the Weather Channel
plug the Euro model
to plot a choreography
of Irma’s cyclonic sashay

they predict she’ll
strut her stuff
up a runway  
that perfectly
dissects the  
Sunshine State
ransacking
the topography
venting carnage
like battalions of
badly behaved frat boys,
schools of guys gone wild
sophomores, wreaking havoc
during a Daytona Beach
spring break
droolin over *******
popping woodies at
wet tee shirt contests
urinating on doorstoops
puking into Igloo Coolers
and breaking their necks
from ill advised
second floor leaps
into the shallow end
of Motel 6 pools

but I’m rolling north
into the secure
arms of a benign
Mid Atlantic Summer
like other refugees,
my trunk is
filled with baggage
of fear and worry
wondering
if there’re be anything
left to return to
once Irma
has spent herself
with one last
furious ****
against the
Chattanooga Bluffs of
Lookout Mountain

Morning Edition
Is yodeling a common
seasonal refrain
the gubmint is
just about outta cash
congress needs to
increase the debt limit

My oh my,
has the worm turned
during the Obama years
the GOP put us through a
Teabag inspired nightmare
gubmint shutdowns
and sequestration
shaved 15 points
off every war profiteers vig
it gave a well earned
long overdue
take the rest of the week off
unpaid vacation
to non essential
gubmint workers
while a cadre of
wheelchair bound
Greatest Generation
military vets get
locked out of the
WWII Memorial on the
National Mall

this time around
its different
we have an Orange Hair
in the office and there's
some hyper sensitivity
to raise the debt ceiling
given that Harvey
has yet to fully
drain from the
Houston bayous

the colossal cleanup
from that thrice in a
Millennial lifetime storm
has garnered bipartisan support
to  clean up the wreckage
left behind by a
badly behaved
one star BnB lodger
who took a week
long leak into the
delicate bayous of
Southeast Texas

yet we are infused
with optimism that our
Caucasian president
and his GOP grovelers
now mustered
to the Oval Office
will slow tango
with the flummoxed
no answer Dems
to get the job done

pigs do fly in DC
Ryan and McConnell
double date with
Pelosi and Schumer
get to heavy pettin
from front row seats
beholding droll  
Celebrity Apprentice
reruns

The Donald, Nancy and Chuck
slip the room for a little
menage au trois side action
transforming Mitch and Paul
into vacillating voyeurs
who start jerking their dongs
while POTUS, and his
new found friends
get busy workin
the art of a deal

rush hour peaks
static traffic grows
in concert with
a swelling  
frenetic angst
driving drivers
to madness
terrified
they won't
get paid if
the debt ceiling
don't rise
they honk horns
rev engines
thumb iPhones
and sing out
primal screams

unmindful drivers
piloting Little Hondas
bump cheap Beamers
start a game of
bumper cars
dartin in and out
of temporary gaps
uncovered by the
spastic fits and starts
of temporary
decongested
ebbs and flows

A $12 EZ Pass
gambit is offered
the fast lane
on ramp
has few takers
just another
pick your pocket
gubmint scheme
two express lanes
lie vacant
while three lanes of
non premium roadway
boast bumper to bumper
inertness
wasted fuel
declining productivity
skyrockets
the  wisdom of
the invisible hand doesn't
seem to be working

DOJ bureaucrats
In Camrys and Focuses
dial the office
to let somebody
know they’ll
be tardy

gubmint contractors in
silver Mercedes begin
jubilantly honking horns
NPR has just announced that
Pelosi and Schumer
joined the Orange team
the rise in the debt ceiling
will nullify their 15%
sequestration pay cut

NPR reports the
National Cathedral will
deconsecrate two hallowed
stained glass windows of
rebel generals R E Lee
and Stonewall Jackson
it's a terrible shame that
the Episcopal Church
will turn its back on the
rich Dixie WASPS
who commissioned these
installations to commemorate
the church's complicity
in sanctifying the
institution of slavery,
WWJD?

as I ponder
this Anglican
conundrum another
object arrests my
streaming consciousness
upsetting an attention span
shorter and less deep
than the patch of oil  
disappearing under the front
of the RAV as I thunder by
at 5 MPH

to the left I eye a
funny looking building
standing at attention
next to a Bob Evans

I’m convinced
Its gotta be CIA
a 15 story
gubmint minaret
a listening post
wired to intercept
mobile digital
confabulations
from crawling traffic
inching along
beneath its feet

this thinking node
pulsing with
intelligence
reeking with
counterintelligence
the tautological
contradiction
guarantees the
stasis of our
confused
national consciousness

strategically positioned to
tune into the
intractable Zeitgeist
culling meta code
planting data points
In Big Data
data farms
running algos
to discern bits
of intelligence
endeavoring to reveal
future shock trends
knows nothing
reveals less

the buildings cover
is its acute
conspicuousness
gray steel frame
silver tinted glass
multiple wireless antennas
black rimmed windows
boldly proclaim
any data entering
this cheerless edifice
must abandon all hope
of ever being framed
in a non duplicitous
non self serving sentence

the gray obelisk a
national security citidel
refracts the
fear and loathing
the sprawling
global anxiety
our civilization's
discontent
playing out
in the captive
soft parade
ambling along
the freeway jam
imobilized
at its stoop

Moning Edition jingle
follows urgent report of
FEMA scamblin assets
arbitraging Harvey and Irma
triaging two
tropical storm tragedies
and a third girl
just named Maria
pushed off the Canaries
and is on its way to a
Puerto Rico
homecoming

while
gubmint  bureaucrats
anxiously push on
to their soulless offices
the rush hour jam
has peaked
my WAZE
is having a
nervous breakdown

next lane over
a guy in a gold PT Cruiser
is banging on his steering wheel
don’t think this unessential worker
will win September's
civil servant of the month award

Ex Military
K Street defectors
slamming big civie
Hummers
getting six mpg
lobby for a larger
apportionment
of mercenary dollars
for Blackwater's
global war on terror

Prius Hybrids
silently roll on
politely driven by
EPA Hangers On
hoping to save
a bit of the planet
from an Agency Director
intent on the agency's
deconstruction
the third 500 year hurricane
of the season
is of no consequence

obsolete
GMC Jimmy’s
are manned by
Steve Mnunchin
wannabes
the frugal
treasury dept
ledger keepers
pour good money after bad
to keep the national debt
and there clanking
jalopies working

driving Malibus
DOL stalwarts
stickin with the Union
give biz to GMC

nice lookin chicks
young coed interns
with big daddy doners
fix their faces and
come to work
whenever they want

my *** is killing me
I squirm in my seat
to relieve my aching sacroiliac
and begin to wonder if my name
will appear on some
computer printout today?
can’t afford an IRS audit
maybe my house will
be claimed by some
eminent domaine landgrab?
Perhaps NSA
may come calling,
why did I sign that
Save The Whales
Facebook Petition?

The EZ Pass lane
is movin real easy
mocking the gridlock
that goes all the way
to Baltimore
a bifurcated Amerika
is an exhaust spewing
standing condemnation
to small “R”
republicanism  

glint from windshields
is blinding
my **** is hurtin and
gettin back to Jersey
gunna take a while
GPS recalcs arrival time

an intrepid Lyft driver
feints and dodges
into the traffic gaps
drivin the shoulder
urging his way to the
Ronnie Reagan International
I'm sure
gettin heat from
a backseat fare
that shoulda pinged
an hour earlier

Irma creeps
toward the Florida Keys
faster then the
glacial jam
befuddling congress

I think I just spotted
Teabag Patriot
Grover Norquist
manning a rampart
bestriding a highway overpass
he’s got a clipboard in hand
checking the boxes
counting cars
taking names
who’s late?
who’s unessential?

man
whatta jam we're in

Music Selection:
Jeff Beck: Freeway Jam

Orlando
9/21/17
jbm
written as im stuck in jam headin back to jersey
whether sweet or salty
it is the mother of life

no matter whether you are
    Darwinist or Creationist
water as a source of our existence
    you cannot deny

so, what do we do
with this essential gift of nature
except drink it and float on it?

we waste it, pollute it,
in general,
we simply don’t appreciate it

at least those of us
who live in the comfort zones
     of regular rainfall
     advanced sanitary installations
     and drinkable tap water

millions of others
depend on their lives
for water from the sky
    or from the sea

re-appreciating water
taking care of it
may save the lives
of our children

they are our future
ShamusDeyo Oct 2014
Hot August winds
Blows across dried yellow grass.
The shimmer of heat.
Rippling off the blacktop.
At a roadside Motel.On the
South Dakota Landscape.

I see the arrival of
An Amish family all,
Dressed in Black.
Arrive dragging their
Simple bags into the room
As the door closes.

I head inside to escape the heat
The smell of sulfur.
Rises from the water faucet.
Mixed with the smell of
Bacon and Eggs frying
In an electric skillet.

I head out under the overhang.
To escape the heat and my parents.
Down the way, a boy in Black Hat
Black shirt open,
White Tee showing.

He walks over to meet me.
I show him toys I brought,
Bored in the blasting heat.
We hop across the hot blacktop.
Barefoot trying not to get burned.

Off to the park, We find
The hollowed out carcass.
Of an F-16 Fighter Jet,
We bonded as pilot and copilot
Jetting across the Badlands.

We strafed and bombed.
Enemy installations.
Cutting off troop Supplies.
We blasted the afterburners.
Breaking the sound barrier.
On a hot August afternoon.
Vacation memories....

All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
mark fishbein Apr 2018
I

Our eyes once lingered on the ancient tree
Traced to the founders of this place
Who cleared the land for farms and cemeteries,
But spared the giant elm, older than memory,
And made of it the icon of our public space.

That towering mountain of limbs and foliage!
It could be seen as a beacon in all the valley,    
Majestic in every season! Every knot in the bark,
Every root that bulged through the mossy soil
Was known in its estate in the center of town.  

Here we spent our Maydays with our newborns,
Playing in the shade of the afternoon sun.
Here we held our parades and moonlit fireworks,  
Here we gathered for a death to mourn,  
Here we found first love with lips and tongues-

There is a vengeance that exists as clouds collide!
How we wept, all of us, along with the homeless birds,
How the news was spread like fire in the landscape
That a chainsaw of light had ripped through the trunk
And split it to the core, and all fell asunder to the ground.  

We gathered, hand in hand, all held another tight,
As neighbors came in fellowship and joined the crowd;
We stood amazed at the power of nature’s gods
And the profoundness of what should never die
Lying in pieces under the open sky above.

With the fading thunder and sorrowful birds  
There we surrendered to a moment of true silence;
Surrounding the dismembered monument of ourselves,  
Hand in hand we felt the ancient soul of the tree
Rise with the smell of sap and the smoldering leaves.

                            II

What debate was held, what prizes to win,  
To fill the empty hole in our common domain!
The plans from the architects and artisans
Were posted in the daily papers, argued at the tavern;
Installations of arches with colored lights,
Fantastic sculptures of glass, Roman fountains,
Sphinxes made of iron, kaleidoscopic neon palms,
But none fit the mood of the grieving town.  

But it was a stranger, got off the bus one day,
A drifter who passed through, had a beer at Jimmy’s,  
Barely stayed an hour, and told the bartender-  
“Take the wood that remains, the body of the tree
To conceive the tallest turret ever to be seen,
An obelisk of hope, like a lighthouse on the land.”
He said, then disappeared from our history,
Never to claim his prize or our blessings.  

So it came to pass, we built the tower with its kindling
And it stands like a lightning rod to defy the storms;
A destination for tourists who crave miraculous things,    
Who climb the spiral stairs which fill the hallow core
To the tip of heaven where all the valley can be seen.
It is said to be visited by spirits of the founders,
And every sound made within its scented vaults
Has a reverberating echo heard for miles around.
Inspired by Alan Hovannes "The Ancient Tree"  Once in a while it's good to write, and read, a longer work.  Enjoy.
(Revised slightly 4/25, revised stanza structure in part II.  Thanks)
judy smith Nov 2016
Before the hordes of his extended fashion family descended on Somerset House last night, Sam McKnight was pacing through the two floors of an exhibition of his life as one of the great sessions hairstylists. He stopped in front of a formal British Vogue portrait of Princess Diana, taken by Patrick Demarchelier in 1990. “I put on the tiara and had to make her hair big for it,” he remembered. “But, oh, God, then we had such an amazing day afterward. We were chatting and she suddenly asked, ‘If you could do anything, what would you do?’ And I said, ‘I’d cut it off!’ And she said, ‘Well, let’s do it now!’”

Thus, Diana, Princess of Wales, got the best slicked-back look of her life, the cut that defined her chic, grown-up, independent years—and her cutoff from her marriage. “I didn’t realize at the time,” McKnight said, “but in retrospect, with everything that was going on in the background, she wanted a change.” McKnight, after that, became Diana’s entrusted hairdresser. As photographer Nick Knight puts it elsewhere in the show, McKnight has that general effect on women when he’s working. “When he goes near the girls, they relax.”

It’s a testament to McKnight’s popularity in the magazine and fashion show milieu he has worked in since 1977—nearly 40 years!—that so many (who are sometimes so difficult) cooperated and gave permission, and that Chanel and Vivienne Westwood lent spectacular clothes to illustrate the interpretive cut and ****** of what a great hairstylist contributes. Straightaway, as you step off the street into the exhibition, you’re plunged into the next best thing to a backstage hair-and-makeup station and the kind of frenetic scene that goes on minutes before Chanel, Fendi,Dries Van Noten, or Balmain shows take to the runway. In place of the mirrors there are videos—say, of Kendall Jenner getting her Balmain hair look at a recent presentation—which have been recorded by GoPros worn by McKnight’s assistants. Every facet and every angle of the transformations—sometimes with four pairs of hands working on one girl’s hair—are captured.

From then on in, it’s easy to see how this exhibition will become a magnet for kids who want to experience the atmosphere of fashion and worship at a temple of a sublime hair alchemist. Shonagh Marshall, the curator at Somerset House, has run the numbers on the hairstylist’s Vogue covers, many of which are displayed on a faux newsstand. “Sam has been involved with 190 Vogue covers, which is more than any one photographer, or anyone else over that time,” she reported.

That’s not bad for a Scottish lad, born the son of a miner in 1955, who made his way to being a central team player with photographers and editors in the high supermodel years. Glorious images of Linda Evangelista, Christy Turlington,Cindy Crawford, and Tatjana Patitz abound. “It was a golden era. We were on the road the whole time with Patrick Demarchelier, traveling the world with the same 10 people,” McKnight said, laughing. “We were making it up as we went along, really.”

The massive sweep of the show brings out the important collaborations of his career, with photographers Demarchelier, Knight, Tim Walker, and more; with fashion editors Lucinda Chambers and Edward Enninful; and makeup artists Mary Greenwell and Val Garland. It’s studded with celebrity—Lady Gaga, Tilda Swinton, Kylie Minogue—and honors the spectacular shape-shifting talents of Kate Moss, from her early days as a fresh tousle-haired ’90s teen in love on a beach: “Johnny Depp was there,” McKnight recalled.

There are the moments when McKnight changed models’ fates with short, blonde crops—Jeny Howorth’s in the ’80s and Agyness Deyn’s in the aughts. We see his process, with the hairpieces, wigs, and frizzing techniques integral to creating Westwood and Chanel shows, in both videos and installations masterfully laid out by Michael Howells. Right at the end, there’s a room Howells describes as “Sam the Man,” the walls checkerboarded with pictures of flowers from his garden and the ridiculous varieties of wigs he poses in on his Instagram feed these days. It’s testament to the energy and humor of a talent happily adapted to an industry that is constantly working on the new, in the now; an inspirational treat for all those who remember and for all the many thousands of young eyes that will be opened for the first time by this extravagant journey through one man’s career.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses
Steve Page May 2019
We're all sound artists now.
Walking through our chosen concert halls, with or without walls, listening through public spaces, in personal places, curating our own shapes of combinations, constructions, concoctions of sounds and visions, an unwitting contribution to the contemporary audio visual world of sonic art installations.
We're all artists now.
And we're in charge.
Walking through London listening to my playlist.
two installations, the old garden,
blue bells, wild garlic fuelling the air.

rain soaked, watcing the rooks nest
high at rosemundy, falling backwards
woke to find just a dream.

the doves
were plaster.

rosemundy.

sbm.
S Bonney May 2015
I want to get
higher & higher
              &
         higher
until I explode
like a Super Nova
exploding particles everywhere,
Radio waves,
Microwaves,
Neutrinos dancing,
Read at installations
every where
Anamoly?
Some cowboys electric fence?
Or better yet
a cosmic event.

How high can I get?
                and
Have I got there yet?
Richard Riddle Nov 2015
I should, by all practical matters, quit looking through old photos of when my life was much "simpler." Childhood photos, to be exact. They serve only as a reminder of how old I am, and how much older I soon will be. (Yea, I know, ending a sentence with a prepostion is against  the rules of proper penning.)

Looking at these pics, I catch myself playing the game of "whatever became of who?" Those other kids on that cul-de-sac in Corpus Christi, Texas, "waaay, waaay" back in the mid to late forties. One, in particular, comes to mind.

His name was "Duke" Jones. Perhaps, the most popular "kid" on the block.He was our next-door neighbor. An excellent "fielder" when we played baseball, heck of a fast runner, not much of a hitter. But, he was a lot more than that. For, you see, Duke, was a dog. A Doberman Pinscher, a former guarddog at military installations during the war, and rehabilitated before re-entering civilian life. And, he loved children.

Duke knew everyone on the block, knew the postman, the milk deliveryman (yes,there was a time when dairies had milk delivered to your home, but that can be another story), knew which house we lived at, the vehicles our parents drove, he was our protector. If a stranger, such as a door to door salesman, entered his territory, he froze, staring, watching, positioning himself between us and the stranger. If that stranger stepped on to the walk leading to a front door, Duke would start moving, stealthily, instincts, training, taking control. If a strange vehicle entered,  he took notice, watched, intently. My mother and father often said, "We have the safest block in the city."
Our family had moved to another city in 1951, when we got a letter from Duke's "parents", telling us that Duke had passed away at age 16. Looking at that photo in my hand, Duke hasn't gone anywhere.

copyright: richard riddle: 11/02/15
e fields Mar 2019
They are all the Stonehenge slabs waiting
to topple over, granite foundation
of the cosmic cardhouse.
Expressionless: blank stares
Like the ceiling of the sky with
wall-to-wall cloudless gray
Warmed over with a vague upset -
The sun still tries its damnedest
Underneath the folds somewhere

Some of the grim flock re-picturing
bedspreads they snuck under with
lovers passed on long-since
(Stop, dash, as good as dead
Dash, stop, resume again)
They felt trapped,
they motioned Your Honor for bust-out.
New apartments, new partners,
new town centers eventually
seemed all the same and they
were stricken apathetic:
dead end

New installations of municipal plotting
erected in a Cold War mindframe,
Brutalism put to shame.
Rising above an alma mater
Those who stayed pass by,
Itinerants late-stage en-route
To spiritual tent cities to remain.
Rising above the rest of town
Squinting producing the pitched
Concrete walls, the barbed wire vein
Circulating among borders
Teeth of ******* razorblades.

Another life they’d never graduate
Now all that’s left is ponzi schemes,
billiard hellscapes accented with
deep-discount tobacco flames,
greasy spoons caddy-cornering
shuttered gas stations with their
mummified attendants left
moaning with desire from
beneath the boards:
Broken glass glints on felled horizons
of the ever-present post-industrial plains
What a waste slog on what a waste
What a waste slog on what a waste
Your Honor we request another stay
Your Honor we request another stay
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
they'll demoniße (schwankend s),
they refers to politicians,
it's not a paranoid pronoun -
i freak out at some installations
at Tate modern, but freaky is duke,
baron, cardinal: an artistic revision
of what goes on in the heads of
those patriarchal maternity heads;
name them:
     jesse helms v. david   wojnarowicz
                                          (voy-na'h-ro'h-vee-ch'­);
yeah i know he was gay,
but now the stigma spreads into
kind regard to the ladies of the Goodmayes
brothel, who weren't Roma but Bulgar
(Cyrillic pizdiec) - but hell i'd bonk a gypsy
like a slice of wedding cake -
anything that moves, anything that moves
(well come on, daddy's a politician
and she's gorging on a mustang phallus).
indeed, with conclusive words,
the english schwankend s (the wavering s,
mediating sometimes sly, slack
and sometimes zebra and dice).
Pearson Bolt Jan 2016
most days i daydream of
traipsing past New Zealand streams
hopping from stones as the rivers
rush past beneath our feet
walking on water like deities

in my mind we play tag like children
in the streets of Venice
criss-crossing over a myriad of
bridges interwoven like fabric
threads in an awning tapestry

and i take your photograph as
you extend your index and middle
fingers in the universal sign of
everlasting peace and smirk out of
the corner of your mouth the way you do
when you know i'm looking

the sun-kissed snow would fall in drifts
in the Swiss Alps as a chill wind numbed our skin
and the mid-morning breeze played with our hair
and we sang songs that echoed
through canyons carved by Father Time
and Mother Nature's scandalous romance

or maybe we'd just stand within the Guggenheim
sheltered from the elements
our fingers interlocked as we wordlessly  
studied the museum's latest exhibition
and you'd rest your head on my shoulder
as you traced the Deathly Hallows
etched into my wrist with
your fingertips and you'd
be the first to break the silence

i wonder what the artist was thinking
when he shot this black and white image
do you think the shadow in the lower left
means something significant or is it
just a trick of the light

and we would stand
statuesque at the foot
of sepia photographs
two additional installations
of artwork
kfaye Nov 2018
H.
I was her boredom
As the monster cut up the city

We ordered food. and sat to wait out our imminent destruction

Disassembling  art installations that had grown out of my hair


Going to and from.


There will be no Magical  girl transformation sequence .
There will be no battle. And triumph

I was the summer.
Burning other people. while we stayed inside
For most of it
cracked  window looks at clouds, the mountain.

ledge, dead moths stretched out in

all their softness, stunned by light.



sewn curtains stir memories, indicate

a private place to weave and mend

a dream.



here are the items, the installations,

here are the photographs i take

each day. here are the worries

placed in the cupboard, with notes,

for you to read.



sbm.
Sara Brummer Aug 2019
Glittering brilliance, these crystal panels
dressed in their thick, gold frames,
cupping and shaping the light,
pooling images the second they appear,
then, unlike the camera, they let go,
swallowing the world whole,
preparing for the next procession
of time-bond creatures.
They respect transience,
creating their own temporary ripples,
their own instantaneous installations.
They are mime artists of illusion,
disappearing as the earth darkens.
Patiently, for they wait for the return
of light, never doubting it will come.
Noel Billiter Dec 2018
Translucent dim lit paper moon
Slightly faded pale subdued tones
Delicate meloncoly hues gossamer gold
royal blues ethereal undertones
halos rings emits eclectric solar beams
radiates a rare luminescent glow
Shiny satellites inferior installations know
Gems of pearlescent ethereal stones
Composed orchestrated melodic overtones
Glorious galaxies of metallic chrome
Explored precious irredentist milestones
Matt Apr 2015
Hello Steve,

In 2006 I was part of a team that worked under the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I was an analyst, my job was to look at CBNER equipment and report on compliance at military installations and hospitals, as well as give my opinion on what possibilities terrorist would pursue.

During one of my visits, I had completed my assessment, the officers that read my findings were very impressed and wanted to speak with me. During my questioning I was asked “what do you think would be the most likely scenario for the U.S. coming under attack? This was my answer:

“Looking at all the possibilities, current strength of the U.S. and the amount of firearms and patriots in the U.S, the only way an invasion would be possible would be if a devastating event fell upon the country. The event would have to weaken the current infrastructure to the point where all emergency response elements would be exhausted. Fire and rescue, police, National Guard and reserve military units would be overwhelmed, and the rest of the military would be overseas unable to respond in a timely manner. When this occurs, that is when foreign entities will invade the U.S, when it is weak and overwhelmed”.

Steve, the massive military movement and placement that is hurriedly going on right now is for a reason, they are preparing for something big, within the natural disaster category to occur, and it is very obvious. The powers at be know an event is inevitable, that is why food, water ammo and communications are being quickly placed underground, they know how devastating the event will be, and they know the U.S. will be over run and they are going to hide during all the chaos.

When this occurs, people are going to be taken totally off guard, because they are not telling the public what is about to occur openly. Through movies, music videos and in a massive way video games, the public is being covertly warned about what is coming, and the public is not paying attention.

Even though the word of our lord and savior clearly states, through his word, that a strong delusion will fall upon people, diverting there attention and blocking them from noticing the signs, I am still blown away watching the delusion occur. I will be fasting with you and the other men of god for the salvation of this nation.

God Bless America.
hard to keep rules,
where there are no rules.

hard to be a yard stick these days,
when others use meters.

found it exhausting, packing,
making the installations. it

is not hard, yet my mental
got exhausted.

i went to the party.

sbm.
hard to keep rules,
where there are no rules.

hard to be a yard stick these days,
when others use meters.

found it exhausting, packing,
making the installations. it

is not hard, yet my mental
got exhausted.

i went to the party.

sbm.
looking for one verse,
write another. fnding books,
read some other story.

there are installations
waiting, while the season,
slowly changes.

i have heard the news, await
the weather forecast.

meanwhile music plays,
early morning.

sbm.
all there in the installations.



go back to the museum,

where it all started , cabinets,

labels to define, another way.



gradually reailisation came,

that we have been here before.



collecting seeds, objects of desire,

then in our gratitude remake.



this is the falling day, the childhood

way.



this is an idea.



sbm.
Steve Page Aug 2018
I identify as a poet,
a writer-poet
with a bent towards rhythms and patterns that are pleasing to the tongue
and to the ear.
On paper, the words are captured
with clear order and definite lines.
Spoken, the sounds wrap around and seep into ear canals,
flowing with less order, with greater freedom.

I identify as an artist,
a sound-artist,
with a bent towards the human voice, using words that worm their way into the human consciousness,
lodging there to make a new home,
free to morph into new installations with an art of their own making.

I identify as a poet.
What am I at my core? A writer.  I worship with a pen in my hand. I capture stray thoughts for later use. That's what I am.
Keren Pickard Oct 2018
You have a way
Of creeping into
My dirt brown thoughts

With innocent persistence
You wind yourself
Around fixed installations

You put down
Your roots between
Those that are mine

Forever entwined
Into the landscape
Of my mind

Then, a flower
Unfolds its petals
Unexpected and nice

And I think
I can live with you
Beautiful ****.
Ahhh, it feels nice to post my first...
Evan Stephens Aug 2021
Thick-lidded Argus
peers across the rain passage:
dozens of glazed, framed eyes
congeal until split with a smoky flick,
tumbling their beige gazes
down onto the spitted walk.

Behind one eye, a woman
cooks her midnight meal:
instant soup in bleachboard
emerges from the microwave throat.

Behind another, a light screams
from a fluorescent hip, ramming itself
into the bruised wall color
before dying in a waving pool
of yellow-milk curtains.

I open the maple door and hunt
for the sweet wax-wet relief,
the glass-arch scythe: Scotch.

Grass castles spring
from the cindered lawn,
the Argus-faced building fades
into rectangles of dulled evening,
& cross-hatched breezes launch themselves
at a ****-haired moon fracture.

Happiness is a quay across the sea.
In this uncaring world, she is a gold reef
in the earth's slow stone:
my failed escape, an inaccessible chance,
a remedy for the thin blood
in the blue universe of the middle-aged vein.

Beer, wine, scotch,
it all goes to the same place -
I have lost patience
with this unsolved heart.
The trees tremble with shadow-spoons
under the Argus building's corpse-pale
fearful installations. Terrible shrieks for help
balloon obscenely into laughter, before
they are gobbled roughly into silence.
darker here this morning
or am i awake earlier?
top of the trees are moving
while traffic drives distant

a few lorries pass by here

lately there has been a small
plane each afternoon we
run out to see

how long have you guys lived
on tug hill ?

i found a super bone when
i visited ironworks last month

just laying in the grass while
the swallows swooped low

i kept it in the kitchen to see
lately have moved it to the home
studio here

yes i make installations with
wild bits as you may know
rarely using glue or permanent
fixatives

i have used screws once and it was satisfactory
yesterday we made a working party & only just
met

we done good clearing two outbuildings
the skip was full and tidy while i found
treasures to bring home

i like the walk up over the hill
to hear the blood pounding
to know i am still alive

i liked the wood piles by the stile
there

i will send you a photograph

later i watched politics and
the man down the graveyard

i was tired then
saw a green light
felt dizzy and fell
to sleep

earlier i had read about
the four types of shame

Sonja
6.24 am
here
with weather like this
Tom Shields Aug 2022
Uvalde
A town you never heard of, you’ll never hear the end of
You’ve heard the end of
Guns in America, a story you’ll never hear the end of
The insecure White Man’s struggle ends with a massacre
A story that never begins in history, you never hear the end of
It’s always been going on, Elijah McClain, I hear him screaming in my brain
The pain is ongoing and I see this veteran policewoman walking towards a car
She’s got a gun in her hand and can’t tell the difference between a taser
Like the weight is the same as her heart and a feather, but it’s ******
White Supremacy, suddenly everybody is Kyle Rittenhouse’s defense attorney
Editing bodycam footage, standing around for 77 minutes and detaining
Your fellow officer whose wife is a teacher in the classroom, taking his weapon
And letting the school shooter reign free, rain bullets down on the
Nation you claim to love, so much ******* bravery, contaminated with agenda
Politics, frothing blood on the shores from sea to shining sea, ducking in the suburbs
From scopes that’s car windows reflecting the sun in the fifth day out the week of plus 110 degrees heat
It’s upscale for us, hell, close as bougie as you ever get when you can cook eggs on the street
The air is so thick with well-informed opinions that keep up with the world
Everyone knows everything, everywhere all the time anymore, and I try to avoid it
Hide from the anxiety, stay inside, idealistically cling to a shred of pride, the insanity I desire is structural anarchy
Challenge the integrity of a system that’s starving people, by flipping the tables and making the power-hungry just hungry
I’m just angry, you go into any atmosphere and it’s pretty clear conversations of social conscience run deep into consideration
Failure, on a historical, national, centuries-long, cultural level, not just any one people can be held accountable or responsible
Nothing can be solved with one tongue-lashing in one sitting, but nobody wants to hear that no satisfaction
Will come from the instant gratification of getting one over on the opposition
Who sit smug in defiance of each other, calm heads prevail even when they’re objectively incorrect
Because it’s not about logic, facts, truth or morality
It’s about appearing better than, media and perception
Appealing to the ego and id, ebb and flow of how to till an audience
Field them out, groom the youth and watch them grow
But truth is, the right thing to do is the hardest thing to do
That cop kneeling on George Floyd choked everybody who could see it was wrong
And he only killed one man with his actions, but caused all hell to break loose
If the world were a smarter place, they’d have tackled him off, detained him
Let the man in the hallway go, backed him up and taken action, but
Going online to defend White Supremacy, they used to go out into the world and put on hoods to do that
Kyle Rittenhouse took on the police department’s responsibility, he was 16
**** all the legalities, I hate lawyers and I refuse to speak with you on terms of legalese
This kid lived in a world where he couldn’t just be concerned about going to school the next day
Or playing video games, doing some teenager ****, no
He had to get an assault rifle, go out of his way to commit a double homicide, and people flock to his side to call it justified
What do you same people think about the yielding of Uvalde PD to a school shooter, active, in progress, who likely only wanted them to storm in on the rampage so they could commit suicide
Ignorance
The last chapter in American history because it will be the death of all of us
No arguments will endure one side not listening to another side not listening
When no one can make headway with a fair point, when you strip the right to choose based on autonomy
When you come after people for their differences, marginalize entire communities
Feeling so threatened you cry Marxism and quiver behind your idols, that you never noticed, sacred now institutions, installations of
Your unknown ancestry, history, let’s be honest, it’s not destruction to evolve the status quo in a positive direction for this hopeless society
Killing people out of reactionary fear, before they even do anything
Then rioting, splintering, there is no unity
There is no sanctuary, there is no safety
Peace is apolitical in nature, it just has to be, in that it is also injust
And politics are injust without being peaceful, but inspiring people to be hateful
Darker and more hateful than anything the eyes might ever see, they awaken evil in the cesspool, the spirit
Bubbling out of the mouth and over the teeth, fits of rage overtake the world stage
Like January 6th
You don’t get to compare your riot to other riots and say you did it more well-behaved
When you riot on the nation’s capital that’s like punching America, Uncle Sam, Lady Liberty, the constitution you preach like the bible and all the founding fathers in the face
My mind’s eye is swollen from the insight that plays on the news with the slaughter of these children, comparisons to the attitude surrounding incidents of gun violence and what it’s actually like to have mental illness
The Governor of Texas, mouth-breathing Abbott says, anyone who shoots someone else is not mentally stable, so police then
Murdering police who **** people all the time, and don’t even always use guns
A whole police department just stood by and let someone else **** children; I saw teachers trying to buy bulletproof vests online for their first graders
Kyle Rittenhouse is a symptom of a diseased mindset in America, if they won’t, he will then, and we don’t treat him
Like we would, we could, we should, I saw a light show celebrating his actions
**** the criminal history of the people he killed, judge, jury, nor executioner is on the head of the children
But, going to church, the grocery store, school, someone could just show up with two ArmaLite M15s and **** them
A Mossberg, Glock, Colt, Smith&Wesson and ammunition to fulfill the mission
Of raising stock in these gun manufacturing corporations, in the end
Because we set precedents with old money presidents, Donald Trump and the Bush Dynasty, Clintons and self-fulfill them
That we inherit sleepwalking promises of change, half-deranged, fall-guys for the previous administrations like Biden
And view one different face in this indistinguishable, old, white, grey spoiled milk on the fridge shelf of presidents as a beacon
There’s a systematic breakdown at the molecular level by legal minds far more educated and dedicated than mine
That are far more passionate, with more time, I’m just
Tired, God
I’m so tired of going outside and not knowing if there’s gonna be a Howard Unruh situation
Or that this America my nephew grows up in, will be so ****** up and, he’ll have teachers put bulletproof vest on his kindergarten supplies list
And I want to appeal against my better instinct to shooters to attack those whose job it is to protect and serve and fight back, to give a chance to the unarmed and innocent civilians
Go for your local police department if you need to pick a target, I implore you, if not for the impact, then think of it as a merciful act
They are carriers of the symptomatic disease infecting communities, leave unequipped people to live their lives, if you can’t be reeled back from your planned attack
I am so tired
It’s so hot it feels like the whole country is on fire and not from the sun
I could never be who I am anywhere else in the world, I want to love it here for that
But I don’t want to die here for anyone.
write
please read and enjoy
Debra in Silence Jan 2020
it was a narration of a humble detonation
a crack in contented gratification
obscure and concealed in the shade
an observant witness
it represented a courteous compassion
an unpretentious kindness
hidden, camouflaged, cloaked in a shroud of dappled shade
satiated complacency
the birth and death had wings and scales
wild, raw and logical instinct turned to slumber
a stupor of beginnings and endings
diurnal, nocturnal on a crowded street
pure natural installations of respect and dignity honour the alter
the ignorance of youth stands with the wise sage of balance
captivated by the significant symbol of seniority
innocence and age poised in the seduction of voyeurism
safe and protected to witness and contemplate the invulnerable
a lazy satisfied and secluded pleasure appeased
rest and doze as the serpent and the bat embody the epitome of survival and death
strip, shed and peel the obscurity of night and day and embody the creation of bleached pigmented hues

— The End —