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RAJ NANDY Nov 2015
GREAT ARTISTS & THEIR IMMORTAL WORKS :
CONCLUDING ITALIAN RENAISSANCE IN
VERSE.  -  By Raj Nandy, New Delhi.

Dear Readers, continuing my Story of Western Art in Verse chronologically, I had covered an Introduction to the Italian Renaissance previously. That background story was necessary to appreciate Renaissance Art fully. Now, I cover the Art of that period in a summarized form, mentioning mainly the salient features to curb the length. The cream here lies in the 'Art of the High Renaissance Period'! Hope you like it. Thanks, - Raj.

                          INTRODUCTION
“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, &
  Poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.”
                                                        – Leonardo Da Vinci
In the domain of Renaissance Art, we notice the
enduring influence of the Classical touch!
Ancient Greek statues and Roman architectures,
Inspired the Renaissance artists in their innovative
ventures!
The pervasive spirit of Humanism influenced
creation of life-like human forms;
Adding ****** expressions and depth, deviating
from the earlier stiff Medieval norms.
While religious subjects continued to get depicted
in three-dimensional Renaissance Art;
Portraits, **** figures, and secular subjects, also
began to appear during this great ‘Re-birth’!
The artists of the Early and High Renaissance Era
are many who deserve our adoration and artistic
due.
Yet for the sake of brevity, I mention only the
Great Masters, who are handful and few.

EARLY RENAISSANCE ARTISTS & THEIR ART

GITTO THE PIONEER:
During early 13th Century we find, Dante’s
contemporary Gitto di Bondone the Florentine,
Painting human figures in all its beauty and form
for the first time!
His masterwork being the 40 fresco cycle in the
Arena Chapel in Padua, depicting the life of the
****** and Christ, completed in 1305.
Giotto made the symbolic Medieval spiritual art
appear more natural and realistic,
By depicting human emotion, depth with an
artistic perspective!
Art Scholars consider him to be the trailblazer
inspiring the later painters of the Renaissance;
They also refer to Giorgio Vasari’s “Lives Of
The Eminent Artists,” - as their main source.
Giotto had dared to break the shackles of earlier
Medieval two-dimensional art style,
By drawing lines which head towards a certain
focal point behind;
Like an illusionary vanishing point in space,
- opening up a 3-D ‘window into space’!
This ‘window technique’ got adopted by the
later artists with grace.
(
Giorgio Vasari, a 16th Century painter, architect & Art
historian, was born in 1511 in Arezzy, a city under the
Florentine Republic, and painted during the High
Renaissance Period.)

VASARI’s book published in 1550 in Florence
was dedicated to Cosimo de Medici.
Forms an important document of Italian Art
History.
This valuable book covers a 250 year’s span.
Commencing with Cimabue the tutor of Giotto,
right up to Tizian, - better known as Titan!
Vasari also mentions four lesser known Female
Renaissance Artists; Sister Plantilla, Madonna
Lucrezia, Sofonista Anguissola, and Properzia
de Rossi;
And Rossi’s painting “Joseph and Potiphar’s
Wife”,
An impressive panel art which parallels the
unrequited love Rossi experienced in her own
life !
(
Joseph the elder son of Jacob, taken captive by Potiphar
the Captain of Pharaoh’s guard, was desired by Potiphar’s
wife, whose advances Joseph repulsed. Rossi’s painting
of 1520s inspired later artists to paint their own versions
of this same Old Testament Story.)

Next I briefly mention architects Brunelleschi
and Ghiberti, and the sculptor Donatello;
Not forgetting the painters like Masaccio,
Verrocchio and Botticelli;
Those Early Renaissance Artists are known to
us today thanks to the Art historian Giorgio
Vasari .

BRUNELLESCHI has been mentioned in Section
One of my Renaissance Story.
His 114 meter high dome of Florence Cathedral
created artistic history!
This dome was constructed without supporting
buttresses with a double egg shaped structure;
Stands out as an unique feat of Florentine
Architecture!
The dome is larger than St Paul’s in London,
the Capitol Building of Washington DC, and
also the St Peters in the Vatican City!

GILBERTI is remembered for his massive
15 feet high gilded bronze doors for the
Baptistery of Florence,
Containing twenty carved panels with themes
from the Old Testament.
Which took a quarter century to complete,
working at his own convenience.
His exquisite naturalistic carved figures in the
true spirit of the Renaissance won him a prize;
And his gilded doors were renamed by Michel
Angelo as ‘The Gates of Paradise’!
(
At the age of 23 yrs Lorenzo Ghiberti had won the
competition beating other Architects for craving the
doors of the Baptistery of Florence!)

DONATELLO’S full size bronze David was
commissioned by its patron Cosimo de’ Medici.
With its sensual contrapposto stance in the
classical Greek style with its torso bent slightly.
Is known as the first free standing **** statue
since the days of Classical Art history!
The Old Testament relates the story of David
the shepherd boy, who killed the giant Goliath
with a single sling shot;
Cutting off his head with Goliath’s own sword!
Thus saving the Israelites from Philistine’s wrath.
This unique statue inspired all later sculptors to
strive for similar artistic excellence;
Culminating in Michael Angelo’s **** statue of
David, known for its sculptured brilliance!

MASSACCIO (1401- 1428) joined Florentine
Artist’s Guild at the age of 21 years.
A talented artist who abandoned the old Gothic
Style, experimenting without fears!
Influenced by Giotto, he mastered the use of
perspective in art.
Introduced the vanishing point and the horizon
line, - while planning his artistic works.
In his paintings ‘The Expulsion from Eden’
and ‘The Temptation’,
He introduced the initial **** figures in Italian
Art without any inhibition!
Though up North in Flanders, Van Eyck the
painter had already made an artistic innovation,
By painting ‘Adam and Eve’ displaying their
****** in his artistic creation;
Thereby creating the first **** painting in Art
History!
But such figures greatly annoyed the Church,
Since nudes formed a part of pagan art!
So these Northern artists to pacify the Church
and pass its censorship,
Cleverly under a fig leaf cover made their art to
appear moralistic!
Van Eyck was also the innovator of oil-based paints,
Which later replaced the Medieval tempera, used to
paint angles and saints.

Masaccio’s fresco ‘The Tribute Money’ requires
here a special mention,
For his use of perspective with light and shade,
Where the blithe figure of the Roman tax collector
is artistically made.
Christ is painted with stern nobility, Peter in angry
majesty;
And every Apostle with individualized features,
attire, and pose;
With light coming from a single identifiable source!
“Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,
and unto God things that are God’s”, said Christ;
Narrated in Mathew chapter 22 verse 21, which
cannot be denied.
Unfortunately, Masaccio died at an early age of
27 years.
Said to have been killed by a jealous rival artist,
who had shed no tears!

BOTTICELLI the Florentine was born half a
century after the Dutch Van Eyck;
Remembered even to this day for his painting
the ‘Birth of Venus’, an icon of Art History
making him famous.
This painting depicts goddess Venus rising out
of the sea on a conch shell,
And the glorious path of female **** painting
commenced in Italy, - casting a spell!
His full scale **** Venus shattered the Medieval
taboo on ******.
With a subject shift from religious art to Classical
Mythology;
Removing the ‘fig-leaf cover’ over Art permanently!

I end this Early Period with VERROCCHIO, born
in Florence in fourteen hundred and thirty five.
A trained goldsmith proficient in the skills of both
painting and sculpture;
Who under the patronage of the Medici family
had thrived.
He had set up his workshop in Florence were he
trained Leonardo Da Vinci, Botticelli, and other
famous Renaissance artists alike!

FOUR CANONICAL PAINTING MODES OF
THE RENAISSANCE:
During the Renaissance the four canonical painting
modes we get to see;
Are Chiaroscuro, Sfumato, Cangiante and Unione.
‘Chiaroscuro’ comes from an Italian word meaning
‘light and dark’, a painting technique of Leonardo,
Creating a three dimensional dramatic effect to
steal the show.
Later also used with great excellence by Rubens
and the Dutch Rembrandt as we know.
‘Sfumato’ from Italian ‘sfumare’, meaning to tone
down or evaporate like a smoke;
As seen in Leonardo’s ‘Mona Lisa’ where the
colors blend seamlessly like smoke!
‘Cangiante’ means to ‘change’, where a painter
changed to a lighter or a darker hue, when the
original hue could not be made light enough;
As seen in the transformation from green to
yellow in Prophet Daniel’s robe,
On the ceiling of Sistine Chapel in Rome.
‘Unione’ followed the ‘sfumato’ quality, but
maintained vibrant colors as we get to see;
In Raphael’s ‘Alba Madonna’ in Washington’s
National Gallery.

ART OF HIGH RENAISSANCE ERA - THE
GOLDEN AGE.

“Where the spirit does not work with the
hand there is no art.”- Leonardo

With Giotto during the Trecento period of the
14th century,
Painting dominated sculpture in the artistic
endeavor of Italy.
During the 15th century the Quattrocento, with
Donetello and Giberti,
Sculpture certainly dominated painting as we get to
see!
But during the 16th century or the Cinquecento,
Painting again took the lead commencing with
the great Leonardo!
This Era was cut short by the death of Lorenzo the
Magnificent to less than half a century; (Died in 1493)
But gifted great masterpieces to the world enriching
the world of Art tremendously!
The Medieval ‘halo’ was now replaced by a fresh
naturalness;
And both Madonna and Christ acquired a more
human likeness!
Portrait paintings began to be commissioned by
many rich patrons.
While artists acquired both recognition and a status
of their own.
But the artistic focus during this Era had shifted from
Florence,  - to Venice and Rome!
In the Vatican City, Pope Julius-II was followed by
Pope Leo the Tenth,
He commissioned many works of art which are
still cherished and maintained!
Now cutting short my story let me mention the
famous Italian Renaissance Superstar Trio;
Leonardo, Raphael, and Michael Angelo.

LEONARDO DA VINCI was born in 1452 in
the village of Vinci near the City of Florence,
Was deprived of a formal education being born
illegitimate!
He was left-handed, and wrote from right to left!
He soon excelled his teacher Varrocchio, by
introduced oil based paints into Italy;
Whose translucent colors with his innovative
techniques, enhanced his painting artistically.
Sigmund Freud had said, “Leonardo was like a
man who awoke too early in the darkness while
others were all still asleep,” - he was awake!
Leonardo’s  historic ‘Note Book’ has sketches of a
battle tank, a flying machine, a parachute, and many
other anatomical and technical sketches and designs;
Reflecting the ever probing mind of this versatile
genius who was far ahead of his time!
His ‘Vituvian Man’, ‘The Last Supper’, and ‘Mona Lisa’,
Remain as his enduring works of art and more popular
than the Leaning Tower of Pisa!
Pen and ink sketch of the ‘Vitruvian Man’ with arms
and leg apart inside a square and a circle, also known
as the ‘Proportion of Man’;
Where his height correspondence to the length
of his outstretched hands;
Became symbolic of the true Renaissance spirit
of Man.
‘The Last Supper’ a 15ft by 29ft fresco work on
the refectory wall of Santa Maria, commissioned
by Duke of Milan Ludovic,
Is the most reproduced religious painting which
took three years to complete!
Leonardo searched the streets of Milan before
painting Judas’ face;
And individualized each figure with competence!
‘Mona Lisa’ with her enigmatic smile continues
to inspire artists, poets, and her viewers alike,
since its creation;
Which Leonardo took four years to complete
with utmost devotion.
Leonardo used oil on poplar wood panel, unique
during those days,
With ‘sfumato’ blending of translucent colors with
light and shade;
Creating depth, volume, and form, with a timeless
expression on Mona Lisa’s countenance!
Art Historian George Varasi says that it is the face
of one Lisa Gherardini,
Wife of a wealthy Florentine merchant of Italy.
Insurance Companies failed to make any estimation
of this portrait, declaring its value as priceless!
Today it remains housed inside an air-conditioned,
de-humidified chamber, within a triple bullet-proof
glass, in Louvre France.
“It is the ultimate symbol of human civilization”,
- exclaimed President Kennedy;
And with this I pay my humble tribute to our
Leonardo da Vinci!

MICHEL ANGELO BUONARROTI (1475-1564):
This Tuscan born sculptor, painter, architect, and
poet, was a versatile man,
Worthy to be called the archetype of the true
‘Renaissance Man’!
At the age of twelve was placed under the famous
painter Ghirlandio,
Where his inclination for sculpting began to show.
Under the liberal patronage of Lorenzo de Medici,
He developed his talent as a sculptor as we get
to see.
In the Medici Palace, he was struck by his rival
Torregiano on the nose with a mallet;
Disfiguring permanently his handsome face!
His statue of ‘Bacchus’ of 1497 and the very
beauty of the figure,
Earned him the commission for the ‘PIETA’ in
St Peter’s Basilica;
Where from a single piece of Carrara marble he
carved out the figure of ****** Mary grieving
over the dead body of Christ;
This iconic piece of sculpture which along with
his ‘David’ earned him the ‘Superstar rights’!

Michel Angelo’s **** ‘DAVID’ weighed 6.4 tons
and stood 17 feet in height;
Unlike the bronze David of Donatello, which
shows him victorious after the fight!
Michel’s David an epitome of strength and
youthful vigour with a Classical Greek touch;
Displayed an uncircumcised ***** which had
shocked the viewers very much!
But it was consistent with the Mannerism in Art,
in keeping with the Renaissance spirit as such!
David displays an attitude of placid calm with
his knitted eyebrows and sidelong glance;
With his left hand over the left shoulder
holding a sling,
Coolly surveys the giant Goliath before his
single sling shot fatally stings!
This iconic sculpture has a timeless appeal even
after 500 years, depicting the ‘Renaissance Man’
at his best;
Vigorous, healthy, beautiful, rational and fully
competent!
Finally we come to the Ceiling of the Sistine
Chapel of Rome,
Where Pope Julius-II’s persistence resulted in the
creation of world’s greatest single fresco that was
ever known!
Covering some 5000 square feet, took five years
to complete.
Special scaffoldings had to be erected for painting
scenes from ‘The Creation’ till the ‘Day of Judgment’
on a 20 meter’s high ceiling;
Where the Central portion had nine scenes from
the ‘Book of Genesis’,
With ‘Creation of Adam’ having an iconic significance!
Like Leonardo, Michel Angelo was left-handed and died
a bachelor - pursuing his art with devotion;
A man with caustic wit, proud reserve, and sublimity
of imagination!

RAFFAELLO SANZIO (1483-1520):
This last of the famous High Renaissance trio was
born in 1483 in Urbino,
Some eight years after Michel Angelo.
His Madonna series and decorative frescos
glorified the Library of Pope Julius the Second;
Who was impressed by his fresco ‘The School
of Athens’;
And commissioned Raphael to decorate his
Study in the Vatican.
Raphael painted this large fresco between 1510
and 1511, initially named as the ‘Knowledge of
Causes’,
But the 17th century guide books referred to it
as ‘The School of Athens’.
Here Plato and Aristotle are the central figures
surrounded by a host of ancient Greek scholars
and philosophers.
The bare footed Plato is seen pointing skywards,
In his left hand holds his book ‘Timaeus’;
His upward hand gesture indicating his ‘World
of Forms’ and transcendental ideas!
Aristotle is seen pointing downwards, his left
hand holds his famous book the ‘Ethics’;
His blue dress symbolizes water and earth
with an earthly fix.
The painting illustrates the historic continuance
of Platonic thoughts,
In keeping with the spirit of the Renaissance!
Raphael’s last masterpiece ‘Transfiguration’
depicts the resurrected Christ,
Flanked by prophets
JV Beaupre May 2016
"So why are you painting a woman in a bottle?"
The challenge. Handling all those quirky reflections and layers of transparency.

"She has phantom arms and legs, what about that?"
Yes, pretty cool. A Vitruvian woman in a bottle.

"I'm looking for Meaning: Don't paintings look under the surface?"
You mean, what does it mean, really mean? It's just a way to test my skill.

"But what are you saying with that?"
It's not feminist nor anti, it's just an exercise. Besides, there's a rope.

"But aren't you, as an artist, exposing reality, presenting emotions and feelings, seeing the soul?"
I'm not on a soapbox-- I'm testing my skill-- I paint and don't think about it too much. After all, 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar' or is it 'just a smoke'? *

"I don't like your message."
OK, I'll paint you in a bottle...
As a shrunken head.
On the other hand, I once painted an agricultural scene based on a photo from the 1930s that I thought carried a social message. Most people wanted to know what kind of tractor it was.
Probability lurks behind the veil of your
Vintage velvety hair locks.
       Why don't you let them grow
Fond of the silk windwhirled fingertips

       I'm falling apart like the society's white lies
When I first saw the picture of your oldtime lesser plie
          Bohemian rascal poetic spirit


Do you still believe in soulfull foolishnesses?
     Where do you play your music??

Let's chill under the Flatland area's arbol

   Abbreviations of your blown up ****** desires
Are being revolutionized and mutinized by these

Enchanting  darklings

Dear dear darling
deep  romantic eyes     &
Suddenly I'm lost  inbetween days
Do you want it!!!?
~For You Fantastic Homeland Poet ~
Larry Potter Mar 2017
You tell the tale of your perfect life
But you can't even undress your wife
Or spend a weekend with your kids
And visit your parents that you didn't miss.

You spread your arms to boast your wealth
But you didn't even mind your health
All those luxuries to feed your hungry ego
Can't fill you up and every night you bellow.

You act like a king in your tiny office
But you're just a parrot caged in your petty worries
In a cramped up square of your own limits
A boring building of dancing digits.

You spend the night with your circle of friends
But they don't really appreciate your presence
Wrapped inside your own bubble of vanity
A suffocating sphere nobody wishes to be.

You claim to be a man of godly proportions
But you're a sad case that needs divine intervention
Your life is certainly a rare work of art
But Leonardo da Vinci would tear you apart.
wordvango Mar 2015
measured in
correlations
as four
cubits makes him
to me is equated with
the length of outspread arms
of a woman awaiting
him.
Though in Prime Moment the Truth we discuss
The Third Great Angel flew to Intercede,
Playing her Harp which enwrangles the Lust
And gently reveal the Beauty-in-Thee
Yes, that Truest Virtue which no Malice accords
On Serving Patience a Letter was read
No more, no more for Condensation's Words
Are just enough to leave these Germs for dead
Not much for Command of Good English proposed
Was starting to tassle the Rumours and Wine
But such as you are yet too Young to dispose
A Lady's demanding Shell you design.
Pray take, this Harper knows how to direct
The Vitruvian Boy, waving for your Affect.
#daleysangels #jessicacldunbar
Donall Dempsey Oct 2018
DA VINCI'S GHOST

( for my little brother Brian )

I listen to
classical guitar in the dark

with only a single
candle for company.

These my teenage years.

Music and flame
travel through my mind

unveiling thought.

Da Vinci's
Vitruvian man

pinned to the wall
with most pins missing.

He comes alive
in the candle's flicker.

Gets into a flap
each time the door opens.

Little brother is spooked
by that Vitruvian stare

but is fascinated by the fact
that he exists

within a circle
within a square.

Like a priest I
dress my self in the garb

of Leonardo's words.

"Write what the soul is.

Illustrate whence comes....madness.
Whence...tears.
Whence...dreams!"

The whences make him wince.

As he sees it:  "...it is like a man
travelling through time

in his dream machine
and arriving at his own

dying
becoming his own

ghost."

Our mother's voice
calls him

and he is grateful to escape
his own thought.

*

Now, here I am
at your death

as you step inside
the circle
(inside the square).

You stare back at me
with that Vitruvian stare

and I " try to write
what the soul is."
vircapio gale Aug 2012
spread-eagle at the summit
facing endless gusts of sandy billows,
mountain-backed vitruvian man,
i flail frustration at the outer
drips against, again in toes
forget the boots the pack
the bearbag full of snacks
the nylon thunder night-fret
flash of demon forking
shamefaced fear in throat
of shaken chest or weakness
soaking downy thermarest--
underfed it seemed so clear!
with only distant puffs within the blue
so here i lay despite the warnings hitherto--
the stakes have ripped electric
by the sky or sudden wind
as corners rock and threaten
rolling off into the gale--i sweat to add
a static vision sailing back alone,
a teardrop tent against the lightning caverns of the clouds
a skeleton of light suspended in the strike,
a sierra sign designedly godlike,
zapped nocturnal whisk i am
in awe now fearful grateful
mythos-understood of human
imagination's pawn still prone
with whining seams the poles still hold
within the whipping whites so loud
to tug my heels against the flying fabric
portal damp enstormed insomniac
to will the stony sand there once again
to sleep perhaps another dozen in
before the morning knuckles
pound the staff from off this mountaintop
this is what i got for camping on the sandy summit of Carter Dome, where the soil is too loose to hold tent stakes.  the lightning storm ripped them right out and tossed me around til just before sunrise
kelvin mungai Sep 2015
[[ ****]]
blood pooling around her
there she lay sprawled
eyes glazed,motionless with no stir
she is another victim to succumb
to this heinous inhuman act
the mission is accomplished
the criminal thinks
freely he walks
head and shoulder held high
among mortals he laugh
life goes on ,another life gone
my sister,mum and aunt
the daughters of eve are endangered
my brother,dad and i
the all sons of adam
are the perpetrators
fear exists among our female species
they fear to be stripped off their
coverings
they live in a nightmare of being
stripped off their dignity
unwillingly be disrobed and be
robbed
they fear being deflowered and
defiled
out of her will she was forced
naked and spreadeagled
vitruvian man style she lay
her case was a repetition of a biblical
story
dinah and the sons of shechem
blood freely trickled between her
open pelvic
life seeped out of her misused shell
did she really deserve this???
who will end this atrocity?
who will fight for the girl child?
toddlers and grannies
shamelessly chauvinist male defiles
them
its against the word
its against the unwritten codes
it's unafrican
it's evil
my anger is frothing
like a volcano the lava is heating up
my pen is crying for the female child
i will shout this from rooftops
on the skyline i will write it
this battle is ours and we have to
fight
protection we've to offer
[[the chronicles of the dumb speaker]]
Ken Pepiton Apr 2019
things I know nothing of
things I know little of
things I know more of
things I know all of

where should I wander?
where should I linger

seriously?

lighten up. time I know, little
enough,
now is, then was, soon

we see
we note
we mark the place on this horizon
that big star rises
or seems to rise
from, but now we know,

some how that star is moving in
time, same as me

how can any knower know
the sweet influences of pleides?

look closely,

------------------

this time, this generation

here,
we're smart, we can do math in poems
12800 years ago, 1280 decades,
128 centruien measures in each

of which, lay remnants of four generations
of **** sapiens,
of **** sapiens sapiens, and
of **** sapiens sapiens augmenticious,
all mixed up and tangle tongued.

Now, 512 generations of beings of our genus
since the
speciation of we, the people of earth;

this time, this generation

now,
we're smarter, more able to know and use
the knowing, than any
we imagine real
before us
in these past five hundred and twelve steps,
from mitomom,

to you. Individuatible you.
to you, thinker of thought things,

to you, thinker of thought things augmented
by with for through witty

inventions, for instance, example gratis, et al

the Vitruvian man made the Vitruvian wheel,

tapping the flow of rain returning to the sea, pulling, nicely, with thanks, at first,
to the river,
power at a rate of two kilo watts per hour,

The old mill stone groaned as it ground seed
that could'a' been boiled
and chewed, but for the lack of knowing

how a fire could be started,
after all the ashes have grown cold.

Oops, time skip. Now, then back

Gen one, post all hell breaking loose

who knew how to start a fire?
was it a secret kept for the few who knew?

Was prometheus as real as jesus,
had we any evidence of things unseen,
had we any substance of things hoped for?
-- why?
-- because there is a liar on the loose. And now nothing hidden remains, save what you never knew anyone could know. Or so it seems, to me,
We play with the past,
us gawkers
laugh out louders
and marry the fun. Or
purchase t-shirts to remember

The Thinker plopped upon a porcelain throne
Rodin in the bowl
a powerful internal struggle
philosophy flushed for comedic blue cleanser
carved beautifully

The Vitruvian Man in full windmill
Townshend style
over strings in sextuplicate with limbs to match.
Perfection at eight heads high and
these amps go to eleven

The Persistence of Memory in any variation
so long as we don't have to consult our own dreams
Or Dali's

We shake the dust from our
feet and smile, forgetting things like The Thinker
was originally named The Poet
because that's not funny
and we're cleverer (more clever?) cleverer than that
Onoma Feb 2017
Protectress...manna, Luna, vulvic-veil,

my heinous highness, take this kiss upon

your forehead and crown.

Tinctured lips, paired pilgrims of our alchemy...

surmounted mount in tantric trust, the perfect

fit for this Age.

We watched each other's will hatch in the palms

of our hands...forgetting to argue who came first.

The rightful bliss of essential ignorance, world

manifest under our noses--roused by smelling salts

from intermittent faints...Love, Love, Love!

You, dearest of whomsoever came forth from innumerable

bodies, to be half-turn to my half-turn...round our world

on its head.

Bar to bar none axes...one string guitars from pole to pole--

played ****** by our fingers.

Corollas of red droplets...the poppies are everywhere, the

child you bore me was me--forcing me to man abandonment.

Caught at the lip of a curb ramp, I hurl handfuls of folly

skyward...as pieces of absence continually settle time.

I apply you to my proportion...Vitruvian Man versed in

your space, circle squared dear--circle squared...the poppies

are everywhere.

Broken down to simplest things, I lay you down, I lay me

down...try both sides of the bed where neither is met.

Just as I cease to exist, I-ness nets a sense of being, bolting

upright as if hearing the world fall.

We who observed continuous excellency of soul, stood

juxtaposed in extemporaneous awe.

How could I expel you, how could you expel me...from

such a juxtaposition?

The "invisible worm" brings tidings of forever before it

destroys the flower...the poppies are everywhere.
Donall Dempsey Oct 2016
DA VINCI'S GHOST

I listen to
classical guitar in the dark

with only a single
candle for company.

These my teenage years.

Music and flame
travel through my mind

unveiling thought.

Da Vinci's
Vitruvian man

pinned to the wall
with most pins missing.

He comes alive
in the candle's flicker.

Gets into a flap
each time the door opens.

Little brother is spooked
by that Vitruvian stare

but is fascinated by the fact
that he exists

within a circle
within a square.

Like a priest I
dress my self in the garb

of Leonardo's words.

"Write what the soul is.

Illustrate whence comes....madness.
Whence...tears.
Whence...dreams!"

The whences make him wince.

As he sees it:  "...it is like a man
travelling through time

in his dream machine
and arriving at his own

dying
becoming his own

ghost."

Our mother's voice
calls him

and he is grateful to escape
his own thought.

*

Now, here I am
at your death

as you step inside
the circle
(inside the square).

You stare back at me
with that Vitruvian stare

and I " try to write
what the soul is."
Arizona Indigo Jan 2013
Take me to your room.

Let me through the doors

where your adventures run

barbaric and sinful;

and the opposite of that.

The core of your imagination

where the mountains grow heavy

Where you dream in endless dimensions.

I am the innocent corruptor of your lands.

Take me to the deepest caves of your secrets

Take me to the tallest mountain

enclosed by the heaviest Cimmerian clouds

cascading your loudest tears of sadness,

then lead me across your sturdy bridge

where the tears fall with joy and laughter.

I want to take it all in

Steal your thoughts and paint

a picture using you as my only instrument.

I am the innocent corruptor of your lands.

Let me step inside your little universal island

Where your password is …

And words are used silently

Our language is silence and poetry,

Emotion is felt in its severest

I want to visit every season through your eyes

I want to meditate with your greens and blues

Swim through your a thousand suns

dive off of cliffs and fall into a sea of honey

Stand on trees positioning The Vitruvian Man

and let the bees shower us clean- how natural is this in your world.

Let us walk through the desert of confusion,

where my name is crying out in pain-

in this expanse you suffocate,

for my name alone binds

around your throat and tugs.

and I am the innocent corruptor of your lands.

With this land I shall leave alone.

I want to lay asleep with you hand in hand

and watch our souls exit our bodies together

hand in hand creating a portal of another land.

This shall be a dream alone.

A dream within a dream

perhaps we go back to the end of a cold November

and attend your birth and steal the tears of delight

You are a universe of three worlds, and within them is infinity

You are so young and unaware

of what I planted in you.

I am the author of your being.

Grow into me and I will watch you like a mother

and raise you as a madman.

Take me by my spirit and watch me

illuminate yours with my black lotuses

that bloom within me attached to the veins of my soul.

Sleep under the orange blossomed moon.

Lay while I embed this into you, lover child.

I will forever be the corruptor of your lands.

-Arizona
Older Poem
Aaron Mullin Sep 2014
Today’s lesson on the pad

Showing a new guy how to stake grades

So we paced out a grid and pounded in stakes at semi-even intervals

Always picking up where someone else left off

Using their existing grid, we paced ~16 m in Northing (a metre is approximately equal to a yard)

Again, using the existing grid, we paced ~13 m in Easting

Then I asked him to pace out the hypotenuse, it was ~21 m

The grid was for the most part at right angles to each other

To show the new guy how Pythagoras came to his theorem

I scratched a triangle in the crushed aggregate

On the side of the x-plane I scratched 16 m and on the side of the y-plane I scratched 13 m

The diagonal received a 21 m

Out came the notebook

16 squared plus 13 squared = ~21 squared

Using my iPhone calculator

256 plus 169 = ~21 squared
425 = ~21 squared
square root of 425 = ~20.6155281280883 or ~21

Then I grabbed my stick to scratch out a head, body, appendages, and finally a circle encompassing my proto-Vitruvian dude

Never thought work could be this fun!
Written in the stars

Published in High River in the year after the flood
b Oct 2017
When I was eight years old I told my mom I’d play in the NBA.
And she believed me.
A year later, I was nearly dead.
A quick cough in January caged my lungs with such force
I could almost hear them fighting for breathing room.

I don’t remember much.

All that comes to mind is the panic
Like an animal that lives inside your skin,
That only awakens when he is least needed.

I came to with my mind split in half.
In reality I was on a stretcher, in a hospital.
In my mind, I was chained to a sheet of wood.
Floating in a pool.
Spread out like the vitruvian man.
I watched the water run through my fingers.
On second glance, I was not alone at the pool.
Men in all black stood around the edges
Staring like henchman do at helpless prey.
On third glance, I am in a stadium filled with cheering fans.
I could never really tell who they were cheering for.

One of the men shouts out, and I am drowning.
A godlike force pushes through the chain and I am engulfed.
No breath.
No sound.
Just blue and black
And the muffles of panic.
Only interrupted by a brief resurface
And the roar of an audience
Followed by blue and black.  

My mind began to converge,
And two worlds became one again.
As the water around me turned to tile,
My hands still felt wet from the pool.
The nurse asked me why I kept screaming to get out of the water.

I never learned how to swim.
I never played in the NBA.
Pete Badertscher May 2015
Heart attack man lies, fallen
Splayed out like the Vitruvian da Vinci .
The sidewalk his bed of lilies,
while a woman cries over him.
Another man, in a wife beater, kneels down
and starts compressions.
His face turning blue, the same color blue
as his neck tattoos.
The tattoos disappearing-- causing traffic to stop.
One cop car stops, blocking the intersection.
Lights in eye aching flashes
alert others to the danger.
They flash, "don't look here death is prowling"
in an Aldis lamp language only the subconscious reads.
The man in the wife beater beats compressions on the mans chest
while a Nurse pulls over and another cop shows up with a defibrillator.
His blue face looks like mine, I see the resemblance as I drive past the scene.
He's nearly my age and I figure there is enough help.  
Just drive on past like its another day.
I try not to tell myself, as I pass the blue faced ghost with the neck tattoos
just standing in shock,
"Whatever you do, do not make eye contact."
This was a true event.  I wish I knew if the man lived. ...I hope so.
Obadiah Grey Jun 2016
I am partly shiny
but mostly dull,
kinda Bo Peep-ish,
I'm into wool.
I am an errant bent penny
of dubious worth
and a fickle little tickle
on the funny bone o' mirth.
I'm tapioca pudding
after chicken Coq au Vin --

an iamb, and I am,
The Vitruvian Man.
shanika yrs Aug 2017
My doctor said
the Sansara is not a circular
he said it is liner
I think that we both know
what it is or
we both know
nothing at all

I was stuck into a circle
I felt the repetition
re-occurrence spin and twirl
this all repressed me
harnessed me and abused me
the flash of the theory of line
brought me back

It has major fall outs
In what my doctor said
But it expelled me from
riding the horse of merry go round

I read a little about relativity
and have been thinking about it
lot more time
where I stand is
where my ego is
I felt that

my doctor cheated the game
with another illusion
But for the day I am no longer
the Vitruvian Man, who
stretching arms and legs to touch
the circumference of the circle

It is okay to be selfish
I felt so because that is what we are
it is okay to believe nothing
because that what it is
I might day dreaming
or mad talking
but the truth
but the truth
I sense
and it slitting my soul
in unexpected times
© shanikayrs
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
. lately, i discovered myself: drinking more than writing, and reading even less, which is a less of anything, but i never expected to drink as much, and forget to read, to write, to somehow keep the Libra balance of: as much in, as much out - out of place... oh **** me... womanißng... i have a hard time petting a cat, or rather: you only begin to learn to pet a cat by "forgetting" to pet it, i couldn't stomach a revolving-door of women, i'd love the chance to pet a dog once more... but my hopes against the Moloch and the Juggernaut of the democratic rite of man: bitter, by the number, ever increasing; it's like when the biblical narrative of the eventual history of man: animals farmed, framed... etc. came across Darwinism and what was spat out was an intra-species claustrophobia... yes: i know... over-worded, " ", i too would like to speak onomatopoeia and limited constructs of words more like syllables, and consonants made into body language, and vowels like distinctions of breath...

while rotting christ became a prominent
band for me with the release
of Κατά τον δαίμονα εαυτού  in 2013...
my writing...
    or... i should have made a video
variant...
             yes, they would have
made a cover of aphrodite's child
the four horsemen...
           maybe the news of
       the death of matti nykänen,
having to resort to striptease,
dead, aged 55...
               but with all these people:
i feel i am entrenched
in a heart that is suffocated
by a mountain,
   and... that's less a feeling:
                       and more a reality...
i visit my grandparents,
and encounter
the claustro-**** of a scenario
of living for a month
in a town on the death-row...
i return, "home",
and live on the outskirts of
a major global cesspit that's London...
come rotting christ
with the album rituals...
well... the song: ז)ה( נגמר (Ze Nigmar)
                 wait...        
i know some hebrew:
and i do know that they love
to hide their vowels
via a "strange" diacritical method...
that... א‬ (aleph) & ע‬ (ayin)
are... a-
                     -nomalies...
they are... considering
the prefix cut-off rule...
                the story of Eden with
either twin Adams...
           or... two gay Adams...
or whatever it "necessary"...
     look... i come from a phonetic
encoding people:
that, do not have names for
letters...
               a-male... yes...
           b-male...
                            that i am, already...
and there's the whole
                    oo-male (ω):
***** champion -
    a cleft of ******* like
the cleft of the buttocks...

oh... right... z'eh... i forgot
that ה
is the vowel-catcher...
but...    I & A are missing in
        what becomes     NGMR...
and every hebrew word:
looks plainly: ugly in Latin script...
except one...
the tetragrammaton...
because?
   there's a geometry ascribed
to it...
        Y: 3D... quiff: י...
    the vitruvian man's tongue...
H & H...
   a bit like aleph and ayin...
  or... watching a game of rugby...
hence the goal posts...
or... at least plenty of slaughter
and something of a worth
of the content bound to sighs...
W... waves... squiggly lines...
      momentum:
           beginning at one
end, ending at the over...
      cosine...
Y: again... pin-point, crucible...
but all the other words
in hebrew?
   translated into the Latin text?
ugly as **** & god know's what!
but the tetragrammaton?
well... should Allah
be the jealous god?
   notably: and it would look like
LLH... ******* wonky...
     no geometry to associate
it with...
  but YHWH?
   that looks, it feels
    geometric...
Allah... even in hebrew: ל‬ל‬ה...
       looks... weird...
    sure... and the word for god
for the Maltese is also:
   a lend-word from Arabic...
      so... all sigh... ah...
apart from that?
******* niqabs for the vowels...
hidden,
it's almost equivalent to saying:
has anyone ever seen
a muslim woman pray?
on the steppenwolf's
sing-along-worth
of Aladdin?
ever see a muslim woman pray?
i figured:
muslim women do not pray...
i have never seen
a muslim woman pray...
yet here i am...
drinking... too much...
and writing...
what could have become
a sober me doing a harlequinn
take on a novel...
or become a tabloid
newspaper ju-ju-joornaleest...
  (no... not the english jaw
or jew but the french:
     au jus...
                 je suis:    juice...) -
never mind that...
all except the tetragrammaton
of the hebrew niqab for
the vowels
in Latin look like: shocks...
oh but the drinking won't stop...
down a liter of whiskey
per night,
   **** a minimum of
-1 women and find out about
the feel of performing ****
via my hand...
            steel-grip:
   flies to the tip of mt. ben 'evis...
    and i have seen
worse things being written,
and subsequently printed...
            i bet you 5 quid
that muslim women don't
gesticulate
    like the men
   do during prayer...
i bet... they smirk, giggle:
and who's who's
                doggy-position
*****?
   sure, sure...
    it's like kneeling
and the whole *******
antics of the christian baggage;
whoever:
  i'm drunk,
and you're probably sober...
    an subsequent
"conversation"
  will... i assure you...
work out... just... fine.
Michael Marchese Apr 2018
The man who has everything
Dollars and sense
Luxury, leisure time
White picket fence
May have found what he wants
What they tell him he wants
Or what he really needs
For his own renaissance
But without a proportionate
Body mind soul
He is merely a part
Of some destiny’s role
Donall Dempsey Oct 2023
DA VINCI'S GHOST

I listen to
classical guitar in the dark

with only a single
candle for company.

These my teenage years.

Music and flame
travel through my mind

unveiling thought.

Da Vinci's
Vitruvian man

pinned to the wall
with most pins missing.

He comes alive
in the candle's flicker.

Gets into a flap
each time the door opens.

Little brother is spooked
by that Vitruvian stare

but is fascinated by the fact
that he exists

within a circle
within a square.

Like a priest I
dress my self in the garb

of Leonardo's words.

"Write what the soul is.

Illustrate whence comes....madness.
Whence...tears.
Whence...dreams!"

The whences make him wince.

As he sees it:  "...it is like a man
travelling through time

in his dream machine
and arriving at his own

dying
becoming his own

ghost."

Our mother's voice
calls him

and he is grateful to escape
his own thought.

*

Now, here I am
at your death

as you step inside
the circle
(inside the square).

You stare back at me
with that Vitruvian stare

and I " try to write
what the soul is."
Jonathan Moya Jan 2020
I am a Vitruvian Man
marked out like an anatomy lesson
in black and green dye,
something to align against the mean,
a mold made of sheets and plastic
to aim the mechanical eye
to revolve its rays around.

I can’t move because the machine
requires mathematical silence
to perform its cure, so the nurse
must tug me into place.

I get lost in the hum of the circle,
lonely bagpipes playing a dirge,
maybe Amazing Grace,
maybe Scotland the Brave,
maybe the last graceful notes
of my own dying world,
maybe it’s just noise.

Somewhere there
is a small echo of God
that almost gets lost in the creation
of algorithm and code,
smothered in my general deafness,
the unbelief that He would touch me
at my weakest point
like a biblical character.

The scan stops.
The mold is done.
The nurse lifts me gently up
making sure my feet touch the floor
before letting go.
She smiles and reminds me
that the end is just 25 treatments away.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
whatever happened to the churchill statue beside
the houses of parliament...
is a bit like... the psychadelic
opening sequence of stan kombric's...

2020: a societal cull of the moon...
later know as...
   over-stepping the science with
fiction...
      19 years prior...
19 years prior... whatever happened
in the 20th century's 60s...
is but a dream...
a nightmare to some...

   a smile a scythe a sickle...
somewhere in che-shyre... involving
a cartoonish: & cat...

              the shard: the shadow emblem...
of some skeleton and some other -esque...
or... that "crucifix"...
from the artwork of led zeppelin's:

      presence...

for days i have been suffocating under
the impression of the arabic evil eye
of some malice-riddling ******...

it's raining and some house (if not two)
in the distance is being flooded...

             how it happens... that my expression
of freedom has to be problematic for
others to express their: supposed...
"counter"...
i am either dead and rigid...
or alive... and... paranoid...
    as it happens:
"i see what i want to see"...
pentagram ditto...
       or... i insinuate fictional
res extensa narratives when...
i feed no schadenfreude into the events
of the lives of others...
they happen with a measure of:
oops...            

      ...the statue of churchill in parliament sq....
the object on the sleeve artwork
of presence...
               such that the apes
gathered... and prostrated themselves
before the altar of the abstract form...
it was less clued-in to the definition
of the vitruvian man -
as all became known in the hindu "cruelty"
of depiction of vishnu and shiva...

hardly... the ****-erotica gratification
of the man... the vinci...
the vitruvian man...
when... some... hindu... dreamed up...
the deities as already gifted...
the angels and their wings...
the hindu deities and their four hands...
because it wasn't a *****
falling asleep who conjured up...
a pegasus - ******* unicorns?
and a chimera...
        no... only sober... rational...
people... need... to venture into the nether
of what's... allowed imagination:
a wish for a larger ****...
or a crop of hair... with one's receding:
corona... of it...

- it rained and it rained...
people confused my stoic approach
with either solipsism or altruism or...
worse... still...
   hybrid soul lost to tow...
the prosaic... and the... prime example
of atheism: the...
                  halo autist:
with no god...
         this diatribe of focus on nothing...
and someone: n'est ce-pas...
taking a selfie?
       who isn't to want to understand
an solipsist... when...
these supposed: social cretins...
are doing... the worship of moloch before...
everyone else's tired and ***** shirts?

- who's to bargain on what's the service
silver and chinese platter?

            - that object on led zeppelin's
album sleeve for the album presence...
    which is a reiteration...
that shard cut into the mountain...
in stanley kubrick's 2001: a space odyssey...

  how the apes became amazed...
at... perfection...
   how the idea of a chiseled mountain...
implied: stacking one up...
rather than... the microscope...
lost... and no detail of footing...
arrived at... prayer before the ascent!

how the gorilla...
   would preserve itself eating
nothing but fruit...
the panda the shoots of bamboo...
the bear... the half-wit
but more than ape...
how it would...
                "digress"... serve
the docile "god" of... not brightening
particulars... hybrid with:
                    hibernating...
                  since no genius of man...
came up with digressing winter...
beside all that... comfort foods
and lullaby hype of summer thrills...
morose and chew seance...

  hello chimpanzee omnivore...
bacterial tsunami norms...
                     2020: a time-warp odyssey...
because... how can you...
feel comfortable...
listening to people... citing a book...
like it's some...
chapter in the old testatment:
the book of malachi became true!

some... celebration of... sleep-walking?
it has to be subjected to: elation...
that... someone wrote...
what would become true...
70 years from now? circa.

            the statue of churchill:
that glorified object of geometry
in 2001: a space odyssey...
and the pristine geometric shadow...
twisting...
   i.e. when god carved
a mountain with nuance...
man competed with a pyramid...
and then... that ****-storm
with egyptian necrophilia happened...
somehow... sedated...
the greek Δ...

                         emerged...
now back to basics...
              the shape of man... will always
require... some basic focus for...
abstracting: anew...
                     fingers trapped in
the abacus...
                    
        and people want language to flow like
some narrative...
poetry: esp. rhymes with cages...
rhymes with either prefixes or suffixes...
-ing and an -ing:
and then... echo echo oh oh: PING *******
PONG!
    
            i give ******* to the scissors...
then a whole left hand to a rabid
dog about to make a sweater when biting
into a yorkshire terrier's ***...
for good measure...

             i will not give up...
some boorish sanctity of a formality of language
for a dear sir... kind regards...
have 'ere: a slobber of pride
of raw oink... slab sir...
of a prop'ah... pork chopper!
no like?
   as the ol' proverb says...

you can take up your ******'
bucket and *****...
and *******... to the next... sandpit!
savvy?
here: here we play... THIS... sort of "game".
Jester Apr 2017
They sold Jesus on the cross with neon letters for flare
I wound up in the gutter when I went searching for answers there.

The poor stay poor or so some say, the rich get rich or some stock markets claim.

I spray paint the Vitruvian Man on a the side of City Hall,
Only to have it removed as vandalism, if we are Rome surely we shall fall.

I lay down in the limelight and perform for the masses,
The show goes on and soon is forgotten, it’s true what they say about absolutes;
Death and Taxes.

I watch the city burn, I may have fanned the fire.
If we are to ash, gather round and celebrate our own makeshift pyre.

The times keep on moving and we’re all trying our best to stay afloat.
The rules keep changing to fit the voices of the few but everyone is something,
With so much difference no wonder we can’t agree.

Sacrifice individuality?

Drive the nails in deeper and cut out their tongues,
The thought crime fits the punishment.
Don’t think- about it.
Don’t- think about it.
Don’t- think about- it.


Sacrifice individuality?

I wrote a personal manifesto in the sands of time, only for the waves to wash it away.
I chiseled a poem in stone only for time and weather to whittle it down,
It was then I learned that nothing lasts forever
I chased time like a hound after a hare,
I killed time for an hour
Then was jailed in a prison for abuse of a metaphor.

I felt the pity of a mother,
The anger of a parent,
I held onto the bars of my cell,
This was the pit and personal pendulum
Torture is best when it’s personalised to make a singular hell.

The halls of Humanity were so brightly lit that I forgot the basement I now explore.
Dim, cold and wet.
The dregs of the past lurk along the catacomb walls,
The rats chatter in the shadows, they sound like mocking laughter.

I travel through the cellars of time, history gone by.
The records are scrolled on papyrus,
The cave paintings show how life once was,
The broken weapons of armies old, litter boxes and tombs of kings and leaders,
All their stories and lives have been told.
Grave robbers snuck in under the cover of darkness, left what couldn't be moved
The rest has been sold.

Sould out, which is why I feel empty, staring at what remains and what may be of our current history.

We’re on a timetable of power, and it’s shifting ever faster.

Never aware of the dangers of yesteryear, so we work and build tomorrow today
Because by the time tomorrow is today, we’ve already outdated it.

I wander these cold Halls of Humanity,
Far below the current.
I rifle through the scar tissue,
I sing to the skulls,
I drink wine with the poet ghosts.
I hear the secrets that they hold.
This is a poem from my third book Out for Blood. for sale now on Amazon.com
Words are craved from the mind
Written down on pad do bind
With flow of an ink product of thinking

Oil paint of justice, the write up made of
Sometimes is injustice bound of
Sometimes shared experiences
Sometimes deepest imaginations
Sometimes pains, hate, joy and sadness

Words of mine flow for peace and love
For happiness and liberation from bond
Sculpting like Davinci's vitruvian image
As stars light up path of truth vintage

In my heart so, I write the words on book
As readers read the words they grow
Like wild plants upon a silent brook
Hoping one day everything straightened backing way of the Crook

As the words sound, resonant they as a ****
With much roots like a hard and heavy like rock
Sculpting my words requires deep thinking
For I encrypt them like road of the gods living
Whose gifts are uncontestable
As they burn within do unquenchable

by Martin Ijir
Why?
To escape livingsocial,
     and negate mine birth
figuratively, knowingly,
     and precariously,
     I nightmarishly perch
teeter tottering atop - dearth
of financial safety net,

     where profuse
     hemorrhaging, viz bankruptcy,
     bloodshot eyes see red behind
     eight ball violently, helplessly
     then effortlessly lurch,
analogous to tight rope walker,
     (envision the Great Wallenda)
     balanced above scalding,

     seething, and volcanic, magmatic,
     and basaltic  lava spewing,
     qua global sized hearth,
why what pray
     tell wood seem
     tubby an enormous googling search
bar, a bajillion miles
     into abyss, (Penney's

     on the dollar) Wool Worth
investigating resigning self
     tug go deep into the
     bowels of planet Earth,
cruel fate, would temptingly
     find me permanently
     relieved of ******, legal tender,
     (emotional, and

     many another) woe
willingly surrendering, pirouetting,
     and cartwheeling self free falling,
     asper in toto
Leonardo DaVinci's
     The Vitruvian Man
     anatomical perfect
     sketch doth show

(absent parachute), while row
tete ting away performing
     Queen like aerial bebop ping
     amidst thermal current status quo
spinning (analogous pro
vocation) to infamous
     colorful pinwheel lo'
oft appearing on Macbook know

wing mischievous gremlins glow
with delight magnified
     screen no...no...no,
OH, not on external Lenovo...
ARGH more dough
aye haint got to blow,
mine absence invariably,
     sans minimal impact,

(Matthew Scott Harris)
     his present existence,
     would be high jacked
triggering oodles
     of noodles, re: guarding
     China Syndrome, where
     fortune cookie message
     presages annihilation pact,

where yours truly feels
     like...chop suey racked
amid smoldering
     humungous caldera,
     which generates
     unstoppable, laudable,
     and irreversible death cab
     for cutie sound track

accompanies in concert
     my plummet from
     summit on high,
     which would give
     poor Humpty Dumpty,
     a run for his egg drop
soupy sailing money,
     thus subsequently

     criss cross Sir Wren door
     ring me akin
     to quasi smashing pumpkins glop
unless, while streaming
     thru ethereal medium
     (zero AmPeRe) hiphop.
Martin Narrod Aug 2016
Harvey's in the cave with Lucy and they're driving me crazy.
The medicine doesn't work and the doctor can't remember me lately.
The animals get laid, and we have our dances.
The music plays for me and I get naked for you
I have the body of a vitruvian man, I smoke and eat vegetables
The sky creeps atop the mountains and the night leaves the lights on so I can see. I hear the ghost moose spin between the trees. The track of moonlight the sound of burning leaves.
DA VINCI'S GHOST

I listen to
classical guitar in the dark

with only a single
candle for company.

These my teenage years.

Music and flame
travel through my mind

unveiling thought.

Da Vinci's
Vitruvian man

pinned to the wall
with most pins missing.

He comes alive
in the candle's flicker.

Gets into a flap
each time the door opens.

Little brother is spooked
by that Vitruvian stare

but is fascinated by the fact
that he exists

within a circle
within a square.

Like a priest I
dress my self in the garb

of Leonardo's words.

"Write what the soul is.

Illustrate whence comes....madness.
Whence...tears.
Whence...dreams!"

The whences make him wince.

As he sees it:  "...it is like a man
travelling through time

in his dream machine
and arriving at his own

dying
becoming his own

ghost."

Our mother's voice
calls him

and he is grateful to escape
his own thought.



Now, here I am
at your death

as you step inside
the circle
(inside the square).

You stare back at me
with that Vitruvian stare

and I " try to write
what the soul is."



And this is what I was listening to when he came in and encountered the Da Vinci. Back then he was only my little nine year old brother. The drawing spooked him but the music he liked.

Pavane Pour Une Infante Defunte-Ravel-Julian Bream & John Williams Together

— The End —