Wednesday, 22 July 2009

Poems For Art's Sake

Poems for Art’s Sake

Haiku drifts across the lake, a swan of stars calling you softly
Her gloves are undressed, they lie shimmering naked in this starlight
Shivering, a soul lies awake at night, dreaming of stars

What is art, but a place to make us beckon, soft?
It is unwise, unruly and nothing – incandescent, gleaming aloft.
She is beauty, so much more than the night, drifting midst dreams unstopped

What is art, but a secret left untold: silence playing in the holly bush black
Deep aureoles of peace, swimming, like gladiator lions
kissing on scorched ivy-strewn roofslats?

What is art, but a place left alone, where no-one can touch it:
a hermit crab sniggering, while mermaids fondle in the green sinewy
place that mermaids should never rupture?

Someone has polished their soul into art, and placed it out for you to see
It sits, listens to your questions: ‘is it new enough?’ ‘is it enough?’ ‘is it cutting-edge enough?’ ‘is it enough?’ ‘is it interesting enough?’ ‘is it enough?’ ‘is it daring enough?’

Revolutions can be so quiet, you’d never know they were there.

Making art is like a slow crucifixion – send it up to other people’s eyes,
let their vision define yours as you shape your creativity to
the criteria of some goddammed funding application …

Whatever happened to good old fashioned ‘beauty’?

A fleet of white stags stampeding delicate feet;
an unwise jar under the table stuffed with marmalade.
The hermit crab sniggering, these are all images – all art – feel their grace.

What is art, but insomnia unless expressed?


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