There’s been something about you since the day you first appeared
Your metaphorical birth sparking widespread interest
Raising eyebrows, giving Professors topic ideas to hurl at bored students
Fostering that little flame of rebellion in your author
That says “I can make something no one has seen. I can awe creation.”
You had a lock on this whole character development thing
It was the rest of your world that couldn’t keep up, lagging
Like a bogged down internet connection, throwing problems at you
You could solve in your sleep. Forcing other characters to act against reason,
To provide an excuse why you should have any pain at all.
And it was that, your resistance to pain, your apparent invulnerability
That made you a target, that goaded your author into raining untold hell.
It was your strength, your superiority to fellow inhabitants of your particular story,
That made it impossible for you to outlive them. Your author was too clever
Devising an uncontrollable force like you, an intelligence not sustainable even by its creator.
So you die, alone, stripped of your humanity, your love, while inferior personalities live on
While the story rambles past your grave, narrative desperate to make everyone forget
While dull minds are touted as genius and audiences move on to new obsessions
You are thrown on the mercies of fan authors, one in a thousand returning you to former glories
One in a million with to skill to handle fire, to come out less charred than the one who gave you life.
Today’s post comes in two poems that showcase my reaction to several paintings from the Phoenix Art Museum‘s online gallery. I know its a lot of links, but the poems read better if you’ve seen the paintings.
We are stark (two-toned/ a tympani)
Not what you think (forget the black and white)
Balance high over our world (we made it/ too small)
We’re torn (we can only hear to one side)
Between the spaces of our youth (falling)
And the spaces of our wire frame (it can’t hold water)
Take a minute (it’s all we have)
To count the smudges (we’ll wait/ we’ve learned that much)
That have become our life
Deep Blue was just a computer
Red, a Party of incomprehensible thinkers
I only saw yellow in my own fear
The need for everything was green’s solitary use
White was the race I was born into
Black and brown, the ones I was taught to judge
Every color of the rainbow
Useless blotches on a wooden palate
Rubbish dumped to the floor
About to be trodden on when your hand slipped underneath
Caught my sole, robbed my balance and breath
With violets that sank me, drowned me with royalty
Stars that burst orange and gold behind my eyes
Blinding me with shades of colors
I have no meanings for.
Author’s Note: While there are several paintings and artists who inspired this poem, it is more of a reaction to art itself. It can also have other meanings and connotations depending on the readers’ personality, state of mind, emotions, ect. As I have said before in this blog, this is one thing I love about art in general and poetry specifically.
I do, however, want to highlight some of the artists. One of them, Thomas Kinkade, most people have heard of. The others are great, but relatively unknown. Most of them I found by searching sites like Redbubble, fineartamerica, and Etsy.