Thursday, March 8, 2012
Thursday, August 4, 2011
July Northography Poetry
http://markstrutt.blogspot.com/
http://www.northography.com/responses.php?stimulus_id=251
JULY FLAKED OPENING
Posted by General Malaise on 07/31/2011
Here is my fake smile. God to God
who, saw into places like what's behind the seats of this Angel’s ballpark.
You who was watching out for dog chasers or for what Strings together a home run ball
now you left me running down the sidewalk, alone, you can still sit with me any time or awhile, later
in Life when I drink, and laugh if when Dad did or didn't get up
nice one ok the jokes over now get up...
(Did It Yourself, DIY,n't ya) thinking
to set up in the checkers seats, you think
I brought me a son to the ballpark to play with on in that way
a Hotday flaked off made a fool of everyone,
with my youth clouds and rain
rain washed on your face, running down.
There is no food to touch on that day, I remembered
just your cracked lips from the drink I’ve handed him.
Swallowing just made the U.S.A.., in the molten seas
door prizes the gags are funny, now
as prayer promises me for those old and sick are easier to believe.
Here is a boy, who named Me once, called me a smile in High C,
who would to you also make
All the WORLDS chests to ache, close all those best things
Whose in so many partials as thoughts are worn out.
I cringe where you go to the loudest places you’ve ever been alone
something you set out to do on your own, saying I can't breathe In or outside your old country home, sooo American,
in those places nobody else can see,
I too was passing away, once
back at the blue sky in that mile marker, of a fading flag
So practiced was I
laughing on and on and on over the tearing
listening to your dancing insides,
to a bouncer who just got named,
the easy mile madness to say upon me rests
hoped bones flung afar in its Faked opening.
Stop over to the yards in Virginia,
who are just towering to Clouds, whose in His corners ships are building, the Summers left squinting
hanging any of her tangled hair in my eyes,
the frontal bow
she has gripped my handle hard
as fooseball, my yes
my yes
are telling they can better than anyone where its shots going.
So over and over,
high tides are over.
across the dying waves I am dreaming
Over there to you on Earth in my deck chair
old stanza over takes me, now with my last
Electric slide took me to wood blocks, I pick
Or thrust the organ pedals apart
Kick between you and search knots to hold
The grey granite sounds close in and around
The pretty World in space of a battled ship Calisp.
Here is Virgina- flower!
you there covered - floor me
and blow into her to chase me, she likes me, in Paris
Dusting in the forest – and useless – I stand alone there.
If you are playing o’er thar a sand bottom or sand bank
she blows to me
a white lili in the afternoon
and If you are listening you now will
Still and still be thar sitting up in your cot.
Chasing her,
escaped to leave here, her
Floats down the silvery drain
failed in healing - Its barely white...
was her and milks the sails
have covered her barely and wet
We all went to sink with.
She is me, asking do you fend off the sea
Or does if feed off your Salvaged years (my own dead reckoning).
My hurting sunset eye bleeding into her
Always painting back to places as Greece like nothing can.
As white as a favoring wind, a high C blows
The pan flute scour and blanket your flower I am back to hold your craft and pull you to me.
Flesh of mine, your cotton white, dresses the heat amid a hot summer nights dreaming over and over
She is a ship I sank into.
TO CHAIN OR NOT
Posted by General Malaise on 07/25/2011
I've crushed against it until the slam of it cracked it off the frame
secretly made plans underneath to an afternoon's pitter patter
eyes made my shaped cokeglasses warbling down the floor.
she, who was so surprised to hear it- locked me into twisting the claim
when- she asked me, was I a crush for her?
a little afraid,
to stand to answer her
so there instead
as merely friends, _ Big time you are!...
wow. too much i said and
much still stays in the widening
left open.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Cirque du Soleil
Donald from Cameroon, Africa works and speaks 3 different languages
at the Cirque Du Soleil
my own trapeze asks me where I am going and where have I been...
follow twitter.com.ericdeiss for updates
Georgia O'Keeffe once asked What have I done with where I have been? xtimes, bin Ladin’s death what are the affects: a boost in our morale inspired by taking the initiative, Kilroy wrote on that door: He was here! -minus living in a house down the road, toward that We went hunting and thinking about everyday we pushed on. +plus our sons and daughters know that that was behind it; our laws while there. /divided by a welcome door still clicking on the line in the sand its helicopters mark when leaving if failing here to ground, our new citizens. =equals, the new universal keep what is yours keep what takes such human rights to initiate as Sparta’s accountance. Of a city force usher the conflict to those children All that we do has consequence, good or not. Somewhere it is balanced.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
On the Peace Pipe photo with poem for Osama Esid at photostream
On the Peace Pipe
a poem for Osama Esid
by Andre Deus
Whose is she, someone stands on the corner, of me
influencing the planets with her sign
did she take leave for the holiday?
painting to me... take care sweet heart
deliver jeru salem here, inside me hurt
and every vain holy name plenty -
plant the sign incant and hope in
the ground to rise again.
poem quotes are soon delivered on trains
owned over by the pullmans, that only
We are or might be watching in the World;
her tragedy is over, as a divine comedy.
some noons in time peirce these pictures
wheels white and soundless
stills to show in goldleaf millixour.
I overthink on me, now, and know little else-
for i am friendless,
without her pipe, now, simply existing;
as heaven, I am not to care for,
regard me the same, my libel on his word,
just asked in my bible.
i'm someone lesser, now, up in the firmament
wandering begger and blindly pulling off
all that I've gathered inside the foxskin cloth.
so long to the frosty night she traveled on the pipe
so far to or from the united states, MA, Baltimore.
carry a tune, Gabriela's caligraphy, inside darned socks
we're all aboard the Northern, with imagined gifts.
her's were quilting as she hushed along the tracks
these last few years dividing our justice from seeds, eternaly.
her beautiful lids met my nostrils as pulsing streams
thar pillows that gather up on the down thrusts.
these we are as theives to old pipers music,
notes inside the body of accordion tunes.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Cairo past and present / and its colors
photo by Osama Esid.
El Ismailaia, Kaser El Nile Cairo Egypt 30° 2' 58.94" N 31° 14' 3.53" E
Monday, August 9, 2010
http://www.northography.com/authors.php
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TULIPS THAT RISE IN BLOOD
of the flowers youth, Katayoun write in your poems
sands push sidewalls for collecting
the Raad o Bargh
paintbrushes in the hourglass
twisting down
man
in colored sand.
.
paintings drawfar into the ocean
the water brownsun held under
born deep now in Minnesota
your new paper. as lovesongs
Miss America could have sung
a New Iran
and their tulips - portraits of youth,
stubborn Fall colors in blood
smiling
inside the year of life you
held inside a palette's knife.
.
carving hieroglyphic art
the bronze places you've been dreaming
baby
thrills wrestling
the new freedom. smoothing the hour's glass
carpeting the deep Persian brown hue.
.
my friend, Katayoun, she is a river below us,
ploom below the ocean
long thin white pools
will crest the shores tomorrow.
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Sunday, August 8, 2010
Where's Osama?
This current work is on display at the Second Annual Black and White Show/ Artwork
featuring creative use of only black & white.
Maple Grove Arts Center 7916 Main StreetMaple Grove, MN 55369 www.maplegroveartscenter.org August 9 - September 24, 2010
Opening Reception - Friday August 12, 7:00-9:00pm
Open Gallery: Mondays & Thursdays 7-9pm
The art work is a portrait of another artist working in Minneapolis - the "Monday Market" photograph of Osama Esid's work typifies our looming preoccupation with the Middle East and the Orient - it also creatively uses only black & white to identify the socio-political ideas about which it masks. "Where's Osama" is a colossal reinforcement of a statement on the scale where a title can allude to a different context. Asking where Osama Esid "is" is as much being part of our West's projection upon a particular jihadist Muslim man, as the thing it questions in our community that could identify him as belonging to a similar type.
I collaged a photocopy of Esid's "Monday Market," (skyline of Cairo, Egypt) whose original was currently on exhibit at Franklin Arts, last month, in Minneapolis. Osama is also a member of www.mnartists.org and a studio artist in the Castket Arts Building of NE, Minneapolis.
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