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PAINTINGS BY EMMY VERSCHOOR

VOOR EMMY

Voor Emmy

Zijn het pluimen of bladeren
die ontsnappen uit je binnenste hartkamer
of is het de gloed van de kleur van kloppend bloed
hunkerend naar de stilte van rimpelloos
Water?

Als haar handen vloeibaar worden
krijgt de piano vleugels op het doek
Een boom verbijt haar vergezicht
In de diepte luisteren wortels verrukt
naar de zachte braille van haar bestaan
Tuinen hangen van de wolken
omlaag, omhoog groeien vreemde bloemen
uit een ingebeelde notenbalk.

Guido Vermeulen
14 november 2011


Muziek bij de video: Claude Debussy

dinsdag 30 april 2013

THE SECRET VISITOR


THE SECRET VISITOR


                sometimes when the reading room is
                almost deserted the lamps blink out
             their green shades go black to mark
                the hour when the Secret Visitor comes

          she can be glimpsed flitting from shadow
                to shadow behind the trellised grillwork
                of one of the upper galleries and it's then
             I think of that long necklace of hers
           the one she'd strung from poplar to ash
        the night the trees around the library
          bled out the last of their sap and died

        the spiders and wood lice here are deists
               the Secret Visitor claims to know each
          by name as she bites into a blood orange
                and the juice dribbles down her chin

            I rushed out of the library determined to
               head for Paris to live and paint imaginary
              portraits of her on the Hill of Martyrs

                later that night at the ristorante
              I spotted the first man to circumnavigate
               the globe without a change of underwear
        dining sad and alone at the next table
                on Strega and eggplant Parmesan

        we cannot deny the Secret Visitor
               is the last of the sainted flesh eaters
        that her breathing carries in it
                the distant rush of an ocean

            the almond trees are already in bloom
           and a hunger an ineffable hunger
                is worming secretly through our guts


ERIC BASSO, USA   
 April 30, 2013

woensdag 24 april 2013

MUSE

new book of poems: MUSE

you can download the FREE ebook here:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/307655

or buy yourself a hard copy of the book at publishing cost here:
http://www.lulu .com/content/paperba ck-book/muse/13810850


A book of poetry focused on addiction as the main underlying subject but with other themes threaded throughout. This is my fourth book of poetry, but the first for me to write on paper with pen

MOAN LISA, USA

donderdag 18 april 2013

Twisted






Down my twisted spiral, she descends;
I place her soft, angelic form against my
rack– puncturing skin; she bleeds. We
exchange loving looks, mine more hateful
with a bittersweet charm.





Moan Lisa, USA




i'm in the process of working through a new book,
and have my poetry so far available for download


"Psychiatric Ward" by Moan Lisa:




and my older books are here:


otherwise i'm on temporary hiatus from mail art due to postage costs, but i should eventually get back in the groove and get replies out to folks who have sent me mail.


take care friends.
Moan Lisa


PLEASE DON’T TOUCH

ART IS DEAD



vrijdag 12 april 2013

Confronting areas of TABOO


Tribute to Max Ernst

City of Drawers


CITY OF DRAWERS


              your foot stopped by
            a protrusion in the street
              you stoop to open a drawer

              that house at the end
           it's built of stone
             even the floors the ceilings
            the furniture and when
          you pull out the drawers
                in the old rolltop desk
        they brim with water
            slices of a green ocean
        stretched to a far horizon

              in each drawer a photograph
             the picture of a photo afloat
           in the water of an open drawer
          holds the floating image of
             an identical drawer smaller
             and smaller to infinity

        collapsed umbrellas lie
        at the foot of a stone stair
            on the drenched street
          pagodas crumbling
               in the final flood
              of the floating world

           the wives of nightfall
          tiptoe barefoot over
            a haunted face drowned
                in the waters of Bruges

        a thousand gaslit mysteries
             a dwarf lost in the cellar
              banging his stick on
            a hollow turtle shell till
              he smashes it to pieces
       
ERIC BASSO, USA
 April 11, 2013

vrijdag 5 april 2013

How to look to heavens


LOOK TO THE HEAVENS
AS THE SKY
THERE IS
NO
LIMIT

Poem and collage by Amy Irwen, USA