shaking it out, I dance to life

painting by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

I must illuminate the circle of life 
not just an incentive for concrete deeds
I cannot wallow in self pity
let me scatter my thoughts on the pavement
I will weave some fantastic tapestry of thoughts
my pounding heart will not stop short at anything
stark emotions do not strain to break free
unbroken spirit do help one hitch
when I can dance to anything
please do not race into time
I don't expect a farewell 
finality of ending is not I seek
all are seeking my downfall
I will not let that happen
one who believes in me
will not let me fall

"a huge gathering may prevail
but I will do what is right"

existentialism

Drawing Hands, 1948 by M. C. Escher

after that long long walk
he rested his head finally on the roadside
something woke him out of that deep stupor
lost he stared at the sky above

all his life was a waste of time
if only he could go back home
each single breath propelling him
thought of it was so heavenly

holding on to a much thumbed paper
he thought of what was awaiting him
but his mind right now couldn't fathom
why was he totally lost in the drawing hands

he wished for eternal sleep
to get rid of his bottomless existence
to wipe out the ravages of war
deeply absorbed in his body and soul

holding on to the single thread of life
he wanted to escape the shadow
from the tang of salt in the air
his sense to live on took over

plans may have gone awry in the past
now was not the time to dwell on that
in the landscape of bigger things
gravity holds us all, he thought

"my mind circles and sends messages
that I need bread and also shoes-
the two things essential for existence"

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Miz Quickly's Learning Experience

Choose a poem of between ten and twenty lines.

Not a favorite poem, but an obscure poem by a favorite poet. (…this could work with an older poem, but a contemporary work is to be preferred–the tone is more suitable….)

Type the poem, triple space. Then, between the lines, fill in a new line, based on or suggested by the original line.

Next, eliminate the original poem, close up your own lines, and tinker with them to make them cohere.

Consider this the first part of a longer poem, and label it so.

Then write a companion section–Part II, and entirely your own–that extends the first part by continuing or departing from or on some otherway varying the themes and images of the first

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I chose Pickle Belt by Theodore Roethke. Click on it to read the full poem. Last three stanzas can be taken as part 2!! But I will write something else SOON....

vintage ballooning

I fly over vegetation with the crows circling
who wove a tale that has lasted for eons?
I see scarce light on the ground
no one has the strength to see the eroded soil
last time I was there I could foresee rain
falling on the rooted cells of unknown plants
change has been less in reality
but mind has revisited it numerous times.
balloons may carry me away
but I will end up eroded on the ground

"no one can escape the inevitable end
non living objects are no different from living ones"

when the core rots, soul will disintegrate

painting by Andrew Wyeth 

a longing you cannot see
time to time it returns
driven by a lone tear
no one ever threw that key
a slate never wiped clean
behind that mesh
you become a stranger
no one can repair that tear
there is no room for despair
you may think the night will make me swoon
but I will wander no further before I return 
it is time to pick out the invisible nails
before I let my heart disintegrate

"a bloody path seems to be only way out
from a long journey of lies and deceits"

in the shadows, let it be

photo by Agustin Berrocal 

you can leave now
it was a mistake to invite you
I need to rest the cause
my conscience is clear
we can never be friends
our communicate does not translate into that
not even for a second, I want to be with you
nothing will come out of it if we get together
this is no lab
I will not write a note

"the wrinkles on the potato skin
cannot detect the sick relationship
why are you trying to find bones, then?"

half a moon

Supermoon 2013, Julio Cortez, AP 

after climbing that summit
it is impossible to descend
but the voices are asking me to risk it
I might give in to pressure
nothing happens without any smoke
I do not  scare easily from the demons within my head
even if my belly heaves with tension

"I will carry that torch for you
many Supermoons may come and go"

A Solitary Reaper Retold

I toil in the meadow
a solitary figure
in that lane
I walk miles
not fearing the wild bear
which comes from that other side of bridge
what it is looking for I wouldn't know
that bear is as lonely as I am
I may seem fragile and unstable
but I have enough insight to survive
I will rest on a rock for a while
before I retreat to my island of peace
that bend you see is what I am seeking
in no time I will fly away like fallen bird
he knows his place is the sky

"the clouds will touch my feet in no time
persuading me to go with them"

escaping from banality

The Promenade, 1918, by Marc Chagall 

don't you dare giggle
she is not flying
it is just a crazy illusion
her chattering teeth shatters the silence
I will scoop some moonshine
that will wake her up
she escaped from her home
a cave of a home
such a banal life
she thinks she cut all ties
just a wrinkle you see here
all will be normal
I will do anything to make her stay

"she will make banana splits
that will be our meal for supper"

universe will not hand it over to you

you need to escape from your solitude

let your shimmering emotions spill into the curb

let your steps direct you towards the yard

watch the thundering jets

the spewing hatred within yourself

needs to be dashed to the ground

let the rain wash it away

changing your status and stature

you can go and rest on that park bench

watch that door being knocked

you have to grab your due from the universe

no one else will be there for you 

"the patterns are not you yet you are the pattern
goodbye is so final but the universe decides for you"

dance of life

Waking, Walking, Singing, in the Next Dimension? 1979 by Morris Graves 

each one of us swirl with the wind-
limbs move with nimble grace.
in the train of thoughts;
no myth can exist in the prairie-
you see a vault
but for us it is a space that never ends.
your throat may choke with emotional rapture of our beauteous dance,
we may crave for a trick 
that will takes us to halls of fame.

"in the spirals of life, these is no beginning, nor is there an end"

gravity rolls around defying physics

Lighthouse Dandelions by Jamie Wyeth 

in the bleak darkness dandelions seem so nebulous
the clouds hover to take away the light
such a vision for someone who is watching from up above

opaque sun is blazing over that mindless thought
lighthouse is not cut out for cheery vegetation
such a perfect timing for the ship to approach

particles hover only to crush the spirit
torch is useless to dig out the weeds underneath the slab
why do I waste my breath over it all?

random flow of the matter within the mind
may not be popular with the crowd
but the lined cloud's moves make it up for a wonderful visual

"open the windows, let the gravity move in"

chants fill the mind rolling down to the heart

Old Couple: photo by Togan Gokbakar 

do they wish to rekindle 
to get that spark back
to get back to that vow made long ago
life now is such a drone
chants are circling around them like a halo

the blinding sun is also binding
they hide in that cave
they do not hold hold hands
but the fist in the crook of her hand
fills all the space in his heart

he knows he cannot be broken 
as long as she is there
he stares at us expressionlessly
challenging us silently
I retreat, let them be

"the music will play on and on for them both, 
as long as they have each other"

I would rather pick the clouds

Young Woman Picking the Fruit of Knowledge, 1892 by Mary Cassatt

I have to decipher 
the thousands of messages 
hidden in the thunderous clouds

no window dressing 
can hide from me 
the soup of knowledge

I have to be in the front 
when the clouds spit it all out 
pulsing with their importance 

I plan to turn on all my charm 
and collect it all in a red dish

"such fuzzy words evoke no feelings

or do they?"

Only a small party

illustration by Helen Ward 

so transparent
those expressions on their thin faces
joyous now but harrowing a while back

it is so rare to see a newborn in their midst
it hit their marrows hard
no one ever made a guess
they would see such a day
now that they saw it
they want the grubs either in a soil
or in their heart deeply embedded forever
let me borrow the right sentiment
so that I can march towards them
and take an oath for their safety

yes, they will resist interference
but I will make sure that the resistant is liquid
where I will fry munchies for the grand party

in the naked glory, I forget myself

Monhegan's Schoolteacher, 2004 by Jamie Wyeth 

a lifetime spent in the books
sometimes I forget myself
the shock you feel looking at me reading, 
on that bed, naked, while I dry my hair--
only increases my resilience

I thrive in the words of that book
which has taken me to a world filled with infidels 
who bomb the city at their whim. 
I struggle to understand their promise 
to something beyond humanity. 

a land which is not ours any more 
yet a shelter for a shortwhile
until I harden myself and go out 
to be shipped to an unknown place
where I will lie down spent bereft of my books

"wake up, all of you, before twilight strikes
and we all disappear into the night of ignorance"

patterns don't free us

Spring, 1935 by Kuzma Petrov-Vodin 

my words escaped from my thoughts
a few fell on ground
yet some spread their wings flying above the mountains
when they got tired
those word took a ride on the clouds
I waited for them with you on my side

freedom is what they coveted
who was I to curb it?
I also watched the words on the ground
playing gleefully, unaware of my smile at their pranks
the sentences they made worked fine for me
spiraling words from the clouds merged with the grounded ones

escaped words freed me too,
to bring order to a chaotic mind
you don't have to please me
let there be no apology
let me set you free, 
free to go where you desire

I will gather my words soon and you too
(I know that in my heart)
for now you need to go into the world
I see it in your stance, 
I read it in your eyes
because I have found your words

"in the moorings and bearings
our feet have to dance their fill"

paint me in many hues, not just black

Woman With a Towel, 1898, Edgar Degas 

can you hear her sing, O voyeur
or you searching for that smudge
which was made by your inquisitive fingers
each of her nerve ends stand activated
she stands stellar in her langour
delicious feelings permeates from her
you look at her unblinkingly
that urge to merge with her soul is your mantra now
it is not a broadway show
just a woman in love
wrapped in her inherent femininity 
aren't you glad, technology made your project easy
now you watch her from miles away
such beautiful unity of different entities

"sharp emotions will not get dull
may many summer come and go"




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 I am NOT an advocate for voyeurs. It can be interpreted in many ways. Negatives and positives balance out life. I wrote my first thoughts after seeing this painting. I may, yet, re-wite it. Sometimes we need to post our rough drafts. Read this with an open mind and let me know how you feel....

inside that bowl, I see the whole world

Between Heaven and Hell, 1989 by Jacek Yerka 

what powders I will find in the jars
the now dry petals are still so freshly scented
in my slumber I am lost to the world
stone is cold but my place is warm
that clutter calls out for order
no words are written on the walls
yet the spoons and ladles read the pit
give me a staff I will break the locks of the drawers
the moon may play a truant after dawn
I will then run after sunshine
seasoned flavors will never fail
it is never curtains for a cat

"alert in the walls, the couple watches 
while I ruminate my dominance"

parallel universe

Not to be Reproduced, 1937, René Magritte

yesterday disguised as you
receded across nothingness
that hidden wound stirred in mind
like abrasive sand in jar of time
forgotten moments
I bury those under a tree

no reflection can compare with this
energy particles collect within the mirror
you must hurry to follow it
before it recedes and congeals in a heap

"that book you see
I had lost it aeon ago
only to find on the other side of a mirror"

edging fires

Faun, Horse, and Bird, 1936
Pablo Picasso 

of all the places
I find you here
master of clandestine trysts
words you never wrote on the walls
why I find those in that street?
faint sounds of a train in the background
create a surreal atmosphere
I march towards the edge
do I see a change in your stance?
no one can share that tiny stretch
it's out there somewhere

"faces in the macabre will not allow me to die
I am mingling with the vision
just let me be'