Poets and writers drink more intensely. Smoke more intensely. Worship God more intensely. Poets and writers fuck more intensely. Poets and writers give more willingly-- spilling the alphabetical marrow of their souls out into the albino sonogram of hope that is the page, hoping some stranger whom he or she has never before met turns to his crafted syllables in time of dire need and somehow finds solace, finds laughter finds a friend.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Christembre
Down by the riverfront, or so it’s been chanted
Lies a building where the ninth month of the year has been duly supplanted
Replaced by a vector of little bohemia
by artists and musicians and poets who speak in alteration and onomatopoeia
congregating en masse where art adorns the wall
in the month playing host to the equinox that is fall
all sharing their works in a bouquet of leafy foliage
Orchestrated by a simple painter, and the name of the month he decided to pillage
They gathered agog in this aesthetic den, artistic lair
So join us know as we reminisce over each calendar square.
We listened to stories snuck in a few frigid Pabsts
and devoutly supported the cause presented by TAPS
the ghost accompanied the bass in ambient shrills
to the work of Mr. Ankrum which gave me the chills
especially when the reverb resonated oh so lo
before hearing the story of awakening by Jeremy and co.
What a joy it always is to wade in the dulcet imagery
compliments of Miss Jessica Stephenson
John Phillips facebook profile features a quote from Mason and Dixon
and whose prose is reminiscent of a prow from a ship
skidding vowels into an unknown sea
read in a gallery offering caffeinated samples from a company called broken tree
The maverick known as DAZ was on hand to transcribe
and optically chronicle while poets’ imbibe
He details winged guinea pigs in an art sine called Faerie
and how cool it was to have an intellectual discussion with a lass named Cheri
Adam read his narrative straight from the text
and that Krazy long haired poet who always writes about sex
and the human experience which is often lonely and hard
Aaron Strickland always tells it like it is a carefree drunken bard
next to works of art that will leave you still life awe and feeling full inside
while basking to the syncopated chimes of Suit en tie guy
who played along with View from Mothership, Gush in Cloud in thrashing loops
while the audience orbited their torso's in one Miss Lynn's hulahoops
That hillbilly southern song writer whose voice remind me of Lucinda Williams, I reckon'
Derrick sang straight from the last name of his Hart which beckons
acoustic twangs above the art shows heralding neon brow
Check out that cool guitar buy chief journalist Justin Glawe!!!!
There is art that will destroy you and make yer heart tilt
Not to mention the worlds largest polyurethane bag quilt
Artists like Keith Wilson, Wes Duffy, Connie Fauth have been in
KT DID creates art and she doesn't even have a drivers license
Phoebe attacks the canvas in striking agitated blows
her art dances in tandem to the colorings rendered by Kathy Oh.
There is Anthony's Couri's anatomical homage to the late marquis de sade
and a room dedicated to a sexy artist named Raghead
Some of the most alluring paintings that I have ever seen
and man, you just have to experience firsthand the work of eddie the fucking art machine...
….And then in the back perhaps if you squint you shall see him
the artist whom the month was named after in filched appropriation
the gallery's now most conspicuous tenant
interviewed on television by the infamous Joe Benett
You'll see him stroking the canvas with mellifluous intent
wild paint splattering, pent up sperm recently spent
ejaculated across the forehead of the canvas in searing encores!!!
as the audience screams out I WONT BE BROKEN ANYMORE!!!
Akin to Kerouac's roman candles, the Soul at both ends that doth burn
the spirit that ascends while the flesh achingly yearns
for a metaphsyical union while eventually you glean
that art is a reflection, it is your own life that has meaning
..so those times you are lonely and down on your luck
those souls who are there for you and people who fuck
you over and over when you have no where to go
There is a place on Jefferson, It's called the Art Show
with artist that are polite and vivacious and somehow never curt
watch out for numerous sightings of Erich Gilbert
when music and readings take place we will always dim the lamps that are best
paying homage Will's legendary readings held Champs West
and in between acts perhaps with a prayerful chest lull
discern art and poetry is alive and sometimes nocturnal
in this little art gallery Hannah covered on Solitary Journal
ferrying downtown so much sprinkled euphoria
the building David Foster wallace mentions in his novel set in Peoria
A toast of gratitude or apt elegy to be sure
to thank you so much for coronating this month of September
like tonic sans the gin it would be an alchemical-sin
not to thank visiting artist Christopher Robin Keller
and the Curator, the Lovely Miss Gavra Lynn....
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3 comments:
:) and the inspiration keeps on rolling!!!
Portrait of A Tortured Artist
With an '80s hard rockin' look
and a pretentious book
he is back out on the prowl
At the poetry reading
you will hear his bleating
His inner torment makes him howl
He's a tortured soul
With a mind of gold
Who sits at his desk and stews
This middle aged man
with hot, sweaty hands
Would like you to be his next muse
You could call him a hack
But please take it back
Because a hack has achieved notoriety
...dude, Truckasaurus, eat my Thesausrus..PEN (the most prestigious literary organization in the country) fucking flew me out to Hollywood to read...
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