Wednesday, 12 February 2014

The Master

A jolt of joy and promise 
A young man’s wicked smirk 
Dough-soft and putty-pink, 
Nature’s punching bag 
Bullied no longer - he exploded. 
This little pig went ape. 

The smooth structure of night 
The way we feed 
The lavish consumption 
The hunger 
I feel that missing “o” 
Hanging off of a sad moustache. 
In and out and in and out 
Relishing every minute 

Wishing this could rattle on forever. 
Silently, she shows him. 
At the edge - nothing so vulgar 
Life lived to the hilt 
Between the sincere and insincere
The smack of satisfaction 
The ratio of demons to angels 
Where there can be only sorrow 

Sprawled in a haze of heroin 
How crushing addiction can be 
A spirit from the same tribe 
The flame of feeling that stoked 
Inside that ordinary body 
An immaculate jacket 
Helplessly he stands there. 
Arms flapping at his sides. 

Slumming was not an option. 
He joined the barn dance 
His hair neatly brushed by a fussy mother. 
Triggering the blind rage rough red-faced rant. 
The pains that he took 
To camouflage his bag of tricks. 
The full-blooded swagger 

Putting on a show. 
A modest approach 
An unexpected trait 
A force of nature 
The bulk and blaze of him - that’s gone.

In memory of Philip Seymour Hoffman. This is a cutout poem for the Imaginary Garden taken from the February 11, 2014 New Yorker article the Master. All the words in this poem are from this article and in the order they appeared.

Saturday, 8 February 2014

Mama Likes The House In Order

Mama likes the house in order
every purpose has its place. 
Every tightly tucked emotion
measured out in proper portions
simmered to perfection and 
distributed in equal portions.

Mama Likes The House In Order - Lisa Graham

Inspired by the Art of Lisa Graham and prompted by Grace at the Imaginary Garden

Wednesday, 5 February 2014

My Creative Space

In my humble opinion Hugh Dillion and the Headstones saved Rock and Roll from Kurt Cobain and the rest of the grunge hippies wannabes in the Nineties. I know that's almost blasphemy this close to Seattle but ... 

Now twenty years later they come out with this and it's just and good as their first. 

"When something stands for nothing a detached memory
this ones about everything you don't think about until you sleep"

I never know why sparks fly no place to run no place to hide
I try to slow it down but I'm just too wired

 "this one's for nothing and this one's for fun"

You talk too much so I double clutch 
stutter step and a sucker punch
I'm a gateway drug but there's not enough 
so I sobered up 'cause that's twice as tough.

"and this one's for rock and roll and comic books and bubble gum"

I think I'm too old to be this mad 
my mid-life angst feel's a little sad
'Cause when I'm in my creative space 
you can't kick the smile off my face

"So this one's for the silence and the questions that it brings
and the smell of time and irreverence and the possibilities."

I never know why sparks fly no place to run no place to hide
I try to slow to down but it's just the way I'm wired


Kerry has us writing about our "creative space" today in the Garden. For me it comes from inside and it comes in waves. I had fun with this one.

This is their first hit from 1990.