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.

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

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.