Karel Simunek
Czech modernist art with the often erotic yet sensual image
Karel Simunek 1869-1942
Monthly Archives: March 2013
Remember Gremlins
Gremlins
the reading poet
behind his book
taking microphone,
spoke
each word lengthening
to a degree
of edgy movement
what seemed so few in words
became eternal,
those who watched
brow moistened by sweat
beneath his fringe
saw an iconic image
poster adorned with Che
on bedroom walls,
fingers found a glass
to sip some wine
for confidence,
feet moving almost pacing
just shuffling,
closer to edge of stage
silence in the darkness,
all held on his voice,
a lithe brunette student
leaped forward
lemon t shirt lifted
baring breasts
with
I Love You
lipstick marked
flashbulb pop
a step back
maybe a stutter of words
faltered only for a beat
smiling continued,
status assured
fever on the funship
grampus in my thoughts
vessel resonant to pharaoh’s dance
from a bitches brew,
no mirror
no media
in any sarcasm would find me
i would smoke
i would dance,
old hulk decks creaking
as my silk collar shines,
from cabin to hold
the merriment stretches,
i would distance myself
and not be portrayed
anonymous to all but the
lips and tongue i entwine,
whiskey manufactured in the south
smoky sweet tingle,
it was migration
or mitigation
of many ravenous appetites
bologna sausage and sweet mutton,
so vibrantly lost
room extended that i was hidden
faceless in the extreme,
music of davis found me
wanting more,
gilt frame my hair once neatly combed,
come grampus
tilt on rolling waves,
find me a place
of nonchalant obscurity,
saxophone and drum
the ariel had been lost
it was memory that
dragged me down
into the depths
that would fill my lungs
with salt water,
careful heart placement
extracted blood from veins
i was infused with a rhythm
that could only lead to one conclusion
i was intimate in my body
with all of one species,
more smoke
more mirrors,
hearing snare and guitar
long days vanished
a place found
yet i could not reveal
who i totally
am
execution of the goat
clouds slaughter rainbows,
expectant mothers cries ,
every other wound heals,
you can knock on doors
but who will answer ,
not a man with a golden goblet
who watched you
cast over a precipice
saved by a pen stabbed into
stubborn rock,
white rock
unheeding to your cries
crack appears
fissure to place your mind
letting thoughts expand,
pressured opening
wider
a flow of cerebral digestion
spilling over
staining with a curious purpose
from here others see the marks
a territory of mind and heart,
and will learn
to be as you are
or better,
scabbing crusting
around edges
salted tears
as you pick and worry,
yet stand firm
words stoic and resolute
to others scrutiny
a whale sings
no torment,
inspiring
extending pen to another’s hand ,
goats run in the enclosure,
a dying man has a kiss
and you see the virginity of
ink taken
and shared,
purpose found
love true
you will now open the door
to those
who knock
to share with others your writing and help those who struggle is part of being true to your art
