Herman Heyenbrock – Safety Poster (1928)
Tag Archives: los medios de comunicación
Alexander Rodchenko- Poster for Erich Waschneck The Fires Man 1929
Alexander Rodchenko-poster for Erich Waschneck The Fire’s Man
camomile artist
this voice of the river
pressed wavelets to the hull,
kisses gentle
as the heat of day waned,
there is an island
he took himself to
and revealed not to many,
his sister stretched her hand
to the surface,
his obsession that yellow obsession
of scrawled canvas
becoming painfully light
each coming and passing day,
his work confessional
to a degree that
his lips where bitten into scabs
and fingernails worn,
absinthe stained his teeth
and confounded the workings
of an already fractured mind,
he wanted to show
one person the accommodation
crooked walls hung with works
salons would faint at,
not his usual pastorals and portraits,
this was a diminished reality
with a lot of truth
his sarcasm would not yield
afraid of her reaction
progressed slowly
yesterday still had a grip,
he could not release
approaching jetty
tremors worked in his arms,
breathing quickened,
when the moon set
he would be revealed
and her pain would be no loss,
when the rains came
he would return alone
clouds would cover the moon
and deny reflection and illumination
there was a lot more to be done
John Singer Sargent – Autumn on The River 1889
17 , 17 syllable American Sentences
Following a dVerse incentive i try the American Sentence a flourish of lines at 4am this morning hope they go down ok
1: his nose punched flat lips split pouted looking for a fight every night
2: a can of schlitz sunset and low slung impala remedy for loss
3: obstinate kisses infect toothache jaw ache headache neurology needed
4: motel marinade coated and baked off counted dollars and returned to the street
5: diamond finger tug gold band reminder these kisses where illicit
6: sat hunched on the toilet hand working the memory that he had betrayed
7: winters pale counterpane gave no shelter for the rabbit from predatory air
8: reasons could be found on the diminishing length of yesterdays words
9: dial the number wait for tone he would not answer he is long gone
10: jazz piano raw as her voice began to crack it was no longer 1954
11: seek the stars and they will not shine anticipating the moment to surprise
12: guitar strings strangle all chances of finding reconciliation
13: two finger pressure shudder she releases a sigh he was erased
14: bellboy at end of marble hall hear titans whisper demise of poor
15: grandpa’s hand once so steady gone leaves remember tobacco smell
16: over ocean swathe she watches vessel under pirates color sail
17 : amity beach july bathers swim children play mayor falters shark prowls
regions of desertion
ashfoot, ashfoot
under moonball capsules of starlight
take two tubes of the sea
and with hipster tone,
squeeze upon my subterranean pinnacle
handcuffed to a midnight train
brakeman with burning lantern
punched me to nothing more,
take two more boxes to burn
smoke and steam
play it cool
sinister strapped luggage fell
to which i became lashed
tunnel -bone condemnation
under white haired
fawns feet
voices from regions unknown
lifted me away
to churches with horns
and fed capsules of better things
hopping away the vision
pierced bone
i was no longer
the bum
with sorry leg
dada at dVerse poets an interesting cut up as i used Gregory Corso In the Tunnel Bone of Cambridge which is below
IN THE TUNNEL-BONE OF CAMBRIDGE
1
In spite of voices-
Cambridge and all its regions
Its horned churches with fawns’ feet
Its white-haired young
and ashfoot legions-
I decided to spend the night
But that hipster-tone of my vision agent
Decided to reconcile his sound with the sea leaving me flat
North of the Charles
So now I’m stuck here-—
a subterranean
lashed to a pinnacle
2
I don’t know the better things that people know
All I know is the deserter condemned me to black-
He said: Gregory, here’s two boxes of night one tube of moon
And twenty capsules of starlight, go an’ have a ball-
He left and the creep took all my Gerry Mulligan records with him
3
But he didn’t cut out right then
I saw him hopping
On Brattle street today-
he’s got a bum leg
on his way to the tunnel-bone
He made like he didn’t see me
He was trying to play it cool
4
Wild in the station-bone
Strapped in a luggage vision-bone
made sinister by old lessons of motion
The time-tablebone said: Black
Handcuffed to a minister
Released in a padded diesel
The brakeman punched my back: Destination, black
Out the window I could see my vision agent
hopping along the platform
swinging a burning-lantern-bone like mad
All aboard, he laughed, all aboard
Far into the tunnel-bone I put my ear to the ear
of the minister–and I could hear
the steel say to the steam
and the steam to the roar: a black ahead
A black ahead a black and nothing more.
carpetbagger venom
he was a splinter off a dollar bill
the rest broke up and devoured
by the man of the bank,
leaving as an innocent,
chevrolet voyaged south to el paso
under skies that had stars,
his waking
close to sunland park mall,
tight block of stores,
determined to prove her wrong
thrum of ac motel anthem,
dreams a sour bed of flowers,
as he strived for a spiritual arc,
life had a repetoire
of giving and deceiving
now he would turn the tide,
life’s quick dimensions
could not be measured accurately,
singing on the sidewalk
his prey everywhere,
smiling softly chewing gum
that had forgotten it’s spearmint taste,
his time was now
dazzling abstract
i am a prophet
with rolled up trousers
and open jacket,
i have heard violins in Paris
yet with smudged knees
before you entranced,
voice of pale sherbet
snare drum indulgence,
you took me to the rooftops
overlooking fullest sea,
i wrote to the back of my skull
with it’s literary granite lesions,
flew with sunrise
alien chorus comes as
if both worlds imitate,
i wanted your eyes
before then went to sleep
to see the bondage we feel,
your spell fell on my ear
resistance would only be sorrow,
then to the shrieking jungle
riffs and strums
break the brittle shell on my heart
nymph and satyr
platter of desire,
i clutch the glittering prize
Ponytail by Last Exit, http://magpietales.blogspot.co.uk/
incredible saboteur
bones where our fathers sleep
forgotten beneath the stairs,
theater of the virgin daughter has begun
left the abyss
rode naked beneath a harvest sky,
flowers once cast upon the river
caught by rising fishes
their illiterate world
tensed and sure,
this has to be the darkest season
of blood not drawn by knife
but fear of the morning hill,
normal day without monsters
forged on sleeping mental despair,
no amount of her is aimless,
violets had been crushed on the lawn
buzzards had become trapped in
rivers sediment,
wrapped in fabric woven with
delusion and anagrams of what
love should of brought,
bands of gold encircle retinas flourish,
she has found a new way
more than chromosomes shared with
other mammals,
she raises a visible alarm,
society dissected under assured touch
and found the moon wanting,
no more to be buried side by side
eternal would be joy and dance,
then we sleep
velvetmedia 