Symbiosis

morning came

a turbid blue

Afreya awoke

stretching into her morning

wash away the sleep

soft gown falls

naked supple

moves into the garden

emerging from the still

green shrubbery

the ungrich

beaked and blind

with anal spewed eggs

that Afreya would sing to

her voice, her touch

broke soft shell

baby ungrich

fragile wet flesh

scooped and offered

Afreya took each one

devouring them

soft bony morsel

tissue swallowed

belly and breasts

began to swell

eager baby grew

her body tremors

with each and every

bite

enjoying what mother ate

Afreya smiled

her own offspring

would come

to nurture on her red milk

the world would

become theirs

as Afreya collapsed

withering to a husk

she had done

what her birth had intended

repeat the process

and die again

in that way

https://dangerousminds.net/comments/sex_satan_and_surrealism_the_unsettling_erotica_of_michael_hutter

Not my usual kind of work, but felt compelled looking at Michael Hutters paintings, that have defining and disturbing depth of beauty

Darius Ortiz – Three Graces

Three Graces 2010 by Colombian artist Darius Ortiz

http://eldibujante.com/?p=9239

Ivan Puni – Still Life With Hammer

Ivan Puni

Ivan Puni

 

Edward Hopper Sketchbook

A wonderful insight into the mind and workings of Edward Hopper through his sketchbooks , illustrating and describing a process of creativity that evolved into his paintings that resonate so well with in there look and narrative and if you have not come across him yet i urge you to do so.

art, painting , Hopper e hopper edward hopper Edward Hopper sketch book EdwardHopper_Sketchbook

 

hope you enjoy this as much as me as i would love to delve through the pages and become intimate with the completed works

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

poetry, art, media

John Singer Sargent – Autumn on The River 1889

flounderboy

fuck it and the great yee haa

dumbshit muscle car

and that fabricated pregnancy

her side of town always had it right

he was a paper flounder

in the forest

gasping for air,

she kissed him once

it occurred,

tearing up blacktop

nowhere to go

his image would be born at 5pm

and he would not be there,

bottle shattered thrown from window

fuck accelerated with the engine

spit on fists and punch the wall

turning hard

smearing rubber,

breathing hard as engine idled

blue bra and panty serenade

shit he was a dumbfuck

turning to run,

her dad did not have a bullet

in the chamber of his heart,

returning at a slower crawl

only his mind raced

it was time

fish, art, nedia

a fishy story by judith clay
http://society6.com/judithclay

Emile de Antonio Painters Painting

knives sweeter than arrows

flesh of silk and snow

naked as a fawn exposed to winter,

draft seeped through window

that cast a lemon block outside,

pages before her with ink that began

to merge,

precious silent thoughts

lifted to starry skies,

sorrow had not brought it’s shadow

her eyes strong enough to look  into

the fire and show innocence,

telephone rang

the artist whose heart moved in spirals

waited with canvas and sable

and when snow retreats

and fireflies waken

she would stir to his caress,

till then entwined with knowledge

of youth and biology

lessons planned for each week

distraction long holding

avoidance to all things carnal

despite prick of skin

and clamor of heart,

she would wait as others too waited

and beneath soft auburn hair

decisions would be made

Jamie Wyeth Monhegan's Schoolteacher

Jamie Wyeth Monhegan’s Schoolteacher