Musa Inesperada 5 – se entiende…

Musa Inesperada 5

The poem ends.

Planets shift through the width of a word

shattering suns across time.

Symbols scratched on broken glass

fragment moonlight.

Truths are spoken and surfaces collapse

into ragged voids of falling.

 

Now is the hollow man

stuffed with straw, fool’s bells in his head,

borrowed smiles stitched to his mouth

and an ice pick in his heart.

For a moment he was song,

a poem for all seasons and

a naked hero

littering his quest with cast-off armor.

 

For one sweet breath he parted clouds

on home made wings,

consumed in fire, burning as he fell.

But it’s winter now, and night.

Spring and dawn are written out

of this play,

Icarus has the leading part

but falls again and again.

 

The music plays on and

The music plays on, but only

echoing silence breaks through to

more echoing silence

and the owl,

and the voices of wolves

tearing the night’s peace

into regurgitated shreds.

 

Yet still my muse

offers branches of light…

 

“Lord I just can’t keep from crying sometimes,

Lord I just can’t keep from crying sometimes,

When my heart is full of sorrow

And my eyes are filled with tears

Lord I just can’t keep from crying sometimes”.

 

Poem and drawing by clinock. Drawing: Pastel and conte on paper. 8″ x 10″. 2013. Click on image for more detail.

I Just Can’t Keep From Crying – Old American blues – Blind Willie Johnson.

Musa Inesperada 4 – La Musa Velada

M veiled

O Crown of Light, O Darkened One,
I never thought we’d meet.
You kiss my lips, and then it’s done:
And I’m back, back on Boogie Street.

A sip of wine, a cigarette,
And then it’s time to go.
I tidied up the kitchenette;
I tuned the old banjo.
I’m wanted at the traffic-jam.
They’re saving me a seat.
I’m what I am, and what I am,
Is back on Boogie Street.

And O my love, I still recall
The pleasures that we knew;
The rivers and the waterfall,
Wherein I bathed with you.
Bewildered by your beauty there,
I’d kneel to dry your feet.
By such instructions you prepare
A man for Boogie Street.

O Crown of Light, O Darkened One,
I never thought we’d meet.
You kiss my lips, and then it’s done:
And I’m back, back on Boogie Street.

So come, my friends, be not afraid.
We are so lightly here.
It is in love that we are made;
In love we disappear.
Tho’ all the maps of blood and flesh
Are posted on the door,
There’s no one who has told us yet
What Boogie Street is for.

Boogie Street by Leonard Cohen and Sharon Robinson.

 Painting by clinock.  Acrylic on paper. 11″  x 15″. 2013. (Click on image for enlarged detail).

Musa Inesperada 2

Southern Muse Speaks to Northern Man.

Hear me and hear me closely,

for I speak in riddles.

My burning words melt meaning,

the freeze of my silence undoes the heart,

and both dance together

in the air between.

 

Hear me and hear me openly,

for I speak in paradox

and nothing in your reason can understand.

I am sun in the night, bones in the clouds,

the singing of rocks, beckoning farewells

and the sharpest tooth

of the scarlet rose.

 

Hear me and hear me wisely,

for I speak in truth.

You are not who you think you are,

but what you think, you are –

and this is the time to listen

and understand.

 

Hear me and hear me in love,

for I speak surrender.

There is no other path for you to walk

yet my compass and smudged maps

are only smoke and mirrors

on your journey.

 

Hear me and hear me in friendship.

For I speak of trust.

Welcome me to your winter with

true companions, sweet song and wine,

beauty, and bright magic.

Invite me in.

 

Poem and painting by clinock.  Painting:  Diptych, each panel 12″ x 24″. Acrylic on canvas. 2013. (Click on image for enlarged detail).

Musa Inesperada 1

Musa Inesperada 1

Unexpected muse – oscillating

in chiaroscuro tangos,

moon dance, fireflies, shifting light,

manifest yet amorphous in the night,

mysterious source, ambiguous arrivals,

uncharted departures.

 

A cracked piano in an old cafe,

waltz of anima and shadow,

words whispered – veiled metaphors,

images sent – fragments revealed,

suggested interplay of possibilities,

glimpses of visions.

 

Weaver of dreams, I recognize

those doors that open in your eyes,

the glittering fish that part your lips,

and the tangled webs of art and Eros

that search my hands, my head, my sleep,

and in the deepest dark of me

something is remembered

and released….

 

Painting and poem by clinock. 2013.

Painting:  Musa Inesperada 1. acrylic on paper. 8″ x 10″. (Click on image for more detail).