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The Starry Night

That does not keep me from having a terrible need of — shall I say the word — religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars. — Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother

The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry night! This is how
I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
to push children, like a god, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die:

into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked up by that great dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry.

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Upon Gazing At The Cut Sunflowers Of Vincent Van Gogh

upon seeing the cut sunflowers of vincent van gogh
i cannot but think about the tragic moment when
he cut his ear, when blood oozed
when at the end, finally he took his life away,

this thing happens when one knows much about
the life of another
this familiarity that breeds contempt,

and so gazing again at the painting of vincent,
i start with real sunflowers in my mind, the one that mother
planted in her garden when she was alive,
i think of the sun and the sunshine touching my face
i think about warmth and life and oozing verve
the vivacity of all things around my little world,
the field of sunflowers and the bees and the butterflies
and birds

i pretend i have not read about the life of vincent
i pretend i have not heard about the stories of mother

i just gaze again at the cut sunflowers. just that.
now there is joy in my heart. The suicide story does not exist
in the bold yellow petals, on those three huge sunflowers

look at them again, they are the symbols of our smiles.

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Irises, a painting by Vincent van Gogh (Ekphrastic Poetry)

There is an explosion of green life in the light,
This life extrapolates all its emerald green.
This life needs its eternity to be as tight
And as deep as an icy queen needs her own sheen.


And all the colors of the rainbow may be seen
In different amounts to the different shades.
Blue iris is placed in a complex world of green.
Into the flowers’ bed, these flowers are like spades.

They need to reassure, as Pantone may suggest,
This world of mystery, which no longer excites.
With pale neutral yellow tongs, they're in great request,
With neutral yellow thoughts, they please the Queen of White.


Alongside darker colors, neutral things sustain
The balance of thoughts serving as background to pray.
The warm cadmium yellow may exigently drain
The bad spirits and irises keep them away.


Van Gogh used such a small amount of indigo,
While this indigo conveys truthfulness and trust,
But his emerald green was like a piccolo,
And through this emerald his world was readjust.


Using the bright head against the rich blue background,
Van Gogh sent messages writing with his colors.
In ochre's religious fight, he lost his ear's sound
To purify this world, where the thought discolors.

MCN: C7YFX-N68R2-2YAHJ

© copyright Tue Jan 31 UTC 2012 - All Rights Reserved

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Last Night There Was No Moon

last night there was no moon
no stars
i opened the window
to have a good view again
of the nothingness
above me

there is the cold wind roaming
among tree tops
passing by my window not looking back
not getting in
not minding
its hands are wings embracing
every space

i am glad
it does not know my name

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Starry Night

When the night falls in your small room
Nothing seen but the dark and the air becomes chill
Everybody has turned asleep
Leaving the blue mountain bored and lonely
Look at your window, the moon calls
There is stars bloom in the dark sky
Giving a hazy sight of the imaginary city
The tall tree is now awaking
When the cold rigid line blurred into waving hands ready to dance
And city lights accompany you to sing a long the midnight
Even the scary darkness drunken in the party
Marching the clouds around the stars and moon

Inspired by Starry Night, Vincent van Gogh

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Lust for Perfection! ! ! ! ! !

Enraptured by the mystic starry sky
Vincent so desperately wanted to try,
To paint this enchanting twilight scene,
But how, Colours in that light couldn’t be seen.

He longed to paint on the spot at night,
What he saw, as he saw without artificial light.
Night is more richly coloured than day
Putting little white dots on a black surface, no way'

Struck by brilliance of stars on closer attention
And his zest and lust and passion for perfection,
A legend goes in rural areas of south of France,
He put candles in the felt hat to capture and paint.

Thus the locals gave him a name, illumine
French word meaning lit up and delusive.
Couldn’t care less, night to be painted on the spot
Settled for a gas jet after pondering a lot

The painting depicts a religious motif of youth.
To assuage his thirst for the Absolute
I just paint nature as it seems to me, complete
All we have to do is unravel the mystery…’

A tribute to Vincent Van Gogh, Impressionist painter, best known for Sun Flowers.
Starry Night is a fascinating work, as is his passion.

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An Allegory

when i was small
i was taught that the meaning
of my life
lies inside the big dome
it is where destiny lies
all explanations possible
are contained in that book
kept inside the golden
casing,

life turns sour
and bitter and
sweetness seems
to be slippery like
an eel,

the dome does not help
and so i turned away
walked outside
and found this new place
outside the dome

trees and grass and
some dragonflies
clouds and cones
fine mornings
calm seas

there are lots of shapes and
colors and
odors
more explanations become possible
they're born like buds turning into
petals

and freedom is like a child
running wild and
talking in chatters
so many songs
and poems
and conversations flow
without fences

i like it here
even without you
i am hurt
but it is different now
i have befriended the pebbles
and the sands
the sun is terrible
but on a night like this
the moon comes once in a while
bringing me
another sense and meaning
some stars sing
they help

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Vincent Van Gogh

As innocent as Vincent was, the world had its effect,
Yet he survived so long because his soul chose to reflect.
For Nature called him to the field where wheat was known to swirl
And Vincent saw great truths revealed in every twist and curl.
As diligent as Vincent dreamed his vivid dreams each night,
He couldn't match the sun that streamed vivacious golden light,
Nor could he match the stars that shone their silver diamond specks,
Until the dawn with darkness gone, when stars go on their treks.
As patiently as Vincent cared, his heart as good as gold,
So rarely were his paintings shared, esteemed, cherished or sold,
Yet he was loath to quit his craft, that stirred his very soul.
He felt the scorn when others laughed, yet yearned to keep control.
As preciously as Vincent's art was hailed beyond his death,
How sad each artist has to be part and breathe his final breath.
How sad to suffer poverty, an outcast, nothing more.
Yet beauty is his legacy, no artist can ignore.
Take note, therefore, of Vincent's life, his tragic treasure trove.
The fiercest fight against his strife, how valiantly he strove.
Each artist has his Everest, the cold, cool ice to climb,
Yet Vincent leaves each heart impressed and that is quite sublime...


Denis Martindale, copyright December 2010.

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Art Encompassed

Michelangelo carved poetry
into purest marble
painted it across ceiling
of adorned Sistine Chapel.

Leonardo Da Vinci
cunningly imprisoned it
within magnetic eyes
of portrait Mona Lisa.

Vincent Van Gogh ground pigment
mixed fresco artistic paint
then splashed poetry upon heaven’s
eternal Starry Starry Night.


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Do You Care? Do You Care?

there are people dying everywhere,
do you care? do you care?
there are people hungry everywhere,
do you care? do you care?

gunshots, bomb drops,
thunder splits the sky.
preacher on the tv,
says you're gonna die.
patriots, deviants,
doors ripped off the hinge.
children eating fathers,
freedom on the fringe!

equality, dignity,
slam the prison doors.
bodies in the ditch,
aint nobody keeping score.
nuclear rain, cocaine,
oceans full of oil.
god died, the president lied,
coming to a boil.

there are people dying everywhere,
do you care? do you care?
there are people hungry everywhere,
do you care? do you care?


black skin, white skin,
grated till they bleed.
angry men without hope,
taking what they need.
well paid lies, cut the ties,
glass figures stand in line.
love screams, shattered dreams,
the blind lead the blind!

trees cut, doors shut,
food stamps and day old bread.
schools closed, books burned,
hear the cry of the dead.
injustice rages, guilty pages,
we reap what we have sowed.
this world on fire, with desire,
the truth the final code!

there are people dying everywhere,
do you care? do you care?
there are people hungry everywhere,
do you care? do you care?

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Art Encompassed Interactive Across Centuries

Michelangelo carved poetry
into purest marble
painted it across ceiling
of adorned Sistine Chapel.
Leonardo Da Vinci
cunningly imprisoned it
within magnetic eyes
of portrait Mona Lisa.
Vincent Van Gogh ground pigment
mixed artistic paint tempera
then splashed poetry upon heaven’s
eternal Starry Starry Night.

Complete artist crazed benediction perfected
must encompassed be prophetic impassioned poet.
Diverse streams personify divine creativity
poetry effected obtains full unfettered expression.
An illuminated ardent ephemeral soul chisels
holy canvas tormented stupendous ablazed passions.

To understand portray pour visionary dynamic words
upon oily water’s perpetual colourless beggary.
Art transforms lack-lustre drab insipid normality
into a cathedral exemplifying expanding universe.
Heartbreak into heartfelt refined tempera translations
easels in search of sensational esoteric staccato pictures.

Transcribed life a miraculous varicoloured sunrise,
dashed hopes a storm ruined resonant corn-field patina frost.
Boundary line earthquake lacerated filigree fragments.
Blood pulsating interprets convulsive emotive rainbow.

Masterpieces dedicated to intense artists. Who have known
great suffering, endured true hardship, innermost anguish.
Yet never exploited, sold, sacred noble entrusted birthright.
Potentialities imaginative beauty enlightening an innocent soul.

Art encompassed interactive
across centuries hung upon
beating hearts pumping forth
liquid fire of creative energies.

Is an art principled with agony
passions etched into canvas of
pulsating vibrations brushstrokes
of demented inspirations applied.

An art blazing interactive emotions
fusion mind eye merge erupting inter
-dimensional thermonuclear firing
of neurons in vortex electrified brain

cells atomized star bursts equates to
echo of cosmic rapture personified.


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Art Encompassed: Renaissance Modern Rejecting Earlier Ideals

Michelangelo carved poetry
into purest marble
painted it across ceiling
of adorned Sistine Chapel.

Leonardo Da Vinci
cunningly imprisoned it
within magnetic eyes
of portrait Mona Lisa.

Vincent Van Gogh ground pigment
mixed artistic paint tempera
then splashed poetry upon heaven’s
eternal Starry Starry Night.


Complete artist crazed benediction perfected
must encompassed be prophetic impassioned poet.
Diverse streams personify divine creativity
poetry effected obtains full unfettered expression.
An illuminated ardent ephemeral soul chisels
holy canvas tormented stupendous ablazed passions.

To understand portray pour visionary dynamic words
upon oily water’s perpetual colourless beggary.
Art transforms lack-lustre drab insipid normality
into a cathedral exemplifying expanding universe.
Heartbreak into heartfelt refined tempera translations
easels in search of sensational esoteric staccato pictures.

Transcribed life a miraculous varicoloured sunrise,
dashed hopes a storm ruined resonant corn-field patina frost.
Boundary line earthquake lacerated filigree fragments.
Blood pulsating interprets convulsive emotive rainbow.

Masterpieces dedicated to intense artists. Who have known
great suffering, endured true hardship, innermost anguish.
Yet never exploited, sold, sacred noble entrusted birthright.
Potentialities imaginative beauty enlightening an innocent soul.


Artistic expression must
embody spirit of the age
embryo emerging art styles
conflicted emotions society

in catalytic transformation
rendered in boiling conflict
brain cells assaulted blasted
fired into new fried pathways

genius is new vision expression
metaphor cast forth in bold strokes
capturing whirling images present
flashing upon retina inner eye perceives


kaleidoscopic elements shift red line
into endless variant emerging patterns
constantly shifting turning upon genius
perception mesmerized by variant vision

chemistry physics transmutes energized atoms
blazing into quantum physics string theories
event horizons express new window dimensions
follow visionary artists into new perceptions

forgers follow lapping spinning crumbs left vibrant
copy works revolutionary mind inscribed defined
producing copies exquisite canvas shaped echoes
cementing unglazed supernova as mass commonality


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Vincent Van Gogh

when Vincent
cut off his ear and
gave it to the
prostitute
he was not
at all selfish
and stupid

he was kind enough
to leave the other
ear
attached

he's still one great
artist....

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Comparative Insight Combined

A poem like
*It Would Be Wrong*
requires true
perspective insight.

It is not
to everyone’s taste
John Oconnell
reads it well

rates with true
individualistic
insight compares
with H. W. Auden

i dont know
what your religion
or absence thereof is
but this is good social

conscience.

rhythm and form good.

in spirit could be Auden.

john’

High praise indeed
‘unsurpassed technical virtuosity
and an ability to write poems
in nearly every imaginable verse form;

the incorporation in his work
of popular culture, current events,
and vernacular speech; and also
for the vast range of his intellect,

which drew easily from an extraordinary
variety of literatures, art forms,
social and political theories,
and scientific and technical information.’

i too have read Auden
my *Quest* poem
is considerably longer
than his lighter versions

complex explano... part given
recognition is required
to foster promote
heartfelt social change

John apparently possibly
a fellow warrior
in war waged against
social evil/ exploitation/ injustice?

perceives social wrongs
embedded in Neo-Liberalism
exclusion women minorities
rates perceptive insight

minions of lesser learning
imposes official recognition
as self perceived system
an autocratic dictates

filed capitalism's dossier
cool cash sought
equates to art defiled
unless deified...

art as struggling artist
Vincent van Gogh
insane life rejection
teeming life prolific vision

art as financial investment
Vincent van Gogh
insane life rejection
teeming life resurrection

is framed a still life
millions paid today
for a never not once
in life sold painting

Capitalism values art best
as dead works eagerly sought
from lightning stroke hand
of classical dead master

Art as investment
art valued as original
what worth a copy?
what worth living artist?

Retrospect is
is not defined value
for the market
for the masses

to echo appreciation
to echo values
what appreciation
of lessons learned?


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Hey Ladies

Hey ladies in the place I'm callin' out to ya
There never was a city kid truer and bluer
There's more to me than you'll ever know
And I've got more hits than Sadaharu Oh
Ton Thumb Tom Cushman or Tom Foolery
Date women on T.V. with the help of Chuck Woolery
Words are flowing out just like the Grand Canyon
And I'm always out looking for a female companion
I threw the lasso around the tallest one and dragged her to the crib
I took off her moccasins and put on my bib
I'm wheelin' and dealin' I make a little bit of stealing
I'll bring you back to the place and your dress I'm peeling
Your body's on time and your mind is appealing
Staring at the cracks up there upon the ceiling
Some such nonsense is the bass that I'm throwing
Talking to a girl telling her I'm all knowing
She's talking to the kid to the who
I'm telling here every lie that you know that I never did
Me in the corner with a good looking daughter
I dropped my drawers and it was welcome back Kotter
We were cutting up the rug she started cutting up the carpet
In my apartment I begged her please stop it
The gift of gab is the gift that I have
And that girl ain't nothing but the blue plate crab
Special at Woodman's in Essex Mass
Educated no stupid yes
And when I say stupid I mean stupid fresh
I'm not James at 15 or Chachi in charge
I'm Adam and I'm adamant about living large
With the white sassoons and the looks that kill
Makin' love in the back of my Coupe De Ville
I met a little cutie she was all hopped up on zootie
I liked the little cutie but I kicked her in the bootie
Cause I don't kinda go for that messin' around
You be listening to my records' a number one sound
Step to the rhythm step step to the ride
I've got an open mind so why don't you all get inside
Tune in tune on to my tune that's live
Ladies flock like fish to my line

She's got a gold tooth you know she's hardcore
She'll show you a good time then she'll show you the door
Break up with your girl it ended in tears
Vincent Van Gogh and mail that ear
I call her in the middle of the night when I'm drinking
The phone booth on the corner is damp and it's stinking
She said come on over it was me that she missed
I threw that trash can through her window cause you know I got dissed
Your old lady left you and you went girls (x3) insane
You blew yourself up in the back of the 6 train
Take my advice at any price a gorilla like your mother is mighty weak
Sucking down pints till I didn't know
Woke up in the morning at the Won Ton Ho
Cause I announce I like girls that bounce
With the weight that pays about a pound per ounce
Girls with curls and big long locks
And beatnik chicks just wearing their smocks
Walking high and mighty like she's #1 and
*She thinks she's the passionate one*

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Creativity Can't Make Up For Depression

Creativity cannot make up for depression
which it attempts to cure,
it can’t replace it with the kind of supersession
that made spurious lure
of Christianity when it induced some Jews
to make up for their loss
of their identity, condemned, they thought, to lose
unless they chose the cross.
No, creativity provides a transient high,
and then becomes a wraith,
for those who’re so depressed they find they cannot fly,
because they’ve lost their faith
in their ability to reproduce success,
which if it is not con-
stantly repeated is a letter whose address
appears to be, “Dear John.”

Inspired by an article (“In Praise of the Crack-U: A novelist peers through darkness to find glittering gems in writing and art”) , by the South African-born novelist Jeanette Winterson, lesbian lover of Julian Barnes’s widow, Pat Kavanagh, in the October 17,2009 WSJ (A report about her lesbian relations includes the information: Blessed with good looks that led many to compare her to Katharine Hepburn, she secured a nonspeaking part in Under Milk Wood. “I never got paid, but I did get to snog Richard Burton, ” she said) . Winterson writes:
The stories are well known; Vincent Van Gogh cut off his ear and went mad. Sylvia Plath gassed herself. Anne Sexton committed suicide. Emily Dickinson was manic-depressive. Virginia Woolf worked through alternating bouts of madness and depression for most of her life. The mad, bad and dangerous wild boys of high art and popular culture make great copy—whether it's Caravaggio on the run for murder after one of his rages, or Allen Ginsberg, naked and drunk, howling through Manhattan. The women—Plath, Frida Kahlo, Maria Callas, Janis Joplin—imploding like dark stars, are the stuff of obsession…. Longing is painful. Every work of art is an attempt to bring into being the object of loss. The pictures, the music, the poems and the performances are an intense engagement with loss. While one is in the act of making, one is not in loss, and one has meaning. The fierce crashes that happen to many creative people when a piece of work is done (read Hemingway on this) come out of the sense that however good the work, it has not answered the loss. The strange thing about creative work is that it can have enormous value for others while its maker is left ravaged. The ancient Greeks understood this as the price of an encounter with a godthe divine forces enter the human and use him or her as an instrument, only to be ultimately destroyed. But I do not believe that creativity is destructive or divine. I believe it is the part of us that gives shape and voice to our innermost reality. This is frightening. Encounters with the real, in particular what we really feel, are something we generally try to avoid. Art mediates the encounter, allowing us to get nearer to our longing and our loss, to risk more, to dare more. Yet for the maker, the exposure is not mediated; it is total and terrifying. That is why so many creative people cut themselves off from their own experience, using drugs or drink or sex or shipwreck to avoid absolute exposure to the pain of creativity. When Whitman turned to face his dark angel, to wrestle with himself, he was acknowledging his own loss, his own longing, his own unstaunched wound.


10/18/09

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Then I abandoned comics for fine art because I had some romantic vision of being like Vincent Van Gogh Jr.

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Exploited Genius

Once upon a time ago
Lived a man named Vincent Van Gogh.
His style of painting vexed a few
With importunities anew:
His long broad strokes and use of light
Bright yellows, mauve were his delight
Blues and oranges caught the eye
Contrasting when placed side by side
For all the beauty he expressed
It left him poor and dispossessed.
Life seems to fault the advent man
It’s been that way since time began.
Deceased his work has now become
Treasures in Louvre museum.

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Comparative Insight Artistic

filed capitalism's dossier
cool cash sought
equates to art defiled
unless deified...

art as struggling artist
Vincent van Gogh
insane life rejection
teeming life prolific vision

art as financial investment
Vincent van Gogh
insane life rejection
teeming life resurrection

is framed a still life
millions paid today
for a never not once
in life sold painting


Capitalism values art best
as dead works eagerly sought
from lightning stroke hand
of classical dead master

Art as investment
art valued as original
what worth a copy?
what worth living artist?

Retrospect is
is not defined value
for the market
for the masses

To echo appreciation
to echo values
what appreciation
of lessons learned?


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7 Cats of the Cobblestone

7 cats came calling.
7 cats they be.

7 cats came calling
for
a
spot
of
tea.

7 cups
7 saucers
berries
brie
and
clotted cream.

A light fare for 7 cats
7 cats they be.

7 cats
7 names
introduced to us.

One was black and white
the other calico.

Two tabbies sat at the hearth
three more we will get to know.

Lagging behind
we did find
peculiar
ginger cat.

Next to stroll in
cat named Vincent Van Gogh
and Siam,
white as fallen snow.

Kit Kat
Chi Chi
took milk with tea.

Miss Cleo and Rosy savoring dessert.

Duke of course
curious sort
sat out
upon
the stoop.
With no warning
came storming in
last to introduce.

After tea
and light fare
cat nap they did sleep.

7 cats came calling
7 cats we keep.
7 cats of the Cobblestone
7 cats they be.

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Masters Portable Visionary Paintings

it was an innovative technique
new course for the masters
par for the course but not golf
a birdie eagle albatross condor
plus under par impossible ostrich
a hypothetical mythical phoenix
this was mother load technique
lightning creation flash exquisite
new wet-on-wet oil painting fever

masters revolutionary
utopia discovered
mid-1800s commercially
produced pigments
in ideal portable tubes
facilitated perfect rapid
on-the-spot painting
essentially anywhere
anytime capture creativity

potential for fluid energy
unleashed mastered exploited
in unique captivating ways
in application medium oil paints
impressionists like Claude Monet
Vincent van Gogh mad joy flows
realists like John Singer Sargent
Robert Henri and George Bellows
abstract expressionist de Kooning

images liquid energy moonlighting


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