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Quotes about patina

After that I could never pass a dead man without stopping to gaze on his face, stripped by death of that earthly patina which masks the living soul. And I would ask, who were you? Where was your home? Who is mourning for you now?

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The Song of a Statue

A lone baritone balladeeer beneath the Battersea Bridge,
Sings out a sonnet for the Madonna.
Big Ben chimes, he becomes locked in Lover's time,
As his copper-skin is wrapped in night and the cold armor of patina.

c.2009 John Carroll Walls

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Norman Mailer

We live in a time which has created the art of the absurd. It is our art. It contains happenings, Pop art, camp, a theater of the absurd ... Do we have the art because the absurd is the patina of waste...? Or are we face to face with a desperate or most rational effort from the deepest resources of the unconscious of us all to rescue civilization from the pit and plague of its bedding?

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Southwold Sunset

Sizewell`s exploded, you said
as the dying sun
grows immense in your eyes,
and gulls collide
in the bloodshot sky.

We chance our arm and walk
harbour jetties with their
treacherous-green patina,
to ogle yachts

as rigging blocks gently toll,
and masts like giant batons conduct
the three beat measure
of an incoming tide.

Autumn can still taste summer,
so we go al fresco
at the Harbour Inn,

[...] Read more

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And the was

And the was like it never had been
As if it is forgotten to be a never happen
It drifts away into the far mists of the past
Lovers first sight, zeal rapture and the engulfing lust

Time is a generous entrepreneur it let us grow old
The memories will be encapsulated in thin fragile patina
Being dappled with daily events unlikely attendants in our arena
Thus the was story never happened its shadow flickers into me cold

It is the world habit that love asks more than life can give
And once this lesson learned all essence is earned
Yet in its self web of fantasy and dreams love is its own fugitive
Rebellious, tenacious, delirious unwilling to give or to bend

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My African Damsel

Skin shimmering of molten ivory
Scorching in Ra's immovable gaze
As bountiful locks flow to Amun's whispers of sweet nothings
In copper's opulence of a zesty auburn patina
Tantalizing curves of a Rhodesian ridgeback
A spectacular heritage of an imperial Grevy zebra
Proudly sporting her colonial stripes and her Zulu roots
Yet bearing an unscathed legacy, the poise of an Ethiopian wolf
Absent of feudal conquests, toil's buxom union with hemorrhagic outpour
As love's enduring labor shunned alcoves of segregation
For white man's seed to be sown on sable soil
As she, an African princess, matured like a diamond in a mine
To sprout in the savannahs of my psyche
As she dances to the Congo beats of my heart
My breathtaking beauty, my African damsel

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Crowded Rooms

Fists pounded the walls
And ebbed back to bludgeon
In the collapsing furrows
Of a pilfered room
Where I ensconced in the patina
All my squandering

Laughter cloyed the fences
And disintegrates the voices
Scathing the open door
That howls a pouncing cry
Cacophonous to a whistling train
And I stood closer the line

The shrill beckon the veers
Of the lunging blood cells
When the nights would grovel
Between manacles and gold
Licking the marred embers
With a fire too pallid to kill

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A Call To Arms Denied

We called for arms, Julia.

Boom! Clash! Crash!
The crimson sky can see us
The vermilion soil heeds no vanguard
Julia, we are alone in this

I held you in my callused hands
And we dodge, run, and mangled
Through carrion with black bones
As we taunt death face to face
Closer than your glacial patina

They can see us, they goad us
Their echoing voices spattered with shrapnel
Splintering the defenseless prayers
Until the circle closes in
To suffocate the last sigh of life
They will separate us, Julia.

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Machine Gun

Let me speak with tongues of loathe,
Let me bawl without strangling hopes,
Let me share my inconsistencies, and
Let me finally, bleed for me.

The putrid illness spilled into the bland sky
And the days sculled only to plummet down
Because the sun was ousted from these veins
And only darkness can linger into these alleyways
Now, watch me jump into my decay whilst you gyrate
With your blind lust and your gilded patina and rusts
This is the last time I would ever submit
Into the cajoles of your ulcer and fever.

Up until these dead days, I am inveigled to bleed out
The irony that shuts out, now hark: when did you ever care
About the toppling of the quartz? I know a dark limbo
Where the thoughts juggle, I found a parcel of vision,
Where your lonely sea of iridescence flailed from
Her ever pristine undulations, and it provokes you

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Mick takes it seriously!

'Hell, i read in bed, on the train, or walking
down the hall, don't you? ' Mick said.

We were sitting in his kitchen.
Celia was on the barcalounger
in the den watching a soap on TV -
Days of Our Lives sounded like.

'Books of Tennyson and Keats not my cup
of tea exactly, nor do I fancy them circling
overhead either - bleeding dangerous, that!
Sure, I puzzle over rhyme and meter, simile
and metaphor - shit! I went to college, too!
Can't hardly get that stuff out of my head!
I've bayed at the moon when I drink enough -
the curse of the Irish, right? But no dancing,
please! not in this neighborhood!
Celia is my idea of beauty, though a bit long
in the tooth, like the old Lab sitting with her -
they both shine with the patina of age,

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