The Applause

To understand the universe in patterns on dirt
in clairvoyance to estimate the worth
of contemplation on hate, of the knowledge of love
in plain sight their faces are rubbed

with the the rhythms of their heart beat
either to sing out loud, or to accept defeat
either to embrace shame or to feed their rage
no matter still, all world’s a stage

and life is but, what once was
the promise of an undying applause
and carrying the beats, and even much late
are the beats from heart,
those of love, or that of hate

The Lift


3 square foot in fashion steel
and on either side in between concealed
by the doors on brute magnetic force
as well the reflection running its course
which to the passenger multitude
was much comforting in its delude


for the mirror image and the retinue
this journey continued
while from above and through the walls
a silent zephyr of might too small
for no human sense could it touch
yet the nascent wind aphostrophized as such


that only a petal on some cascade fall
was the solitary listener to the breeze’s call
for every vein on that surface red
chirped in joyance in good stead
and contained the joy in an anxious hurray
lest this moment quick fade away.

‘Broadway is Burning’- Poetry- Verses Inked

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Poetry

Broadway is Burning

 

Broadway is burning, Our calcetines on fire

It looks like a riot,  a sign of the times

Just yesterday I saw two people

walking the city streets  in bedroom slippers

padding down second avenue

like the corridor  of a mental hospital.

They must have forgotten to

distinguish their costumes,

to separate  the inside  from the outside

As for me garbage bags in blazes

citizens in slippers,

the more the outside looks like my inside

the more at home I feel

with my living room in flames

and my head on fire

A Poem by Suzanne Goldenberg

Desk: Pyramid Scheme – Poetry on Verses Inked

Also Read: 1960’s – An Age of Poetry

‘ Felix ‘ – Poetry – Verses Inked ©

fine art, painting

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Poetry

Felix

I apologize,
I’m sorry.

Little things bother me
like hot pink walls
in subway cars.
Macy’s big shoes
Bigstore
allover sale wallpaper
plastered head to toe
in Grand Central,
and your fruit stand.
I’m sorry to have to tell you,
but it’s the last time

I’m gonna buy your fruit; I mean,
I want to support you
No walls or floor or store to speak of,
just a shitty umbrella over
a failing pyramid
of milk crates
with the fading logo
of a has-been bank;
I mean
it’s my kind of commerce
but let’s face it
your oranges are rotten
your persimmons never ripe
And then there’s Felix
who has to stand there
handless
stuffed inside a sandwich board
” Please can you help me
with some spare change
I am raising money to buy myself hands “

Stuck on the platform of the one train,

just to beg for the Pity;

I mean generosity of strangers,
to buy himself limbs,
(to work for a living?)
Oh and let me guess
now we’re pretending
to be civilized,

putting a European tone
in the subway.

You have got to be kidding.
I still can’t hear a thing.

(A Poem by Suzanne Goldenberg)

Desk : Trapped – Rearview – On the Road – Verses Inked

Also Read: Patti Smith on Loving Books

melting sculpture

Artwork: Melting Sculpture

Artist: Sharad Bharadwaj ( The Blue Painter )

‘ Pyramid Scheme ‘ – Poetry Verses Inked

fine art, painting

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Poetry

Pyramid Scheme

I’m wearing bows and arrows cos

you let me, you left me here with this

inheritance of junk and ready to

recycle yogurt containers i filled with

cement to receive compliments, it’s the

garbage they love most but don’t want

to pay for unless it’s vitrine’d

Somehow Houdini chose different problems

and I admire him for distracting

me and everyone else from

thinking about death in the too tired

way that fuels cosmetic industries

pays thousands for turning

grapes into grapefruits on his dime

i’m seeing less more but that’s down

hill i’m not confusing the triangle

with the pyramid, one is flat and the

other has people inside holding up

the base on their shoulders like  servants

multiplying agents like matrix men

grey to astound me grey to neutralize

to neuterize me, I’m paying

her to clean above

the poverty line

A Poem by Suzanne Goldenberg ( New York )

Desk: Declaring– A discourse on a poem by Fedrico Garcia Lorca

Also Read: Ray Bradbury – The Art of Fiction

Fake society
Artwork: Fake Society ; Artist: Nikola Jankovic ( Novi Sad, Serbia ); Medium: Pastel on Canvas

Declaring by Federico Garcia Lorca

A Cautious Power Dwells, Accidental and Passing

The turn of the 19th century, in the province of Granada, in Andalusia, Spain, washed more by the Mediterranean Sea than the Atlantic Ocean, more west than north of the strait of Gibraltar, is a small town by the name of Fuente Vaquros, which saw the germinating years of the poet and playwright of the future, Federico Garcia Lorca. While around the world the British fought the second Boer war, the Americans commissioned the construction of the Central American Shipping Canal in Nicargua, beside sanctioning the Gold Standard Act, which placed the American dollar under the Gold Standard, securing its position in the times to come. Elsewhere Russia invaded Munchuria while the city of Munich saw the inception of Fußball-Club Bayern München, and the Parisians geared up for the Paris World Exhibition, which also saw the city play host to the second Modern Olympics. While the world was still discovering its first Hamburger sandwich, and perhaps slam dunk, yet as was it then, so is it now, the world could not shed much care to the cause of a Hispanic historian. Like the awkward moment you realise that god might as well made a lot many grub, yet man made hummus. That makes man as much of a maker, as is God. Not exaggerating.

‘bout the Bard:

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Staying true to the script, for each actor got to write their own lines, the authorship moves on ahead about Federcio Garcia Lorca. Federico del Sagrado Corazon de Jesus Garcia Lorca, too much of a quintessential specimen for a student of Spanish nomenclature, a symbol of a cultural association, which in the 1920’s was known as the Generación del 27, a revival of an earlier movement from the 1880’s called Ateneo de Sevilla or the Excursions Ateneo and Society . The brainchild of a certain D. Manuel Sales i Ferre. The spirit of a group of outlandish Spanish bohemians, which a certain Herbert Huncke and friends a few decades later would radicalise as Beat, adding another passage to the labyrinths of endless Americano. Garcia Lorca as a personage is someone whom universal Americano would endorse with wide open arms, holding roses in bloom and blazing guns for a background score. The body of work becomes essentially ephemeral, as it sits pretty on the crust of the gazeless persona, that which Americano could not get enough of.

Gracia Lorca brought enough to the table, to have humble Americano drooling for a lifetime. To begin with his Gypsy image from the early days, his aspirations of been a musician since even before, whence he once looked up to classic sound scrapes of Debussy, Chopin, Beethoven, before the flames of flamenco fed upon the fuel that we know as the mind. A communist, a keeper of liberal opinions, queer, a suitor to Salvador Dali, a traveler to the Americas of opportunities. Among all a writer of sonnets, dedicated to the theater, assassinated. Verses inked ever since. Take over philosophy.

 poetry grows:

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Pastel and Graphite on Paper. by Nikola Jankovic

For the title of the script demands for the Declaring, we must provide the appropriate space. Nothing more radical than what already has the internet abuzz. Nothing meat shearing, or ground breaking in the literal sense. Only poetry, for which there is this Spaniard to be blamed. The poem which goes by the name of, Declaring. One among a handful of poems of Garcia Lorca which a reader in the language, English could come across.

As a piece of construction barely expanses over 10 lines, and uses precise and pragmatic vocabulary. The precision, on fact par excellent.

The poet through this poem, asks the reader to search for, above all a conscience. A piece of mind that is confident and comforting like the autumn sun. The poets asks the reader to rest their feet. The poet like the snail on the sand looks for happiness in absolute casual things, like windows once walked, in the shell of their absolute little lives, next to some stone desk life, the snail cautiously climbed the wall. Self-assured of its strength, to the appearance accidental, and to the timeline, only passing.

The poet describes the world through the absolute windows, in their little lives, talking to overlooking walls, of letters  perched august like a throne on stones. The desk-life unfolds bringing into creation chances and the permeating felling of passage of time. Ain’t it worth the time you invest. Only ten lines.

sunflower

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