Purple Mark… Being Vincent Van Gogh

 

Being Vincent Van Gogh

 
On the day before the Parade:
I fastened the handles on the golden Frame
with great difficulty, gilded the protruding screws,
located and steamed the turquoise velvet outfit,
and found the sunflower brooch.
I had previously grown out the side parts
of my beard out and dyed it orange in order
to be Vincent Van Gogh: a walking painting.
 
I had thought it would be great if a group of Artists
were to come as either their own artworks
or other famous paintings or sculptures.
We would be an Artwalk where instead of the people walking
by the Art, the Art would walk past the people.
 
On the day of the Fremont Solstice Parade,
the make-up was truly like oil paint as
I built up the layers into a reasonable
facsimile of Vincent’s self-portrait
with brushes which gunked up,
sponges that disintegrated,
difficulties with hair-sprays
and a bobby pin which despite
the efforts of many people resisted
all attempts to restrain my beard or
remain invisible during my time as
Vincent. At last I had to be satisfied
with my efforts and began my Walk.
 
I walked downtown and curiously enough
very few people looked my way or even looked
like people trying to get to the Parade,
I chose a number Fifteen bus to Ballard,
(instead of my usual number Seventeen
walk across the bridge along with the throngs)
and walked another mile along the Burke-Gilman
to join the colorful chaos of the staging area.
 
I found the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence
first and then I saw others that I knew
finally my friends with the Emerald City
Social Club that I usually walked with appeared,
but not unsurprisingly none of those
I had invited to be a Work of Art with me.
 
Margo made me look comparatively tame
in comparison with her Electric Blue body suit
which had 1200 Fluorescent Green earplugs hot-glued
to it in addition to her Fluorescent Pink heels
and two bubble guns, only one of which worked.
 
She got the majority of attention after we jumped
in following the Phoenix group and before
a Dance & Drum group because we’ve found
that it’s necessary to have good music going
to keep everything moving along pleasantly.
 
Vincent and I had our admirers among the crowds,
most of which got who or what I was,
though some called me Picasso or Miro
and I had to correct their mistaken impression.
I was repeatedly told that “I had been framed!”
and of course, I got the thing about the ear.
 
With the Frame, I was able to coax out a few people
from the crowd and be in the picture with me.
This included children as well as adventurous
teens and adults who enjoyed the opportunity
to be part of the action if only briefly.
 
The handles on the Frame were not so easy
on my hands which cramped-up and the sly brass
numbed my fingertips and even on the next day,
my left index finger remains partially numb
and wasn’t the only consequence of my Parading.
 
The Fremont Solstice Parade is about two miles long
and by the time my section of it had reached Gasworks,
I was glad I didn’t have to hold up the frame anymore as
my fingertips were now numb and my feet were buzzing
with that peculiar energy which comes from dancing,
standing still for the cameras and just being part
of the whole extravaganza.
 
As was my Solstice tradition, I walked back along the
Parade route to view those acts which had followed mine.
Then having done my bit to bring in Summer, I left Fremont
and the Fair foregoing the no doubt lengthy
waits for packed buses and began my long walk
home by way of a path next to Lake Union with
the Frame digging its way into my shoulders.
 
I went through the new-to-me Maritime Park,
past the geese, over a bridge, past a Naval building
now shuttered that I had welcomed one New Years Eve in,
by the Center For Wooden Boats and it’s seemingly
attendant Orange canopies in a Park still in formation.
 
From there I made my way through the Mercer Mess
up Fairview contemplating finding a meal, but those
places I found along the way were either closed,
uninteresting or nonexistent and I continued on up
that last and steepest stretch: Denny Hill walking
8 ½ miles altogether for the day all in the name of Art.
 
Then I hung out with friends to give my feet a rest
while they wondered why I didn’t remove my make-up.
Having had nothing to eat except cereal, I planned
to go out one last time to a well deserved dinner as
Vincent Van Gogh complete with my Frame, I chose
Julia’s on Broadway as my spot to hang out at.
 
Unfortunately, they had no Absinthe with which
to add that touch of verisimilitude at the Green Hour,
so I had a Lemon Drop instead and a pasta dish
to satisfy my appetite and energy needs though
like earlier in the day relatively few even glanced in.
 
I had learned a few years back to avoid eating the food
at the Fair after having been blessed with Food Poisoning
from improperly made or cooked Crab Cakes which caused me
to projectile vomit and pass out three times each,
I had also learned the futility of eating in a
well-established restaurant there which were packed with
Fremont Fair-Goers and had their own harried staffs.
 
On the way back from Julia’s, I found a pack of
The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence outside of C.C. Attles
where my Frame provided numerous Photo Ops
for everyone who wanted to get into the picture
one last time. I went home and began to bid farewell
to Vincent Van Gogh with cleansing pads and a bath.
 

Purple Mark aka Mark Wirth courts way too many Muses: Chocolate-Making, Costuming, Millinery, Photography, Painting, Drawing, Novel-Writing and Poetry. In College, he was the Art Director for the MSU Literary Annual for 2 years and an issue of Scimitar: Illustrations, Layout and some Poetry. In the Seattle area, he worked on Mythos in a like manner and provided additional photography as well as short stories.

 

Copyright © 2012 by Purple Mark

 
 
 
 
 
 
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Lynn White… Which Way & Cabbage Dream

 
 

Which Way

I’m on the edge of the horizon
looking back.
There’s no looking forwards.
Looking up
I can see the sky,
blue or grey like the sea.
Reflected sunlight,
clouds rippling like waves
making shapes in the sand.
 
Wave shapes on the land.
 
Sometimes it’s so bright
I can’t tell the blue from the grey,
the cloud from the clear,
the sky from the sea.
The light blinds me.
It’s too bright for my eyes
and leaves me confused
on the edge of the horizon,
on a thin line
with only one way to go.
 
First published in Calliope, October 2015

 

 

 

Cabbage Dreams

I am dreaming my cabbage dream.
I’m peeling off the outer leaves
to find what lies hidden beneath.
Looks much the same as the outer leaf,
a little less battered and crinkled
but fundamentally the same.
Now for the next layer.
There’s a drop of water
shining full of light
and something darker, more solid,
the leavings of some hidden creature.
Another layer reveals the holes
and the sleepy caterpillar
dreaming…
without his pipe
without his crown,
so unsure of
his own
identity,
much less mine.
If I peel off
layer after layer until
I get to the heart of it,
will I understand where I’ve come from
and be able to unpack the dream,
find the pipe and put the pieces
together, make sense of the
cabbage, crown the king.
 
First published in Poetry Breakfast, June 11, 2016

 

 

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. Her poem ‘A Rose For Gaza’ was shortlisted for the Theatre Cloud ‘War Poetry for Today’ competition 2014 and has since appeared in several journals and anthologies. Poems have also recently been included in several anthologies including – Harbinger Asylum’s ‘To Hold A Moment Still’, Stacey Savage’s ‘We Are Poetry, an Anthology of Love poems’, Community Arts Ink’s ‘Reclaiming Our Voices’, Vagabond Press, ‘The Border Crossed Us’, ‘Civilised Beasts’ from Weasel Press, Silver Birch Press ‘Alice In Wonderland’ and a number of on line and print journals.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lynn-White-Poetry/1603675983213077?fref=ts

lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com

 

Copyright © 2017 by Lynn White

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ivan Jenson… Frank’s Advice – Pin Drop Moment

 
 

Frank’s Advice

Let me look into
your atonal situation
and see
what musical strings
I can pull
like an angelic harpist
winging it
from the laughter
in the rafters
and while I am
investigating the misery
of the company
you have been keeping
try to keep your mind
off your brain
for awhile
you might even
consider taking a course
in miracles
at the community
center
of your
confidence
in order to find
the peace of mind
of all that doesn’t
really matter
 
 
 

Pin-Drop Moment

What you see before you
is a human being a pain
in the neck
of the woods
known as the forest
fire
started by throwing
the burning
butt of a joke
into the dry brush
of another person’s ego
and igniting the flash
and burn of
insult
to injury
often called
a roast
which was
just supposed
to be
the best man’s
sparkling champagne
wedding toast
 

Ivan Jenson is a fine artist, novelist and contemporary poet who lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan. His artwork was featured in Art in America, Art News, and Interview Magazine and has sold at auction at Christie’s. Ivan was commissioned by Absolut Vodka to make a painting titled “Absolut Jenson” for the brand’s national ad campaign. His Absolut paintings are in the collection of the Spiritmusuem, the museum of spirits in Stockholm, Sweden. Jenson’s painting of the “Marlboro Man” was collected by the Philip Morris corporation. Ivan was commissioned to paint the final portrait of the late Malcolm Forbes. Ivan has written two novels, Dead Artist and Seeing Soriah, both of which illustrate the creative and often dramatic lives of artists. Jenson’s poetry is widely published (with over 500 poems published in the US, UK and Europe) in a variety of literary media. A book of Ivan Jenson’s poetry was recently published by Hen House Press titled Media Child and Other Poems, which can be acquired on Amazon. Two novels by Ivan Jenson entitled, Marketing Mia and Erotic Rights have been published hardcover. Ivan Jenson’s next novel, “Gypsies of New Rochelle” will soon be released by Michelkin Publishing. Ivan Jenson’s website is: http://www.IvanJenson.com

 

Copyright © 2017 by Ivan Jenson

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Darren C. Demaree… blue and blue and blue #109 & #110

 
 

blue and blue and blue #109

pink to red
& out
of breath,
 
i love
that the ocean
never lies down
 
& that i can
never lie down
in the ocean
 
 

blue and blue and blue #110

i’m alive
enough
to feel
 
no guilt
about
the dead
 
& that
is common,
that place
 
& that
terrible
feeling
 
that is
so deeply
necessary
 

Darren is a dangerous dreamer, concocting love poems to his home state, and pastorals to his true love.

Darren C. Demaree is the author of five poetry collections, most recently “The Nineteen Steps Between Us” (2016, After the Pause). He is the Managing Editor of the Best of the Net Anthology and Ovenbird Poetry. He lives and writes in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children

Copyright © 2017 by Darren C. Demaree

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Timaeus Lavrov… Thomas Zinniger, “things I’ll never say.”

 
 

Thomas Zinniger

seedless Kyotonian flagellum Novergrove Trinidad horosceticism stullar blithe myelin Arkansas ascertizing the manscaper brainless pube on Draka rovering the antithesis zenith sempiternal cena that pixelated in tusk mex and swine flu apricot cheeky red wines oooing electrohanukkah to gabriel hemoglobin surpleen pool fountains of Bastillian Masma
 
and abelian GNU Zumbas ignoramus its signifying temporicity chronesthesia perfect clockwork mechanism Descartian vertical motion casts of zaichik shigella
entirely
filled with
ellipsimical gedankensteine allo
 
seedless Kyotonian flagellum Novergrove Trinidad horosceticism stullar blithe sea shells are in Campbellors Chakai of 990 brochure tribadlist-monocolor desolent italiano
cannan palooza thresholds heteromony
 
snuggie wympeariewo Camillo
embargoed vials sigma-sext-chiksenmihai Gedanken Melrosing: “HOLY MATRIMONY — kano baccalaureate Laudat —”
 
seedless Kyotonian flagellum Novergrove Trinidad horosceticism stullar blithe for Abu egg shells are beginning to huggle-singularizing midst camoozling Ershwing dimorphism a heteromorphous pin swollen with Agrippan spieler
 
plasticized Kandinskian-Leningrad abacuses corea Jacksoul turbulence dialecticism: pan-realism
any конечно medium of Anglesteinian swollen microunanimous gibberish particularized astericism copicularartar morphoeic-hylomorphetical zookini.
 
 

“things I’ll never say.”

“smitter solidaridad: tamperkapangasquard, Horatiomatique altoBenetarian, anthropoorientalism”
lex necessitam: Occam’s parsimōnia; enigma
Hoodian-Academio-cankersource bruxisim-missiers-pathetique
defile bar-coded Norwood Pier — agnosognosia-synaptic-discernible
regularity pattern: universal set
predominant general tone(s) устала-question:metaacquiser-ECCLESIASTICUS-Deus’s
Weltanschauung-silo-hungaro
cold-stone: mechanical erections, TeX zimaobjekto parmessan olaffle-infantilism renegado
wasteland:
desolate “Allegro s. Camille unbiased, innatist —”
creamery sub-markup nonlinear multiple realizability TABULA RASA queer red
pipe Quagshire Livingstone magnolia linguining femur Samper-unsequencable-wimminpreforma
Agalite clandestine, ombre ritualized katiki SPIRITUAL DEATH; heraclus globe-trotterZeller’s-
Samperperson
 

Timaeus Lavrov, is an up-and-coming, previously unpublished, seventeen year old writer from British Columbia, Canada with an interest in digital parts-to-whole philosophical musical instruments. Other interests also include bias detox, unspeakable languages, and self-sufficient living.

Copyright © 2016 by Timaeus Lavrov