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I Am The Artist I am the artist, I am the observer of society. I sit outside of class awareness, money, status, and social graces mean nothing to me, I can cut right through the false trappings with which man has endowed himself, and look straight past the eyes into the inner self. I paint the man inside the naked body, I paint the spiritual self. I paint the emotions which are submerged so deeply under the social exterior, even the subject himself is unaware of them. I paint the feelings beneath the bones, I paint the inner muscles. I paint the walls of the brain. I paint the starry-faced glistening sinews of the imagination. ------------------------------------------- Song for a Band Playing Heavy Space Pop Music I lean my head on your mind; I can hear your intelligence beating like a heart; like a two-winged bird, I hear ice melting, the jagged edges cutting like thorns. Be still and listen to me: incline your knees near my eyes and like a thief, steal away the clouds that shadow my eyes. Be purple and real; indigo and bruised. Stare at every breath until it makes smoke; Refresh yourself with the wine of Nature. ------------------------------------------- Nature The bees and bugs and birds are abounding above and below The cattle are feeding on fodder And the clouds in the sky are hung low The sky is blue and windy and the elements are arranged to please The cat is poised to pounce and even the trees are at ease Suddenly rain clouds appear and the landscape is drenched in blue Like our passion, which is like a rose and I dream of making love to you. ------------------------------------------- Cleo and Charles Cleo lily and Charles leaf and stem, Branch out together and grow Like a plant beside water, Like the music of streams, Their essences merge, Their playful spirits swaying and bending, Arching backs and powerful paws. Cleo and Charles stones over which The water flows, the lily grows, And the sun shines warm Upon blue and yellow eyes Appearing and disappearing, by magic. ------------------------------------------ Housework Temperature 57 degrees Expect variable cloudiness Today is shopping day, far clouds, windy trees, the tree trunk is bent over slightly, the cat has thrown up and tried to cover her mess with her paws, the four walls close in, I'd like to get outside with the weather for a walk, walk the cat, anything, jump away from housework and into Imagination like I would jump into pajamas; whisk the world of dust and moths and routine away and anticipate Loveliness, a peach-colored silken couch draped with pearls, a man with a violin and a handkerchief under his chin, a dark beard, Freud himself come to life in the drawing room holding a cup of tea in his left hand, a painting in a black lacquer frame, but the t.v. intrudes, the cat has thrown up again, the Weather, the News, the Day is at hand, and I must leave my dreams swept under the couch with a pile of dust. ------------------------------------------- Celia Wildfang is a poet and artist in Arizona http://www.geocities.com/galimatio/celia.html http://www.geocities.com/galimatio/celia-photos.html
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