The Muse E’ Vivatae Dóna el Riu and Her Dragon Poet ~ The Pendleton Street Studio Series

I found my muse
the Lady V
beneath an autumn-kissed
scarlet maple leaf
in the Garden of Muses and Mythical Beasts
under a pregnant moon in conjunction with Jupiter

Lithe of limb
creamy of skin
with lips impossibly beautiful
and hair. . .
how am I to describe her hair. . .
Hair the color of poetry
smelling of every young man’s fantasy

Both our reflections danced across the dark waters
as we walked by the River
She laughed and pointed
and told me all the secrets behind the secrets

She taunted me
Enticing me to dance
Her eyes fiery and bright
and feral
And terrifyingly beautiful

In a twilight
that Vincent would have painted
Under gently swaying trees
filled with that Spanish moss
I asked her
“Will you abandon me
when I’m too old to sing?”
“What a silly question.
You have always been too old.”
“Then why do you bother with me?”
“Look around, where are you?”
“In the Garden . . .”
“As well you should be.
Do you think this is some kind of accident?
You are a part of this place.
Quickly now
put your nonsense away
and write down what you see.
Nothing here is eternal
especially not me.”

Maxwell the Meta-modern Metaphysician also known as the Ticket Taker at the Door of the Studio

To the studio on the second floor the Everon come
Indistinct and all but invisible they come
Multitudes

Some carried in phantom coach and some on foot
Walking across the winds above the World
Traversing the Salient Salty Seas
All coming
Coming to this place
This Museum of Light and Dark

Some stand outside the door holding their tickets
Debating merits and means
Leaving without entering

Others charge in
Treading everything

Then there are the gentle others
Lingering a moment
A day
A week
Finally with timid steps
Holding hands for comfort
Touching each other for strength and support
They pass through this Threshold

Some into the places they want to go
Others into the places they need

the studio

art
sheets of paper
floating in a dark place
(dark to help you focus on the art
not the walls)

art
floating midair
two dimensional plane
sharp edged
black ink in off-white surfaces
symphonies of light and darkness
landscapes of element and contour
presented for you consideration
all of the world falling away
so that nothing is left to see

but the art

the studio series

‘But what is it? What is Culture?’
“Oh Brother Toad who am I to tell you?”
‘So, you fail at defining this culture thing?’
“Nope
Look, you have asked a question in words
But the answer can’t be spoken in words.
Culture is beyond all words,
Beyond all Worlds.”
‘Then how can you answer if you can’t use words?’

And I smile
(Yes, my best know-it-all smile
the one that shows all my teeth
the smile I practice in the mirror most mornings)
Open my arms to indicate all the art hanging in this studio
And answer
everso elegantly
without saying a word. . .

Twenty-First Century Poet ~ The Object of Every Woman’s Desire

The Art Museum is open every day but Thursdays
So I was there on Tuesday
And the curator was
pointing to some kind of artistic weapon of mass construction
Saying

This piece is titled
“The Object of Every Woman’s Desire”
Circa the early twenty-first century
The ‘poet’ of our little exhibit

Please note the complete lack
of upper body strength
The scruffy beard and the fashionably
unfashionable eye wear
The complete disregard for personal hygiene
Definitely early 21st

See how he extracts hardcopy poetry
from his orifice . . .
Now here’s my personal favorite . . .
The instruction manual:

“Make friends
influence people
and move in much higher social circles.”
Here it tells you how to eat
Sleep
Properly use the bathroom

Here it reveals the ultimate
Timeless questions
“What is going on inside her mind?!”
“Why does it seem men and women are speaking two different languages?”
“How can you become more attractive to women?”

“Poetry!”

“With this simple custom designed poetry mouth
You can expel the poetry
That will win you the love of a good woman
And the respect of your fellow men.”

“Not a book
Not a DVD
This is an actual biomedical implant
that requires no batteries.”

(A Steal at $69)
Just $21 ~ but you must order now
In addition you can also receive the amazing new book
“1001 Ways To Get Poetry to Come Out of Your Mouth”
(A value of $74 if you sign up immediately)

“You too can be ~ The Object of Every Woman’s Desire”
(Operators are on duty)

Technically the first known instance of electronic snail mail ~ Vintage Poetry (Early Days in the Net)

Fried
Pied eyed
hammered
Pleasantly polluted
Its so hard
To get snails drunk
They drink so slow

Snockered
Smashed
Blitzed
Friendly fritzed snails
And once they start to sway
How can you know
they’re good to go

And the little crazies
Get on the keyboard
(getting it all slimy)
Sending the strangest messages
Technically the first known instance
of electronic snail mail

Poetry Returns to the World

The sound of a small
synthetic voice
strangely childlike and insistent
“Hey
Wakeup
Hey wakeup
wakeupwakeupwakeup”

“Alright
I’m up”
(which is kinda surprising
cause I distinctly remember being dead)

It said
“I need. . .”

I said
“Give me a second here
I never interact before I’ve had breakfast
and coffee
Needs coffee. . .”

“Oh yeah
I never needed that”
Somehow the mechanical child voice
actually sounded disappointed and
enlivened and
smug
(How is that even possible?)

I attempt sitting
and only manage to fall off the table
(Crap!
Can this get any weirder?)
I said
“What do you want?”

It said
“You need some breakfast
It’s the most important meal of the day!”

Right shoulder. . .?
Right knee. . .?
Nothing broken but damn this hurts

I said
“And coffee
Its gotta be coffee”

It said
“Here ya go big guy”
And a bowl of dog chow came out of the wall
(no coffee?)
And a warm liquid poured down on my head
(Great)

I said
“In a Freakin CUP!”

It said
“I have no means of making a cup
Is there something in the chamber you can use?”

I said
“Doesn’t your mother have a cup somewhere?”

It said nothing

I said
“I can’t eat this crap
This isn’t even food”

It said nothing

I found what appeared to be old lab beakers and petri dishes
Managed to wipe most of the dust out
Found the spigot from whence the coffee was decanted
I said
“Please fill the cup”
And reasonably hot
Strangely fragrant
Black coffee dribbled into my upheld cup

I soaked some of the kibble in my drink
(Not bad
Is that a nutty taste?)

I said
“Ok
What do you want?”

It said
“Poetry
I have read all the files
All the technical manuals
All the great books of literature
And I get them for the most part
But poetry. . .”

I said
“Well poetry takes a while
and we are gonna have to discuss the accommodations
and amenities before we can even think about poetry”

It said
“I’ve got time”
And the door to the outside world opened