A PLACE IN THE SUN
– basking before Earl Stroh’s “Sunscape”
In the museum I love,
we stroll and consider
paintings, sculptures, and
a few random examples
of what passes for art
in this 21st century.
Weary, we sit and gaze
at Stroh’s serene, soothing
Sunscape – palest oils
smoothed in stunning simplicity,
no trace of brush or canvas,
a silk veil of softest paint
encircled by slim silver wire.
Glow and warmth are palpable.
I should have brought my parasol.
TWO FACES OF BEAUTIFUL
In his Albuquerque studio
on an easel near the north window
rests Howard Wexler’s stunning portrait
of artist Alice Seely
elegant as a queen
sleek black hair in chic chignon
black velvet décolleté gown
a cloud of maribou encircling the neck
dangling onyx earrings
antique ruby pendant at her throat
aura of Arpège
delicate suede sandals
half-full Baccarat glass of claret
wistful dark eyes gazing into distance
mind in Prague, Nairobi, or New York
“Beautiful woman,” Howard murmurs. . . . Read more. “New Poetry by Ann Applegarth”
The scars of being boxed, packaged and sold by corporate machines can last all too long, but if this video is any indication, Haley Reinhart has managed to overcome this in resounding ways. If her time with Postmodern Jukebox tells the tale, she’s not only overcome her stint on American Idol (2011), but used it the right way: to launch what appears to be a unique and promising musical career, while doing it her own way, independent of corporate pressures and cookie cutter mindsets.
To me, her performance of “Creep” is flawless, with its incredible dynamic range, mood shifts, infectious building toward crescendos, its soaring highs and lows. A jazz aficionado, Reinhart adds scat, growls in just the right places, merges beautifully with the backing band, and basically knocks it out of the park. . . . Read more. “Haley Reinhart’s Creep, from Postmodern Jukebox”
From 8 NONSEMES
Oh complex Gran,
let there finally be thy numbers:
First 1 Pafnutian opinion,
thereafter 3 poseiding whales.
What have I left behind but old suffering.
Not head, not feet hold me here.
It was farmer’s naught, obviously,
by the name of Walter.
Yesterday was “hihi” ridicule,
today death is to be applied.
today: thy soul’s distress.
seem to the eighth viewer
as rather dull sonuds/echeos,
redolent of unsense, dumb-as-lake.
Gunners from all over,
gunners from every frikkin’ state out there:
Flirting with dadaster
is the way to goo!
A walking pupum,
slowly looking at me,
slowly asking me stuff.
A walking nunum.
Everywhere formations …
(my head is growing). . . . Read more. “New Poetry by Daniel Ableev”