P O E T I C --- P A I N T I N G S

"Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen" -- da Vinci

To write poetry, you must read and, read some more -- Me

Feb 27, 2009

double-dutch, boston creme and hell

by Deborah White

it's in the crochet
of night when
he's at his worst.


it's his scent
that makes
my mouth water

aromas velcro
his progeny
beneath my arms,

saddle-bag my hips

spice-trails seep
through holes of
and control

saccharine comfort
is the burlesque of a man's
blue-balled dream

can tap a woman's
"g" time and time again


deadly is sin's
third son

he wakes me
coerces a quiet
slip downstairs

to pillage sanctity's
double-dutch fudge
no brainer

plunder purity's
boston creme circled
and dumped

yet, gluttony
never once

-- this immorality against
myself --

in hell,

I'd be force-fed
rats, toads, and snakes

Feb 25, 2009

Yet I Do Marvel by Countee Cullen

Countee Cullen

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind

And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,

Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,
Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus
Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare

If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus
To struggle up a never-ending stair.
Inscrutable His ways are, and immune

To catechism by a mind too strewn
With petty cares to slightly understand
What awful brain compels His awful hand.

Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:
To make a poet black, and bid him sing!

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