0223S o m m e + 9 0
Picasso
defined his art as
'une somme des destructions' -
'a sum of destructions' -
a fair definition, too, of
the art of war
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A washout
mass weapon
of destructions
one thing evil
Saddam did not
lie about was
his weapon of
mass destructions
hilary, bush
how could
Great America
make such a
blunder? a lie
that blasted
through Iraq land
to hurt the human
psyche the weight of
weapon of mass
destructions
and now to make it
an even bigger
laughing matter
one is seeking to be
president
and the other
telling the next
president to
stick it out
a washout
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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0282 A Necessary Art
There's art history, and there's the history of art.
Art history, you can learn anywhere these days;
the history of art's some other, thrilling thing, a life-blood
pumping its heart intensely as if it were a matter
which it is of course, of life and death..
and who will tell you, except those who lived it through,
who will tell you - except perhaps old men;
while the students yawn, stop taking notes,
and wonder if the chick back there
is up for it?
Who will tell you that the truth is savage,
and the world hard earned,
and art, painting, poetry,
a matter of life and death?
Who will tell you, for instance, how after 1945,
when war ended, and 'peace'
was the threat of nuclear annihilation,
the great French artists, who had made
their various accommodations with the occupying power
brought out near ten years' work the world had never seen?
As if archaeologists, searching for the past,
had found instead, the future?
Picasso, Matisse, Leger, Braque - you know the names...
and how Picasso, who never allowed any other artist
to see him at his work, opened his Paris studio
to hordes of American servicemen? Interviewed
in the great French magazine, Cahiers d'Art, in I think
the late 1940s, he said his art was
'une somme des destructions' - a sum of destructions;
and Wallace Stevens, in a lecture at the Met, in 1951,
remembered the phrase, made it his text, and
told the post-war world that painting, as with poetry,
was man's great chance to seek his self - for each of us
to find out who we really are - in ways, we listening
were to assume, which might not always be heard in churches
or from philosophers' petty squabblings..
now today, this may seem a truism put out by slick PR
from auction houses; who can tell you
what it was like to hear that said?
and by so great a poet man?
There's art history, and the history of art.
Who will tell you that the truth is savage
and the world hard earned,
and art, painting, poetry,
a matter of life and death?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Theses, faeces, syntheses
O the language of the thesis!
O the octopus of Academe!
‘As I argued in my previous book,
‘Some definitions of ‘definition’ in contemporary philosophy’ –
an argument which I hope to pursue
in a following volume, (and I quote) :
‘to define what we mean by ‘definition’
we must first consider
the nature of definition:
can it be itself defined? Is
its definition itself a retreat
from what definition defines? …’
and the wood of academic chairs
creaking as a lecture ends,
from which once the young sap rose
like the hope of definition
dries, decays and dessicates.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Picasso Is...
Picasso is...
Picasso transcends mortality.
Picasso is fury artistic dynamics in motion.
Picasso always moving in styles
to new levels of artistic perception
through seen seam fractures
of shift broken molten imagery.
Picasso is walking through walls.
Picasso is rebirth in conception.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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I Am Not Your Best Oh God
I AM NOT YOUR BEST OH GOD
I am not your best oh God
I with my questions doubts criticisms fear-
Why or where are we all so dying?
What is this vast nonsense You made
We call the Universe?
Why these destructions these deaths
Over such monstrous times?
And why we
At the small end of some minor no- place
Should be
The only beings close
To understanding
What is beyond our own worlds and lives?
Why we in all of this
Are the only ones close
To being in the image of You?
I am not your best oh God
I don’t get it all
I just need You so so much-
But should that be the reason
For forgiving everything?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Soul Of Mother Earth
The soul of mother Earth
Works to bring her harmony
To rid her of our destructions
That we put on her with our greed
She hears our thoughts and doesn’t like how it feels,
The hurricanes will cleanse her waters of her impurities.
Her storms are crying pleas
Please respect all life that lives on me,
She wants us to work together as one with her and everyone.
Copyright 1998 & 2010 Suzae Chevalier
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Time Is Away
The muses paid no attention
to the mountain's obeisance
it knelt, it pleaded
for their trifle contempt
The night drifted
with wings of vengeance
I linger with hopes
and other destructions
Where were you in these times?
My banquet awaits
for your godly demands
and my hands grew insipid
outdoing mistaken errands
Time was away
musing elsewhere
and the culprit is
our larcenous yearnings.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Last Picasso
Words and music by neil diamond
The last picasso, the last picasso was just acquired by some old museum, and don quixote, well don quixote the old mans rhyme has lost its reason; which only reminds me have I remembered to say that without you this life of plenty, would seem so empty, the last picasso. oh me and you--me oh me oh me oh me and you-- we, we can sigh--me oh me oh me oh me oh we can sigh. the last picasso, the last picasso may gather dust amid the ruins, and don quixote, well don quixote may no longer make his wishful tunes; but I still have you and I will have you when evrything else is gone and done with. well be like one with the last picasso. oh me and you--me oh me oh me oh me oh me and you-- we, we can sigh--me oh me oh me oh me oh we can sigh. oh, me and you--me oh me oh me oh me oh me and you-- we, we can sigh--me oh me oh me oh me oh we can sigh. oh, me and you--we we can sigh me oh me oh me oh we can sign. oh, me and you.
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Proverbs Witty Bits Of Wisdom
Proverbs popularly
defined as short
expressions of
popular wisdom.
Efforts to improve
on the popular
definition
have not led
to a more
precise definition.
The proverbial
wisdom
is in the form
of a general
observation
about
the world
or a bit
of advice,
sometimes
more nearly
an attitude
toward a situation
stereotypical.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Even If It Kills
He was thought of as great.
Even though he embellished those times,
And exaggerated his own self importance.
Stealing most of his concepts from someone else.
That human trait will never change.
Today honesty is scrutinized and found to be repulsive.
Thieves and priests are on the same mission...
To dupe and pray they are not caught for their transgressions.
And if they are?
So what!
Shakespeare was considered one who depicted his time brilliantly.
Even though it is debated he 'was' who he 'is'...
Or 'is' who he 'was'.
Making great fun of royalty...
Government and those in high positions.
With men playing all the roles.
Was he gay and outcast?
Today men still play all the roles.
And even though they are observed doing it...
No one seems to want to take credit for the mess.
They wish to address it as something else other that what it is!
Downsizing was 'introduced' as a way to say,
'We don't need you here!
Get up. Get out. And here is your pink slip! '
Outsourcing?
Another way to say,
'We could care less about your needs!
We are greedy filthy pigs.
And you've been used! '
Stimulus Package?
This one that is the most brilliant of all deceptions!
'We are experiencing a 'lull' at the moment.
Certain of our 'markets' have begun to show a sign of weakness.
Therefore, we have come to ask you to help us tweak those areas,
With a little spending money.
Forget about losing your homes, your jobs and self respect.
Those are only momentary conditions.
And one day forgotten considerations.
You will be rewarded in heaven for your sacrifices.
Right now we wish for you to take what we give...
To give back to us,
To ensure you...
We know absolutely nothing!
And hopefully by going through these motions...
You will not notice the fools we have made you! '
Does any of this sound familiar?
It should.
There is an acceptance of deception.
People have become obsessed with being deceived.
It's like having a diet coke!
Isn't it still coke?
So you drink a case and convince yourself you're losing weight!
What is life without a few contradictions?
We are are a 'Do what we say not as we do' type of people.
And criticize those who mock our ways.
Nothing has been changed since Shakespeare's days.
Except...
People have become far more critical.
They choose not to have their blatant self destructions,
Perceived as 'blatant self destructions'.
They prefer to have them thought as 'slight adjustments...
Of a perfect outlook not working now!
But given time it will! '
Even if it kills.
The thrill of it will be remembered! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dry Lands In June
Sometimes the rains do not come in June
Sometimes in June, darkness comes at noon
The earth comes very dry
And the inhabitants wonder why
The flowers begin to wither
Life becomes bitter
Lord, the scorn is so unusual
For yam and corn are no more visual
Father, raise up your mighty hand
And quench the thirst of the land
Remove any hand of iniquity
And bring back the integrity
Put a stop to whatever caused this death
So that the plants may recover their birth
We pray that we would never see such destructions
And restore June as a month of great expectations
poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
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Pained and Ailing
A knot pulled in the gut,
a lynch tangled in the neck
shattering the lungs-
how much pain,
how much sordidness
do I need to feel alive?
I squirmed in flames
in a bed of leonine coals
and the dead stone's mangled
to create a pallid flicker of light -
the only stain of hope
in its drab lifelessness
This weak vessel
is once again wrecked;
How many damn should I give?
How many damn should I take?
I am out of death sticks,
I am out of death tricks,
I am full of self-deceit
veiling all my hopes, yearnings
and other sublime destructions;
I am pained and ailing.
poem by Norman Santos
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On The Burial Ground
Die by violence in this world
Is nothing strange for us
With all those chemicals, wars and destructions
We do not know mother nature has in store for us
The race for economy makes people forget
The lives around this planet
As men become more egoist
Pretty soon
there will be nothing in this world
For men to spare
[Pre-chorus:]
Stupidity, causing pain
And sickness
To our world
Suffer
[Chorus:]
On the burial ground
Is what this planet is all about
It's where we are right now
We might not have any future to be found
On this burial ground
We have nowhere to hide
Death is laughing at our cries
And now we are feeling the effects
That the forces of nature has brought
The droughts, Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions
It's gettin worse than even before
We can see the revenge of this planet upon us
As we keep hurting the sea
The soil and the air
Sometimes some catastrophic accidents happen
Causting death rate and we wounder from where
People are dying in civilization of different lands
Because of the drought
Occurences of flooding everywhere
Killing innocent people and leaving others in despair
Abomination because people fear that all these events
Happen without any warning killing unexpectedly
Men subjugate the forces of nature
But we don't know that it's destroying us slowly
The animals are becoming extinct
Seas and rivers polluted by toxic waste
Combustible smoke
Factories are creating acid rains
That is burning our skins
Damaging plantations
And soon it will bring us to death
Air pollution is disintegrating our atmosphere
Allowing the ultra-violet rays to burn the earth
And to provoke us fear
[Repeat chorus]
[Lead]
Soon some of the lives on this planet
Won't exist anymore
Because we won't be able to recreate
Some of the beauty thta we had before
Nobody seems to care
About the future of our children's civilizations
We better act now
So they won't have a life of torment and frustration
[Repeat pre-chorus, chorus]
Cursed by men this world has become
We are building our own tombs
By eliminating our source of life
When blindly we continue the destructions
There's no future
Day by day we are reaching the end of our lives
song performed by by Incubus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Picasso's always been such a huge influence that I thought when I started the cartoon paintings that I was getting away from Picasso, and even my cartoons of Picasso were done almost to rid myself of his influence.
quote by Roy Lichtenstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A great Friend
The definition of a great
friend is.....
Sticking by you no matter what.
The definition of a great
friend is...
To dry away wet tears when you are you are down
The definition of a great
friend is....
To unstick you, when your struck
The definition of a great
friend is....
To help you through the hard times
The definition of a great
friend is....
To tell you when are wrong, to teach you to do riight.
The Definition of a great
friend is.....
to pray with you through hard times, to give a hand when your in need and hug you and let you see.
The definition of a
great friend is true, The definition of a great friend is you! ! ! ! ! ! !
poem by Dallas Turner
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Fractured Reality Picasso Clarification
No one can convey a fractured broken reality
as masterfully as Picasso
his Guernica render is the most realistic
rendering of media mediated Guera Guera
not his fault the consequences were surreal
Picasso is so broad a human no one should reduce
and cubic is perspective shift
put in a surreal 'ism'
Picasso is my enemy I will overcome him
so as to reduce his breadth
Cube(ism) is not an all inclusive stand
Picasso is my best friend
I will always admire him
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Chagrined
The menagerie of destructions
surrounds me like a barricade
to safeguard my weakening beacons
and I lean upon these beasts
so I can die with a proud fervor
against this vise like grip on my wrists
The degree of revulsion and
the manifold mechanisms of defense
are like vaporous vines crawling
to gather and concoct a virulent fruit -
the magnum of my astray identity
And if you are chagrined of
the bewildering signal fire upon me
and this asinine self-annihilation
cicatrizing my brazen thieveries
how much more flustered can I be?
But to kill, you have to learn to die
and all these yeilding dessication inside
exacerbates my ruminations
and enrapts all my tired pursuits;
I shall die building this dungeon
poem by Norman Santos
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This Picasso Imaginable Thing...
two faces of a woman 7: 32 AM
ah 7: 32 AM
picasso 7: 32 AM
mooo 7: 32 AM
ah 7: 33 AM
is that what it is 7: 33 AM
pain and happiness? 7: 33 AM
wa ko kabalo ana 7: 33 AM
picasso has a painting of a woman with two faces 7: 33 AM
i hav seen picasso's work 7: 33 AM
havent you seen it? 7: 33 AM
never realized that 7: 33 AM
yes cubism 7: 33 AM
he explained that to me while we were in barcelona spain 7: 34 AM
(har har har) 7: 34 AM
hahahha 7: 34 AM
good one 7: 34 AM
poor bald picasso 7: 34 AM
travel jud ang mind 7: 34 AM
still having lots of erections despite his ugly legs 7: 34 AM
mao ba? 7: 35 AM
hoe did u know that/ 7: 35 AM
how 7: 35 AM
the indefatigable picasso 7: 35 AM
wow 7: 35 AM
we were in the brothels of paris with alexander pope 7: 35 AM
hahaah 7: 35 AM
mahilig jud ang artist no 7: 35 AM
honestly, i have the book 7: 35 AM
good 7: 36 AM
the writers in europe sometimes find themselved in reunion and communion with whores and drink red whores beer together 7: 36 AM
yes! Edgar Degas too 7: 37 AM
my fav
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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10,000 Years For Each Earth Citizen
the earth has enough years
to give every of its citizens
10,000 years or more
to live alone on the planet
and as many more years
left over for every animal to enjoy
the whole planet on its own
the earth is a kind old man
lost in arithmetics
with too many of its citizens
lost in impatience
they squeeze the earth
into a little time box
suffocate it with inventions
and willingly lead it
down the road of destructions
the earth has enough years
to give every of its citizens
10,000 years or more
to live alone on the planet
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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To be a prisoner means to be defined as a member of a group for whom the rules of what can be done to you, of what is seen as abuse of you, are reduced as part of the definition of your status.
quote by Catharine MacKinnon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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