The Physique of an Intimate Painting
I decided to do canvases
painted only by
imagined beautiful people.
In my awareness
their brush strokes would structure
into poised angular shapes
and become refined parallelograms
elegantly perched on slender easels
firmly planted in the grass
supporting the upper half
of their bovine torsos.
This pastoral vision
of domesticated beasts in paddocks
metamorphosing grass into milk
suckled from teats
will be so convincingly surreal
that one will have to be constantly reminded
they are not teats
and that the dribble from the corner
of their mouths
is only a mind trip.
The reality is that
refined breasts to one
are watermelons to another
simile to inverted pears
one must eat
starting with the arse.
Crushingly mammothian
the figurative representations by Botero
weigh massively on my mind
as I also like them plump
towering above my eyes
enabling me to lick kiss each
by slightly turning
my head sideways.
Needless to say
this is one time I am bullish
about mad cows.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Nov©2008
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The Physique of Intimate Poetry
I decided to read poetry
written only by
imagined beautiful people.
In my psyche
their words
structured into poised stanzas
become refined paragraphs
that perch elegantly
on slender ankles
supporting the upper half
of their bovine torso.
This pastoral vision
of grass
metamorphosing
into milk suckled from a teat
is so convincingly surreal
that it is not
may not be a tit.
Reality is that
a refined ankle to one
is the size of a thigh to another
a simile to an inverted pear
one must eat
starting with the arse.
Botero
and his crushingly mammothian
figurative representations
weigh heavily on my mind.
I also like them plump
and towering
close to my eyes
enabling me to kiss such
by only slightly
turning my head sideways.
Needless to say
this is one time I am bullish
on a mad cow.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Nov©2008
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poem by Alex Nodopaka
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Ace of Hearts
Ace of Hearts
I ain’t goin’ nowhere
And that frickin’ raven
Ain’t gonna make me write
No Poe poem
Nor this goddam bridge
Ain’t goin’ nowhere either
Not even straddling
Sarah Palin’s arse to Russia
~~~
Alex Nodopaka ©2008
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A Cows Rear Leg (Fun Poem 57)
A cowbell sounds for milking time,
a milkmaid on her three-legged stool,
remembering all the time that golden rule.
Never get behind a cows rear leg
as it could give you a nasty bump.
A jet of milk fires into the bucket
as she caresses the utter teats
with her soft hands.
Always watchful and wary
of the cows rear leg.
29 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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Deconstruction of transcendence
The concentration
on the idyll to nature
as a wide range of loneliness
seems to nature
as disposition is to scenery and
the discovery of post modernism
thus continuing the individual and
the romantic feeling
of contemporary visual representations.
Loneliness is coupled
with a number of symbolic qualities.
Now that emotions and personal feelings
are linked with a Romantic revaluation of
the representation of Postmodernism
and the discovery it is conjuring,
the pictures form issues
range from the Romantic feeling
to Postmodernism and the discovery of
the message becomes transcendental.
The symbolically charged beauty
of the immediate experience
of motif strands outlining a reawakened
interest in a number of formulations
dealing with the fundamentals of
Romantic representations.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Nov©2008
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Food In Heaven
Food In Heaven
Food In Heaven
He made the cows to want the rain to fall he made the grass that they use to eat to fill the want inside a cow he makes grass as bread for cows they just continue there to graze in some places in the desert spaces there is grass for cows to eat this is called heaven sweet to cows they drink water when they have it in a drink flavored pouch oh no see eh ewe caught me making lies no listen while eye smile and tell ewe this poem is so nice there is grass for all the cows there is grass on every hill and every cow can eat in heaven they still have grass for every cow there is food in heaven there is food there in a drink flavored pouch.
poem by Charles Hice
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September Grass
Well, the suns not so hot in the sky today
And you know I can see summertime slipping on away
A few more geese are gone, a few more leaves turning red
But the grass is as soft as a feather in a featherbed
So Ill be king and youll be queen
Our kingdoms gonna be this little patch of green
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh the memory is like the sweetest pain
Yeah, I kissed the girl at a football game
I can still smell the sweat and the grass stains
We walked home together. I was never the same.
But that was a long time ago
And where is she now? I dont know
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh, september grass is the sweetest kind
It goes down easy like apple wine
Hope you dont mind if I pour you some
Made that much sweeter by the winter to come
Do you see those ants dancing on a blade of grass?
Do you know what I know? thats you and me, baby
Were so small and the worlds so vast
We found each other down in the grass
Wont you lie down with me right here
September grass
Wont you lie down with me now
In this september grass
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
(repeat)
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down here now
In this september grass
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maids.
Yesterday I saw an old fashion milk maid
coming out of the cowshed she carried
a pail of milk in her left arm, the grip so
firm fingers used to squeezing cows long
teats twice a day… and she was followed
by five cats with erect tails….
She is the last of a vanishing group of stout
women who smell of cream and honey.
She had an open freckled face and sunlight
danced on her Monroe lips; too late now
for me, milking machines quite obscene,
a Fata Morgana? When I blinked she vanished.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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And The Grass Won't Pay No Mind (Undubbed Master)
Listen easy, you can hear God calling
Walking barefoot by the stream
Come on to me, Your hair's softly falling
On my face as in a dream
And the time will be our time
And the grass won't pay no mind
Saying nothing, lying where the sun is
Baking down upon our sides
My lips touch you, with their soft wet kisses
Your hands gentle in reply
And the time will be our time
And the grass won't pay no mind
Child, touch my soul with your cries
And the music will know what we've found
I, hear a hundred good-byes
But today I hear only one sound
The moment we're living is now
Now now now now now now now
Young bird flying, and a soft wind blowing
Cools the sweat inside my palms
Close my eyes, hear the flowers growing
As you lay sleeping in my arms
And the time will be our time
And the grass won't pay no mind
No the grass won't pay no mind
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don’t know if God plays ball
I don’t know if God plays ball
soccer or foosball or bacci ball.
Well, I’m a Frenchman and
boules is the name of my game.
Being on the ball is like playing
with Gigi little girls. When God
created Eve I wonder did He
have in mind dirty old men
and did He mean putting man
behind the eight ball
and did He know that eons later
round the corner of the square ball
someone hooks up with
a hooded guy who sells 3.5 grams
of meth and coke and damn,
that 8 ball is already gone!
I wish I had another!
I start singin’ a tune, I don't drink
brass monkey, like to be funky
and my name ain’t Eazy-E
your 8 ball junkie.
We did an eight ball of blow and
danced until next morning.
I ain’t never goin’ out
With an eight-ball Chiquita
Cuz I got balls and I ain’t
givin’ her mine and
she ain’t playin’ with mine.
I wish God had more balls
and my brain marinate
in mothballs.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Aug©2010
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Fred Gestier
When my Maternal Grandfather
ploughed the acreage
his tractor bucked and shook
the engine roared
giving him tinitis
his bleached hat
flopped impotent
as the confronting Sun
had its way
immolating
my Grandfather’s cheeks
with the catalyst
for a future legacy
of skin cancer.
At dawn
he rose
to milk Cows
indifferent
to tactile fingers
on strong hands
manipulating teats.
Walk past the rainwater tank
that collected so seldomly
random contributions from clouds.
To be a Farmer
‘Boss Cocky’
on your own
piece of land
was better
than
“a life
of quiet desperation”*
on alienating urban thoroughfares
with shallow dreams
which contemplated
their own suicide
but decided to bore
en-route to a home
that was halfway House
halfway God’s waiting room.
“People were lonely
in the Big City”
thought my Grandfather.
They were strangers
to themselves
ceasing to exist
alone in company
until the moment
someone reminded them
to behave in a manner
ingratiating to the Boss
to come alive
upon retirement
in seaside resort
or hobby farm.
Grandad
was never alone
curious crows called mockery
at his solitary man
interrupting still landscape
with rhythmic cadences,
that punctuate,
the reality
of Wagga Wagga
Country life.
* Henry David Thoreau
I have a story that’ll
I have a story that’ll
bury Tiger Woods
under 6 feet of sand.
It’s the wishful thinking
of any golfer
to eagle their balls
in Alice’s hole.
But I wonder if anybody
wants their balls
to shrink fast enough
in the time they fly
from the golfing club
to birdie Wonderland.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Apr©2010
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In My Mind
Album : Silencer (2001)
In my mind, in my mind a world of enchantment
Being sung through my mind
In my mind, visual enhancement
And I find myself in a red painted barn,
A million stars they pick me up and spin me
CHORUS
And now I am floating in a land of confusion
Or is it reality or just an illusion
And nothing makes sense, no start and no end
When you get more is when you get bored
In my mind, in my mind
Turning the handle and it's starting to stain
In my mind burns like a candle
And the wax tells a fairy tale
My heads for sale
I'm swimming through the hail
REPEAT CHORUS
In my mind, in my mind, in my mind
In my mind, (why can't you find yourself another place to rest...) in my mind, in my mind
In my mind, in my mind, in my mind
In my mind I see a red painted barn,
A million stars they pick me up and spin me
And now I am floating in a land of confusion
Or is it reality or just an illusion
And nothing makes sense, no start and no end
Cos when you get more is when you get bored
When you get more is when you get something
(Why can't you find yourself another place to rest...)
Cos when you get more is when you get bored
When you get more is when you get bored
When you get more is when you get bored
When you get more is when you get something
(Why can't you find yourself another place to rest...)
When you get more is when you get bored
When you get more is when you get bored
When you get more is when you get bored
When you get more is when you get something
song performed by by Zed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half A Man
This big old queen was standing on the corner of the street he waved his hanky at me as I went rolling by I pulled the truck up on the sidewalk and I climbed down from the cab with my tire-chain
My knife as I approached him he was trembling like a bird I raised the chain above my head he said, please, before you kill me might I have one final word? and this is what he said:
;i am but half a man, half a man Id like to be a dancer but Im much too large half a man, half a man Im an object for your pity not your rage oh, the strangest feelings sweeping over m
H my speech and manner have become much more refined I said, oh, what is this feeling? what is wrong with me? she said, girl, it happens all the time and you are half a m
Alf a man look, youre walking and youre talking like a fag. half a man, I am half a man holy jesus, what a drag
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Contemporary Critique about Art
I'm troubled by the suggestive complexity of
Distinctive formal juxtapositions in this artwork.
Its disjunctive perturbations & eloquence make it
Difficult to consciously enter this chef d’oeuvre in
A manner in which the sublime beauty of the bio-
Morphic forms verge on codifying its agitated con-
Tent finding this creation remarkable in how it
Handles the figurative-narrative line-space matrix
By spatially undermining the visual gesture while
Abstractly activating critical thinking. As an ad-
Vocate of the issue of content, I feel that here at least
The suggestion of spatial relationships endangers the
Disjunctive perturbation of how disrupting it seems
In light of the eloquence of the substructure that
Conceptually activates the spatial relationships of the
Auto-erotic signifier and appears disturbing in light of
How it imperils the artwork from being understood.
Of course, the matter of understanding or not is
Self-subjective as it will not let itself be pigeonholed
Which is solely a psycho-morphic human characteristic.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Oct©2008
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0194 A Boy's Vision
The boy walks past the window;
you can see he's
got something clearly in his mind;
walks firmly on both feet as if
he walked on grass;
his carriage upright,
a half-smile on his face;
his eyes are bright;
he swings his hands from side to side
in front of him.
He has a vision.
Ah yes.
His captain's just tossed the ball to him;
it's his spell to bowl.
This is what he was born to do;
he has the skills;
he knows he can do it; can't wait; but
no hurry, as he's confident,
switching the ball from hand to hand,
warming it with his love.
The boy walks past the window.
He has a vision.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Goddess Durga
Goddess Durga
Astride on her tiger
in menstrual throes
She feels she has a
Tiger in her tank
But her retinue trumpets
that he lost his woodies
and that she should club
her Wood
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Mar©2010
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Stone Fog
Stone Fog
i think
she is your alter ego
someone you pine for
the dizziness
is your inebriation with her
and may be due
to atmospheric pressure
differentials
she comes and goes
like a fog sculpture
or a De Chirico muse
without a shadow
she's pure fog
with consciousness
and a heart of stone
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Nov©2009
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And The Grass Wont Pay No Mind
(words & music by neil diamond)
Listen easy, you can hear God calling
Walking barefoot by the stream
Come on to me, your hairs softly falling
On my face as in a dream
And the time will be our time
And the grass wont pay no mind
Saying nothing, lying where the sun is
Baking down upon our sides
My lips touch you, with their soft wet kisses
Your hands gentle in reply
And the time will be our time
And the grass wont pay no mind
Child, touch my soul with your cries
And the music will know what weve found
I, hear a hundred good-byes
But today I hear only one sound
The moment were living is now
Now now now now now now now
Young bird flying, and a soft wind blowing
Cools the sweat inside my palms
Close my eyes, hear the flowers growing
As you lay sleeping in my arms
And the time will be our time
And the grass wont pay no mind
No the grass wont pay no mind
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Lightweight Ode to Ars
A Lightweight Ode to Ars
or A Not So Fauve Muse
Fernand Leger watching me
Bloats my limbs
But when Salvador Dali comes
He makes my edges flow.
And if Pablo Picasso shows up
My face looks
Like it hit the fan.
Of them all I adore most
Marcel Duchamp’s tongue.
He says I taste like
A cubed sashimi roll from
A fauve Rousseau beast.
A the roaring sound
Magritte pops his head out and
All gaga about her says Dada.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Feb©2009
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Study Nature
I do.
Victim.
Sales
Met
Wipe
Her
Less.
Was a disappointment
We say it.
Study nature.
Or
Who
Towering.
Mispronounced
Spelling.
She
Was
Astonishing
To
No
One
For
Fun
Study from nature.
I
Am
Pleased
Thoroughly
I
Am
Thoroughly
Pleased.
By.
It.
It is very likely.
They said so.
Oh.
I want.
To do.
What
Is
Later
To
Be
Refined.
By
Turning.
Of turning around.
I will wait.
poem by Gertrude Stein
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