NO ART NOW

Image result for persepolis

Who wants to be a poet? I can tell you how.

Outside the Cologne Cathedral I sold a bunch of hash

And was able to party hard at Giza.

Most importantly, decide you are a poet,

Say you are a poet, write obscure poems no one understands. That’s how.

I asked Pablo, “why does contemporary art look like trash?”

He smiled. Then she asked, “I could be a poet?

There’s no art now.”

At Angkor Wat I found her hesitating, yet there was nothing

She was supposed to do. By noon I knew there would be a delay.

The whole choir wasn’t feeling well. I could not allow

The truth to get out. The Dome of the Rock was crossed off the list,

Machu Picchu, the Statue of Liberty, and then, my house.

She said, “Could anyone know that I could be a poet?

There’s no art now.”

Stonehenge, Persepolis, those shadows

Loom over every ambition we had.

There wasn’t anything contemporary

About what was backwards, or really considered bad.

There was a fledgling belief we had to cross

The river Yung Pung Kao.

“Cosmetics? Maybe. But

There’s no art now.”

Who would say something bad

About the Taj Mahal?

I got in trouble as a dad

For being too critical. I had

To be a parent. Poetry, no.

Far from the Lotus Temple,

In a bad rain storm, she voiced

Silently the word, “wow.”

 

 

 

3 Comments

  1. May 17, 2018 at 3:26 pm

    Let me begin as you ended-wow.
    I love such story telling in poetry. And please, go on being critical.

  2. May 17, 2018 at 8:04 pm

    The wonders of the world
    … Poetry in commotion.

  3. maryangeladouglas said,

    May 20, 2018 at 4:46 am

    shadows are beautiful a something, someone said
    deep in the recesses of my mind where there were;
    shadows, forming the contrast in the pictures

    framing a cinematic mood
    or in the cool of april chilling the green
    summer sought they are

    who seem to be merely the absence of glittering
    light, a dark violet stain on the brilliance of the
    grasslands, the oasis.

    How wearing is the light in the glaring of the day
    then we need shadows, shade
    and thirst for them then.

    the homeland of breezes.
    they sang to me
    not in the game of let’s pretend we are something,someone

    better
    beautiful shadows whispered to me
    you do not need to be seen to be who you are

    and I have lived that way
    and am not ashamed of it.

    mary angela douglas 19 may 2018


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