International Art & Culture Gallery				Sunday, March 14th, 2010
Home | Artists | Sign up | Art Contest | Kids Art | Young Art | Events | Galleries | Music | Poetry | Stories | Donation | Links | Contact | About us | Press | Search

9 peripherals of the interior landscapes series.  Lyric representations of loss in archetypal form. Barry Boudreau

flower

the power  in the hands of the broken shards of unneed burns wild as a a grassfire sparked by gasoline cost is fake forgiveness and loss becomes a covered over excuse of a courier shot how do you heal? what becomes the remedy hidden behind lies? I swore I saw a  sun flower shining against the sky maybe my imagination but I've got to question why burnt down the fields of memory you can call me brother uncover soul from the soil a friend to pull you over the silence we are bridging could pull solace from these roots regardless of the reckoning the healing unheard relieved of lies I swore I saw a sun flower climbing the watchtower the petals held a solitary secret weathered and unamed

gone

Understand sometimes there is a different meaning And the corruption of your sleep the warmer bedside banter recedes falls upside upon your grace A whistle in the darkness but you are so tired of waking so where are the horses and wherefore the apology Bent down on one knee to receive annointed blade upon my shoulder we stare like Brando unsure by the window what solace we keep but we know deep inside our time turns upon a lost memory little bird  did you find your way home? with your twig of peace as you covered the ocean landing upon the funeral pyre your star your spark to flint a fire gone long gone your star your spark to flint a fire gone long gone

seed

o.k. your seed has grown into loss far from the lost hope of an impressionistic call girl of duty by the way you can't remember the unforgotten words that you meant to say its time to trip the light and call on jesus to call off the fight ain't we enough round hurting this campfire under starlight allright this seed has crumbled into dust your formulation of the indices and cost third world begging at your back door asking what alms are we looking for don't look away the sight of one open that would clear this  empty space don't look away from the silent march into the crossmark upon his face hunter its time to trip the wire calling Mary over satellite ain't we enough round hurting this boardwalk under starshine this campfire under starlight this unrecovered seed

blue umbrellas

get back to the things you have held holy in your life go back and remember how a piece of soul became a nite lite when the trails cold and the scent has become old we become a simple miner for the gold a simple miner go back to the memory the place and time that causes you the pain get back to the simple fact that everyones out in the rain the blue umbrellas cover over under and stand for almost anything get back to economy the small market stall that is the heart of dying children elite kicking skulls upon the fair playing field hopin the bones will decay and turn to oil before they run out they the simple miners attack the restlessness thats buried in your brain get back to the simple fact that everyones out in the rain the blue umbrellas cover over under and stand for almost anything

crane

I could not call you at the bridge I could not take your hands away I could not tell you as the sonnets fell how the words just slipped away I cannot speak about Whitman And how the dream has turned to dust >From the bleached out bunker of a white building All the dreams have turned to rust You could not stay long enough To break these empty rules were you covert in your silences? as you buried gold from fools the swan dive to the end a bitter test of faith I could not call you At the bridge I could not take Your hands away

maybe be (gone fishing)

maybe be the wishing well gone drinking pissed off from the pennies forever sinking all those dreams falling over the edge maybe be the sun outside caught stealing cheating from the dusk a little twilight dreaming so longer be the day maybe be the time to call on progress invisible in hi tech shoes and full dress still waiting for the day maybe be inside this grand fiasco we only had Piccasso and an actor writing plays maybe be the time to slow the future broken glass in a country sewer fires lasting longer than a mystery fresh from the t.v. maybe be the heart walks out in wonder at the things we've torn asunder still waiting for a memory forget to be a memory maybe be a little forgery how can we listen to the silence our brain already full of yesterdays news in garbabe cans serviettes from fast food stands every image already loaded but the ones we need to see maybe be maybe be maybe be inside this grand fiasco we only had Piccasso and an actor writing plays how do you barter with the old man without a hunger for the story look at the signs hear the sirens sigh the lost are underground and gone fishing

weedbed

all you see occurs far behind your eyes all you feel is buried deep inside your mind all those little sticks and stones grow to flint a spark a fire the horse is led to loss to feed upon desire as open ended as the leaves that fall upon my eyes my bent down broken tree still pushes towards sky memory is nothing if I cannot name my home tradgedy is just a game to me if were laughing all alone the lost are overground and receiving the lost attenae of our roots retrieving every silence of this earth completely remembers your name you can call me deep in the weeds deep in discovery/philosophy/returning inwards home deep in anger spent/lost within the halo/all found borrowed and true once within this varience this weedbed

one

every word imperfect as an open stare in a world of wonders the cemetary crosses shadows only follow the sun there you were photographing no one and the angel rained down upon that empty shore the driftwood returning became a simple door and who are you to question what you're living for hey there you were in this world all alone and then there was no one give thanks to the excuses that have kept your soul alive the loss of language the open fields of alibis just give me some truth you yell behind your clever disguise and the angel rained down upon that empty shore the driftwood returning became a simple door and who are you to question what you're living for hey there you were in this world all alone and then there was no one

crucify (son)

when you show up at my door trying to paralyse / confuse me all I see is sadness open lesions open lessons lost you come to crucify me in this stead I hold a blanket of surrender covered over memory you cannot push your way into this cost of necessity you hold in front of me a person I would belive in the silences are lost between us the cost is that you breathe in slow out this name                                        my name my future my son my undiscovered country you are hidden in without a word without a sound stands so tall and proud I am that he reminds me so true the meaning in his eyes and you came to crucify me I cannot heed the call for longer than a moment all the words are empty hangers I believed that I would say have become useless lesions legions of hurt that simply burnt away and you come to crucify me slow out my name this church this son seen for a moment of daybreak you come to crucify me

Free Art News subscription | Privacy Police | About us

Copyright © 2004-2010 Avisen-avk. All rights reserved. Webmaster Birgitta Ragnarsdotter