Civilization
by Carl Phillips
There's an art
to everything. How
the rain means
April and an ongoingness like
that of song until at last
it ends. A centuries-old
set of silver handbells that
once an altar boy swung,
processing...You're the same
wilderness you've always
been, slashing through briars,
the bracken
of your invasive
self. So he said,
in a dream. But
the rest of it—all the rest—
was waking: more often
than not, to the next
extravagance. Two blackamoor
statues, each mirroring
the other, each hoisting
forever upward his burden of
hand-painted, carved-by-hand
peacock feathers. Don't
you know it, don't you know
I love you, he said. He was
shaking. He said:
I love you. There's an art
to everything. What I've
done with this life,
what I'd meant not to do,
or would have meant, maybe, had I
understood, though I have
no regrets. Not the broken but
still-flowering dogwood. Not
the honey locust, either. Not even
the ghost walnut with its
non-branches whose
every shadow is memory,
memory...As he said to me
once, That's all garbage
down the river, now. Turning,
but as the utterly lost—
because addicted—do:
resigned all over again. It
only looked, it—
It must only look
like leaving. There's an art
to everything. Even
turning away. How
eventually even hunger
can become a space
to live in. How they made
out of shamelessness something
beautiful, for as long as they could.
In all art, there must be emotion. It's easy to convey emotion in words. How does one convey emotion in their paintings? This is something I'm thinking about. Perhaps painting feelings for a while will create some breakthrough. What I want to say...how I want to say it...these things are on my mind. Of course, everything would have to be storm grey and neon green right now to mimic my surroundings from all the rain rain rain! ha ha
If you haven't seen it on the sidebar yet, do go over and check out the Peeps Challenge done by Chris Beck and Pablo Villicana Lara!! So creative and fun :)
by Carl Phillips
There's an art
to everything. How
the rain means
April and an ongoingness like
that of song until at last
it ends. A centuries-old
set of silver handbells that
once an altar boy swung,
processing...You're the same
wilderness you've always
been, slashing through briars,
the bracken
of your invasive
self. So he said,
in a dream. But
the rest of it—all the rest—
was waking: more often
than not, to the next
extravagance. Two blackamoor
statues, each mirroring
the other, each hoisting
forever upward his burden of
hand-painted, carved-by-hand
peacock feathers. Don't
you know it, don't you know
I love you, he said. He was
shaking. He said:
I love you. There's an art
to everything. What I've
done with this life,
what I'd meant not to do,
or would have meant, maybe, had I
understood, though I have
no regrets. Not the broken but
still-flowering dogwood. Not
the honey locust, either. Not even
the ghost walnut with its
non-branches whose
every shadow is memory,
memory...As he said to me
once, That's all garbage
down the river, now. Turning,
but as the utterly lost—
because addicted—do:
resigned all over again. It
only looked, it—
It must only look
like leaving. There's an art
to everything. Even
turning away. How
eventually even hunger
can become a space
to live in. How they made
out of shamelessness something
beautiful, for as long as they could.
In all art, there must be emotion. It's easy to convey emotion in words. How does one convey emotion in their paintings? This is something I'm thinking about. Perhaps painting feelings for a while will create some breakthrough. What I want to say...how I want to say it...these things are on my mind. Of course, everything would have to be storm grey and neon green right now to mimic my surroundings from all the rain rain rain! ha ha
If you haven't seen it on the sidebar yet, do go over and check out the Peeps Challenge done by Chris Beck and Pablo Villicana Lara!! So creative and fun :)
