as da vinci sketched virtruvian drawings did the sheer reckless atrocities in nature ever make him sick to his artistic stomach a carousel of painted horses with pinprick pupils at the edge of panic as they race in circles yet never truly make any bit of progress while his ink smudged hands lose sensations in […]
feeling around this gaping absence swirling absently random incursions shifting electron orbits the image reflected in quicksilver sighs trace iconography neither elusive nor reclusive redactive reactive reductive an ocean of unbound sin algebraically deductive in linear inconsistencies another foolish pouring of pitiful obsolescence accidentally spilling a poetic emblem of sheer mediocrity penned in the darkness […]
art is a cesspool filled with empty words a quagmire of screaming voices begging for attention quality secondary didactically driven in false sanctimony a constant need for stranger’s validation at the expense of accidentally saying anything of value art is an open sewer filled to the brim with predatory gators always smiling as they lazily […]
insipid imitatations inspired immolations these vapid insistent instigators puffed up on self importance crows acting as ravens watching from the stands as they fumble using collanders to catch the rain not understanding what they manufacture in generic throes she simply breaths through supple prose trying to catch lightning huddled in bunkers unable to grasp beauty […]
i am no artist yet i dream of painting your flesh with tongue and teeth and lips an endeavor to rival the sistine chapel with a passion so all encompassing it would surely strip michelangelo of his feeble brush and paint with an indignant fury in the face of true artistry on the most perfect […]
every poem written is a piece of crumbling mortality spat into the wind to fall unread across the page the quill taps the soul as it scratches along the vellum depleting the whole in an effort to appeal to a world that stopped paying attention millennia ago
on hand and knees heaving onto the oil stained concrete wretching a sluice of scabberously chitinous locusts twitching malformed wings skittering on half burnt legs into the overflowing gutters filled with the tearstained lost faith of artists that gave every bit of their soul to create only to fail vomiting a hoarde comprising the broken […]
she painted self portraits though every one i saw looked nothing like her, sure the shape of her nose, the sharp arching eyebrow here, the down turned lip there she would paint hurriedly toss it to the floor to dry as the next began to form on the canvas, yet each one seemed farther removed […]
he was nothing before she took the blade to him but when she was done he had become something more hers. artist: Hing Chui
the words flow intangible streams of viridescent syllables shifting the banks trying to tame the torrents into the winding prose of poetic meanderings allowing them to take control through soulshallows anxiously scraping bonecoral flaking calcium sediment into a slurry to slow the incomprehensible darting quicksilver of insanity creating a poem is pulling every nerve ending […]
rectangular reticence in the midst of resurgent regurgitate another day in the curved corners of crazed circumstance and as she strode barefoot across the thorny disposition of roses in full wilted splendor, droplets of crimson soaked deep into the salted soil of youth, she shared a bitter smile for the bright sky of benevolent beauty […]
he sets aside an hour every afternoon for arts and crafts. quiet time to create. pensively gluing macaroni noodles to the construction paper in seemingly random places until the scene he sees comes to life. once he knocked over the plastic vial of glitter sending tiny pieces of silver and green like an avalanche across […]
the rough pencil lines bring the words to life as they spill across the page like graphite rivulets of hot blood let loose from the series of worms that writhe just beneath the skin under the harsh light of summer’s fury pounding the cracked earth an encapsulation of the intent given form from the nebulous […]
i wish to curl up bend my limbs into a fibonacci sequence find nature in the unnatural recombinant strands of innocent abuse a simple pavlovian response to the indecent orchestral arraignments drifting on the theorems of the bell curve the bell jar the latent depression of existence crack my painful joints into whatever patent pending […]
she sits patiently the tip of her pink tongue showing between red lips with a hint of pearly white a smudge adorns her cheek charcoal on her finger tips as she carefully sketches out an idea in the face on the sheet the whorls of her fingerprints sculpt the details inherent in the imagined she […]
i am a pencil sketch lacking definition you are an oil painting by a master i am a torn out journal page while you are the centerpiece of a collection
Been thinking about Mr. Van Gogh all day today. Understanding not understanding why the art doesn’t resonate. To you Vincent, and to those that love his works. Sometimes maybe, art is ahead of it’s time. Or parallel and unseen. From a Fool, to a genius. me
he lay silent for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, like he does every night, has done since he was a child it’s calming, the same but different every night, new vistas to explore, new faces hidden in the shadows tonight is different he lays with a notebook and knife, staring pensively between the […]
i sketched a self portrait this morning with a pricked finger and vermillion lines across off white expenditures too varied to be recalled as the red faded to rust faded to black to flake from the chemically treated pulp of a once mighty oak and the thousands of tiny gashes across my hand scabbed over […]
he carved a sculpture of his love out of ice in great detail he chiseled her features painstakingly trying to capture in the frozen medium her look that set him aflame days upon days he spent out in the freezing winds to create this monument to love without end when he finished he brought her […]
her tears fell like diamonds to scatter amongst the fallen leaves of autumnal misery her sorrow made the angels weep to commiserate in the sullen pain of strained perfection it was as if every monet began to drip paint onto the marble floors of the museum mona lisa covering her face while sobs fill the […]
painting with pain makes the art more visceral brutal varicose remembrances clinging to the page slowly numbing the psyche at least the supply never dwindles the pallet never dries it is bottomless now it rains possibly let’s say that explains the watermarks on the page
they seek to tell me what to feel to think to write as if it is their words they are not. if they are anyone’s they belong to her my muse. the woman that i write all of this to for in honor of in service to. they circle around my words like crows picking […]
she re-reads the same poem everyday it makes her want to write a poem herself she doesn’t understand she is a poem and everyday i try and read her but i don’t know the language
i am not a poem worthy sort i am a silk screened image of a car wreck the after photo for depression i am the guy you don’t love just yet willing to write poetry on your skin with my tongue use my teeth for calligraphy tattoo promises of forever in pooled blood just beneath […]
she painted across my skin with a myriad of styles lashing autumnal anger whithering winter sullen spring and seductive summers i was her canvas her flurry of emotional instabilites her brushes deep purple bruising ragged bite marks clawing her way through the fleshy bits until not an inch was left unsoiled she left me a […]
i will never make truly beautiful art women won’t sigh their hearts won’t skip a beat their breath catch in their throats at my words i’ll never be matisse rembrandt whitman braugtigan neruda or bukowski my name will never be uttered in hushed tones but still i write destined to be forgotten van gogh’s other […]
cerulean skies and warm beams of golden light to bask in, the rustle of leaves on threadbare trees, the squirrels search for hidden spoils unspoiled by the touch of man seeking solace from this wracking cough, this somber sickness that infuses and drains, the scratching of pencil on the pad and furious erasing of another […]
the human heart goes for one million dollars, yet i cannot give mine away intrinsic value compared to sense of worth i suppose but still i stand on the street playing the violin for loose change fingers dancing on the strings, eyes closed and visions of you play on in my head spinning signs on […]
i never sought absolution for the sin of being me choosing artless crafting instead just another piece of paper on my paper maché heart and that may be where the problem lies in the indifference of unspeakable truth just a mishmash of used post it notes with your name written in various scribbles random splashes […]
it is just another one of those she is a metaphor for love things another contrite deluge of longing in metaphor and is given the form of her who is she she is the shadow of jayne mansfield behind a silk curtain the promise of dangerous curves her voice is sultry crackle of tobacco on […]
they say when you see 11:11 you are exactly where you are supposed to be it is a sign you are going the right way everyday i catch it at least once and where i am is not where i need to be listen to me, i am not supposed to be here, this is […]
she’s a monet, le jardin de l’artiste á giverny, hanging in a museum she’s behind glass and protected by a series of lasers, temperature and humidity controlled pristine and perfect i can only admire her from afar i’m chalk art on a sidewalk pastels blotches, blowing in the wind, drawn by clumsy hands and walked […]
i’m an artist and my skin is the canvas upon which i perform menial tasks wielding a razor blade like a paint brush broad strokes subtle definition trace the pulse faster and faster swore off selfies already know what the result will be laser trip wires cover the floor spastic pastiche a ballerina with degenerative […]
yesterday was a special day for the poet illiterate two wonderful poets took my words and made them into something beautiful it’s funny see i post my rampant thoughts in the assumption no one will notice and instead art was made from them i don’t know how to describe the feeling even in floundering verse […]
i wanna make you a mixtape old school love letters on a cheap boom box i wanna stay up with a blank tape in the deck and the stereo playing until that song comes on a hush falls over the room as the record button is pressed i wanna put all the songs that sum […]
her name was inked upon his tongue, but he was forbidden from speaking it aloud, a fine silver spike keeping it firmly held to the roof of his mouth, his lips sewn shut by her silken words and promises of better tomorrows, tied with a gordian knot of desire his mind painted with her murmured […]
he stood still as his friend lifted the rifle he stood still as his wife refused to hammer the nails he lay still, naked and alone as the flames surrounded him a massive ball of entwined train tracks and desolate environmental hell he sat still and confessed his affair, love in ohio, his wife unaware […]
we are about to do something special there is this restaurant a little barbeque joint it makes the best pancakes in the metroplex now i am prone to hyperbolic statements artistic license with language it is possibly true but this is no exaggeration the people i have taken have always raised an eyebrow gave a […]
Mike's Manic Word Depot 