Philosophy – “The Necessity of Structure within Art” – 2/17/2020

The necessity of structure within art, comes with the many details one can pour within the piece, and still keep it standing. Without structure, what one has to worth with, becomes minimalist and small.

It is like a building. Without much structure, what will be worked with, will eventually fall apart.

Post-Modernism does not work with structure, and completely negates the need for structure and detail, to show what can actually hold.

Without structure, we have the opposite from it, being deconstruction. Thus, we have the Deconstructionists of a bygone age, full of people who resisted Tradition to a radical extreme. By this, it is meant to be known, still, that without structure, one’s society reaches its limits.

Structure has an element to it, and it is necessary to be repeated, that a “structure” only ever appears impressive, when the details are numerous enough so that the structure can still stand.

Eliminate structure, and anything you’ve built that is not based on structure, will tumble.

It is why you have micro-poetry and other works that express a minimalist side to the artist. Such writing and other art possesses no structure, and because such works are very small, it is only due to that one has very little to work with, to even begin the piece. It is all because the art lacks structure. Should one begin to add more detail, then one’s piece becomes more impressive, through the structure, because it still stands.

What will be even more fated to occur, is that one will eventually work with dust, to make art, having formed the deconstruction to everything.

Poem – “Brightest Lips and Starkest Curves” – Romance – 8/29/2019

In all my imagining,
While haunting memory is the music

To my mind in its longing,
I find myself to view a painting
That shows the curves of a naked woman,
While her lips are reddened
By the blood offered in my hands.
Would I reach to kiss?

I desire the wine, next,
For a mask is only a shape
To what has gaped my wounded spirit,
As I rely on awakening to push myself,
From the cruelest sleep.
Winter drenches me in her family
Of white bone and frailest tone,
As I have found your seat to be empty.

Pull me closer,
To what makes you shiver.
I promise, by what little strength
I still possess, to make you comforted.
I am in love with a promise,
As I adore the curves to a woman,
As I dream of kissing sweetest kisses,
Upon sweetest lips.

Sing to me,
Your song of wailing pain.
Reveal your sorrow,
As I reveal mine in this dim light,
Of a remaining winter.
I fail, when I have been brought down,
To be beside you, in a grave of soil,
As all angels, we’ll soar, nevertheless.

Poem – “From Love to Rust” – Romance – 8/22/2019

I cripple myself,
In horrid wings formed of bleak feathers,
And I have pleasured myself in sadness,
For it was a bottle I drunk from,
That had your bitter tears.

I found love awaiting me,
And drew joy close to me.
Love was stilled, as a heart, buried in dust,
A milk-white breast glided past a heart,
The Devil in me had awoken.

I nested her beauty in a chamber of ice,
And made music from plucking each heart-string.
Death, and its music of somber notes,
Fell upon my ears, and laid there,
Death was my token to realization.

I am a mere man of nothing true to be harbored,
To be expressed, upon sheets with pen in hand.
I have a face that is bruised,
As I deal in the business of drunkenness.
Misery has always been my mate.

Feel the Nihilism crawling gently
And closing its jaws about my neck.
I am a man of nothing comprised to make love a truth,
What I have undone to fail,
As she sleeps between two fallen stones.

Two nails and two pillars,
That have closed shut a coffin.

Poem – “Make Me Aromatic” – Romance

With desire, feed me wine,
Among pain, make yourself as mine
Beneath sheets that fade away thy purest form,
As all angels weep above in their enclosure.

For I have destined myself,
To wed myself,
With yourself, a queen of a night,
A desire and a might.

You have felt the sin,
To which we ran the waters
Over our palms,
And over the soils.
When thou did,
Thou filled baskets, with ripest apples,
And filled thy mouth, with words of praise.
Make this kindest moment last.

The moment when we dance,
Before an altar so lit with wonder,
An altar adorned with petals,
I see thee, a face of finest beauty.

I see lips as strips of scarlet,
And cheeks with rose attached,
And eyes that beam out the wishful note,
“Never to leave, never to depart,”
As you rightfully say.

And when I see thy graceful form,
Kept in my palm,
I find nothing else to
Create a qualm.

Face me, dear thing,
You have beauty roaring out,
To the furthest shores,
So mighty that you are, needing to see,
How much I love thee,
And all of thee.
We are now united, with faces to breathe.

Poem – “At Once, a Tear Replaces Her” – Romance

Her face, encased in ice,
Winter has made a fine print,
Love has been replaced,
With a tear.
Beauty has been replaced,
With a sculpture of ice,
And I still draw it close for a kiss.

Fallen, and frozen,
From, my cold cheek,
To her form of white, and cloaked in death.
Where warmth, turned bleak,
And Heaven, drew a line, on her, raw flesh,
I, too, drew a mark, on sculpted skin,
Until sadness, was all I felt.

A mark,
A name, as mine,
Like mine, is mine,
It was the mark, to unity.
An abandonment, of my pride,
My fame, my graces, my stature,
Into, simplicity.

Here are roaring tears, for the woman I knew,
And loved, as though, she were
My child, born from, a cradle of straw,
I loved her; indeed, I loved her.
Her face, so round, and eyes, agleam,
A body, so full, and arms, so long,
I measured her, in my truest place.

My heart, is now, a place of grief,
I sing, its song,
I sing, the unmerciful song,
That has placed hatred, on my soul,
Sorrow, has morphed,
Pain, has absorbed,
All the soil, beneath my feet.

Her face, encased in ice,
Winter, has made a fine print,
Love, has been replaced,
With a tear.
Beauty, has been replaced,
With a sculpture, of ice,
And I still, draw it close, for a kiss.

Poem – “The Faceless Serenade” – Romance

You walk in frailty’s shadow,
Showing romance in each marvelous step.
Dipping a foot into a milky row,
Of evermore marvelous pain.

What is this fear, in which I feel
For the first moment upon thy naked form?
When you sing such soft notes,
To recede back into the notes of a whimper,
I am here to console,
For that which I stole.

You leak white from the pink of thy cheeks,
Down unto my own feet,
That had plodded a course in tragedy.
I have made echoes with each faltering step.
It is because I feel a chorus
That leaps into my chest.

All notes, a score that is emotionless,
Instruments that give no life,
And eyes from a woman who has
Only the need to offer death.

Is such your becoming comfort?
And the notes of melancholy that are not
My own becoming?
I might not ever raise myself from
This faltering where I descend.
You have beauty that I cannot mold.

Each path has made a burning before me,
A burning, and a path behind that is no longer true.
I cannot see behind to the faces of yesterday.
For you are there to hear me say,
“I am nothing without the faceless serenade,
And the music that speaks volumes of empty pages.”

Where are the lights to our decay?
Where is the place for us to stay?