Songs by the River

 

An acoustic feeling surrounded by a choir of craft’s people…touting their wares.

An accompaniment of black as, ice, scenic byways.

All the seasons we should have sung about…but never did.

All the winters that fell about…but no longer live.

These songs of yesterday…independent and playing by the river.

These songs of yesterday…are taken day by day.

 

Hauling by Ethan Murrow

Great art comes from pain and suffering.  Thus, the near starvation, struggling artist.  Writers, painters, poets…Our art reflects those with who we live and love.  Both kindness and vice. 

The need of continuum?  Art shall never be beaten by affliction.  There will always be another Artist to carry on.

For “Hauling” The Currier Museum commissioned over 100 feet of wall drawings. The exhibition also includes two large-scale works on paper and a 52-foot-long scroll drawing animated by a kinetic sculpture. Curated by Samantha Cataldo, this show is a collaboration with other artists, craftspeople, historians, and New Hampshire citizens. Hauling is inspired by the history of the Manchester region and its people, emphasizing labor and collaboration.

https://bigpaperairplane.com

 

 

Poets and Schizophrenics Band-Aid

“If we took all the poets and banded them together.  Could problems arise or self-solve?”

Lyricists to our own plights…Could prose set a tilted world right?

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“What of my yet undocumented pain?  Would my own words make me sane?”

‘It is always something’…I heard a philosophical schizophrenic say.

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“Living well and beautifully and justly are all one thing.” ― Socrates

“What if we all banded together today?”

Prelude to the Words

They say, the word takes discipline.

Loose fabric erratically woven between my life and yours.

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Could it also be a death sentence?

Litter for the mind…for which there is no cure.

I have haggled with scholars…

and, pillars of a park bench.

I have thrown sticks and stones with menacing dogs…

To find where it is…

my words belong.

The chirping crickets are fading fast in my bedraggled head.

Releasing chaotic composure.

My composition?

Words I had hope to have.

Words I had hope to have said.

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