“That’s The Day” by John Broyles

"Dimming" by John Broyles

Raised by a redneck

Certified dirt poor

My dad spit in my face

cursed the day I was born

That’s the day I let

My dear dad down

That’s the day I let

My dear mom down

Rode to hell, my mother’s dead son

Talk bout a bastard He was number one

Mainline bullet shot that son of a Gun

Put an end to, all nite fun

As a kid, caught stealing

At the Five and Dime

Ahead a dead..end

Life of crime

That’s the day

I let my home town down

That’s the day

I let my home state down

Joined the army back in ‘99

Just because I’m the  killin’ kind

My strict orders

to lose my mind

That’s the day

I let my country down

That’s the day

I let this free world down

Build me a bomb

I’ll start the third world war

Stop your prayin’

your hope is a whore

That’s the day

I let my dear God down

That’s the day

I let my dear God down

John Broyles

© 2010

e. e. cummings

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Oil Painting by e e cummings

i go to this window

just as day dissolves
when it is twilight(and
looking up in fear

i see the new moon
thinner than a hair)

making me feel
how myself has been coarse and dull
compared with you, silently who are
and cling
to my mind always

But now she sharpens and becomes crisper
until i smile with knowing
-and all about

the sprouting largest final air

inward with hurled
downward thousands of enormous dreams

Edward Estlin Cummings

(In Paris Cummings met the poets Ezra Pound, Hart Crane, and Archibald MacLeish. His friends also included the philosopher A.J. Ayer, who had a short affair with his wife, Marion Morehouse. She was twelve years Cummings’s junior, a former Ziegfield showgirl and one of the leading models of the age. Cummings’s friendship with Ayer lasted over twenty-five years. Once Cummings took Ayer to see the legendary stripper Gypsy Rose Lee. “You walk on tightropes as if they lay on the ground,” Cummings wrote in a birthday poem to Ayer, “and always, bird eyed, notice more than we notice you notice”.)

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

[Toulouse-Lautrec - art print, poster - Seated Clown, Cha-U-Kao]

~The Clown~

I am certainly not regenerating French art, but am struggling hard to accomplish something on an unlucky piece of paper which has done me no harm at all, and on which, believe me, I am doing nothing that is good….I hope things will improve eventually; as it is, I am pretty wretched.”

– Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

“The Night Cat” by Taylor Negron

A nearly invisible cat jumped on my chest last night with the force of one hundred aliens

The paw, or the echo of a paw- awoke me from a dream of molasses, grave digging and grocery shopping

Another mans nightmare- shrouded in chromatic veils and unexpected spatial conundrums

Elusive, uneasy figures had gathered to assist in the shopping. I choose cheese, fruit and Fish

Everything moves around, but nothing changes. Everything except the cheese

Painting & Poem Taylor Negron

All Rights Reserved

© 2010