Amazed 2

The Great Figure

Among the rain
and lights
I saw the figure 5
in gold
on a red
fire truck
moving
tense
unheeded
to gong clangs
siren howls
and wheels rumbling
through the dark city

William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)


Painting The Gold Figure 5
by Demuth based on Williams' poem-


Apollo by Picasso













Painting by miro






































Don Quixote by Picasso

Amazed II
gordon coombes

amazed by ocean waves crashing
on the rocky high cliffed shoreline
a half a mile away I hear them thundering
on quiet still nights for hours
I become too engrossed to sleep
imagining the waves speaking to each other
& to the earth & the black velvety sky
& glittering stars & the roaming planets
& sometimes the full moon
gloriously pearl white or golden
or swollen pumpkin orange-

amazed by lakes calm & placid
or rough & wild
watching a single deer stopping
at night watching me curious
then moving on along the shore
where the woods thin out-

amazed by streams & rivers flowing gently
then vigorously roaring over boulders
as their pathway narrows swirling water
tumbling over a waterfall-

amazed by mountains towering
slicing into drifting clouds
spending a day sunny & hot
driving up & up & around & around
back-tracking along spiraling
snaking black paved roads
stopping to gaze even further up
at the mountain slopes & peaks
with binoculars watching a family of black bears
crossing a hillside of green lush grasses
going from one tree packed area to another
looking over the side of the mountain
at the curving road unable to tell
if that's where we are going or where we have been-

And here's some amazing playing by Jazz Great Thelonius Monk in this piece Blue Monk recorded In Oslo 1966




Magritte False Mirror- loop by tktimelapse




take care,
GORD.

AMAZED

Amazed
by gordon coombes

amazed by flowers blooming
in fields & ditches by the roadside
purple yellow blue & white lupins
white & blue daises
masses of yellow dandelions tiger lilies
sun flowers daffodil black-eyed susans
fiery-yellow & orange goblins
azaleas shaded by purple rhododendrons
& the over-powering sweet smell of flowering
delicate lilac bushes & wild burning red roses
& miniature pink & yellow roses
amazed at those I planted & tended
blooming in my flower bed-


amazed by rain & snow lightly falling
coming down in torrents & blizzards
amazed by glittering jade towers
rising in the distance out of the blue ocean
on a hot clear summers day
out of the grey Atlantic on a cloudy fall day
out of an ice-floe stretching blinding white
from the shoreline to the horizon-

amazed by small brown sparrows swifts
swallows little yellow song-birds
hopping from branch to branch
red robins & noisy blue-jays
screeching complaining black crows & ravens
& diving circling white sea-gulls soaring
bullying all those weaker birds
cormorants soar even higher then dive
plummeting into the sea a lake or pond
disappearing for a minute reappear
with a sad fish in their beaks
amazed by hummingbirds quickly quietly
dancing across the flower-beds
in the blink of an eye
amazed by tiny brown bats at night
soaring & diving about squeaking
catching flies around the street-lights
amazed by ducks & Canada Geese flying in formation
into the setting sun sometimes landing
in a pond a few feet from where I am
unconcerned with me indifferent
sometimes looking for a handout
several visit me every day til the snow comes-

amazed by jet planes
arching across the sky
leaving trails of smoke behind
one after another til the sky resembles
a multilane superhighway
all day & night they pass over
always four or five in the sky at a time
at night the lights appear on the horizon
pass over head to arc downward then disappear
heading for Gander for Britain & France
those places I've never been-

And now for a bit of music " All The Diamonds" by Bruce Cockburn




take care,
GORD.

Worlds Within Worlds Two

Image From The Hubble Telescope
-Deep Field

















Image from the Hubble Telescope




























Above: Whirlwind of Lovers
by William Blake

Image Below :Attempting The Impossible
by rene Magritte


WORLDS WITHIN WORLDS
HAIKU, APHORISMS, MUSINGS & AFTER THOUGHTS OF THE ANCIENT SAGE
by gordon coombes

II

Worlds within worlds
planets revolving around
a billion stars-

Each star a brilliant sun
of shimmering liquid gold
streaming spilling
into dark silent empty space-

Each of us holding onto
the reins of wild horses
racing about the sky
pulling our own chariot of fire-

All that we are
all that we say we are
all that we could ever be
all that we once were-

Climbing out of a ditch
out of the gutter
watching a billion stars-

Being touched to the marrow
by this eternal drama
by this nightly performance
by this nightly light-show-

Lifting us out of the gutter
for one single moment
for a glimpse of eternity-

Filling us with hope
leaving us at sea
drifting across the grey Atlantic-

Drifting through space
at the mercy of the Solar Winds
filling our sails
passing countless worlds-

As we leave our little Island
in the sky a distant light
in this dark night-

Brushing up against all these
whirling worlds as we walk
along these tamed streets-



take care,
GORD.

Cafe Apollinaire- Prologue

I love men, not for what unites them, but for what divides them, and I want to know most of all what gnaws at their hearts.
Guillaume Apollinaire

A structure becomes architectural, and not sculptural, when its elements no longer have their justification in nature.
Guillaume Apollinaire

Artists are, above all, men who want to become inhuman.
Guillaume Apollinaire




Paris 1913 by Marc Chagall





















" Apolinere Enameled" from a poster advert for paint:
For Guillaume Apollinaire by Marcel Duchamp




So here's some great music by Miles Davis performing his trumpet rendition of composer Rodrigo's Concierto De Aranjuez -it is just the adagio from Miles album Sketches of Spain which is one of my favourite albums but I also enjoy the original version for guitar & orhestra especially by Narciso Yepes on his ten sting guitar or Norbert Kraft- so enjoy...





TALES OF CAFÉ APOLLINAIRE: VARIATIONS ON DISTILLED DREAMS .

PROLOGUE : APOLLINAIRE

Apollinaire is a beacon
Apollinaire is a wake-up call
Apollinaire is our Father Confessor
Apollinaire is Father of us all
Apollinaire is an air-raid siren
Apollinaire is the squadron leader
of a thousand armed flying bombers
Apollinaire is a light to guide us
through & out of a century of war
of madness of a hundred million
corpses piled up
to honor him we christen our café
Café Apollinaire-

At Café Apollinaire poets & artists
stoke the fires of Creativity
shift the gears of Creativity
pouring gasoline on the fires
of the Imagination igniting sparks
of Fantasy -

a poem is an exploding grenade
held in the palm of your hand
a poem is a trapped butterfly
about to be set free to fly
to gently land in the listener's hand
from the poet's tongue
to the listener's ear
slipping sliding out of the poet's lips-

So there you go ,
GORD

The Run-Down Rooming House of the Soul, part 2

Here are some wonderful sounds from Miles Davis & John Coltrane playing a remarkable version of SoWhat - Enjoy & slow down for a few minutes...



The Subterranean in The Run-Down
Rooming House of the Soul

II

The Subterranean lives close to the ground
with the outcasts & the desperate ones
in dark alley-ways & dead-end streets
entombed before dying living
in perpetual darkness in dimly-lit rooms
out of the reach of sunlight
over-shadowed by Glittering Towers of Glass
having been sent into exile
in his latest incarnation
becoming a refugee bathed in
bleak visions of dreams twisted
ripped apart by wild dogs in this
run-down rooming house of the soul-

The Subterranean needing to be close
to the ground smelling the black tar
of the road breathing in exhaust-fumes
of busy city traffic rumbling by
needing to feel the hard concrete
of the sidewalk under his feet
watching the feet of others passing by
the little window of his basement apartment
finding used hypodermic needles of junkies
used condoms of prostitutes
who ply their trade just around the corner
on warm summer evenings & frost-bitten
dead of the winter nights in this run-down
rooming house of the soul-

The Subterranean going for a stroll
late at night mumbling to himself pretending
to be frothing at the mouth mad
passing through gauntlets
of young men who might be thugs
the desperate turning on one another
willing to rip-off anyone even the Subterranean
of what little he has trapped forced to listen
to the man in the apartment above
in drunken rages beating his wife
all around the house
keeping their six year old son in fear
nightly replaying this old Punch & Judy show
in this forgotten run-down rooming-house
of the soul-

The Subterranean watches the old
child-molester holding out a helping hand
to naive young boys & girls in need
in return for sexual favours
pays rent to the caretaker
a paranoid painter who adds a series
of white crosses to every canvas
lectures tenants on Christ
returns to his room embattled in heated
arguments shouting at his invisible tormentors
throughout the night hearing the popcorn-thief
creeping up the stairs & along the hallway
completing his nightly ritual
carrying bags of popcorn
taken from a nearby video-store
after three am they give it away
believes he's conned them again
hides his booty stock-piling
for the upcoming apocalypse
in this run-down rooming-house of the soul-

So see you around,
GORD.

Run-Down Rooming House of the Soul

DRAWING BY FRANCISCO GOYA
Posted by Picasa


Anyway here is a little poem of mine for your consideration :
Theme provided by The Perpetual Poetry Engine
Below is section one of the poem
Visions of The Subterranean in This Run-down Rooming-House of the Soul
which is part of the longer poem Tales of the Cafe Apollinaire

I

In this run-down rooming-house of the soul
the Subterranean has visions of the Gods
of poetry tumbling down no longer
immune the disease destroying waves
of grass even flowers of evil
entombed poets dug up rotting bodies executed
to please the public apocalyptical verses
of the slouching beasts the whimpering
of the world dying Yeats & T.S. Elliot even
come tumbling down apparitions of faces
silent on window-panes
rats scurry through the streets
sneak into our houses keeping us captive
for days on end chattering their teeth
standing on their hind legs
blocking the only exit
no one hears our screams for help
these rats are secret agents & assassins
of the shadowy illuminati
in this run-down rooming house
of the soul-

A foul stench fills the house
a corpse left to rot
someone dying from too much cheap wine
forgotten no one comes to call
left untouched a week
looking for rent discovered
by the landlord
a dozen people sleep on the stairs
disappear in day-light
neighbours throw furniture knives
wine & beer bottles at each other in anger
sometimes at the walls just for practice
steal radios as fast as we replace them
strangers sleep in our beds
on nights we stay out
vivisectionists working over-time trying
to weigh measure quantify the soul
to suit their temperament making light of it
leaving us to live this substandard
second-rate existence in this run-down
rooming house of the soul -

see you later...meanwhile here's a song by The Dead Can Dance - Black Sun