Showing posts with label surrealism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label surrealism. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 24, 2021
Saturday, August 21, 2021
Thursday, May 28, 2020
BETWEEN THE BOTTLE AND THE BOTTOM
Here I am again between the bottle and the bottom
the balcony door open like a mouth
the sixth floor yawns the world awaits
to swallow me whole. I have an appetite for bacon fat
on toast with jam. Thinning hair and leaking pipes. I marvel
at this whispered life.
......................download
THE BANKERSARE SWINGING FROM THE CRUCIFIX
Labels:
art,
arts,
David Halliday,
poems,
poetry,
surrealism,
writing
Tuesday, May 19, 2020
Saturday, May 16, 2020
Friday, May 15, 2020
Friday, May 8, 2020
Tuesday, May 5, 2020
Monday, May 4, 2020
Friday, May 1, 2020
Thursday, April 23, 2020
Peggy Lee
download The Saints of Jazz
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Peggy Lee (May 26, 1920 – January 21,
2002)
Eyes can be beautiful. So gay and
young. Peggy’s step-mother had eyes. As black
as coal. As hard as iron. The back of
her hand. Across Peggy's cheeks. Don’t think
your daddy is going to save you now.
Peggy sang for her meals. In small
joints. With fast cooks. And red necks. And the
chorus of bacon and burning violins.
Peggy joined the dreamers. Dancing into
heartache. To the City of Angels. Where
children were begging to be born.
300 Dutch ice cream salesmen protested.
The shortage of appetite. While their
wives organized their socks. And ironed
their shirts. And while the salesmen
marched on the parliament. Shoes were
left at the doorstep. Curtains closed in
haste. And Peggy sang about the
neighbourhood boys. Who risked their lives.
To appease. The appetite of salesmen’s
wives.
An airplane crashed into the Empire
State Building. The pilot begged the mayor.
It was an accident. And 1942. No one
doubted that he was telling the truth. Until
they found his plans. And sweet Peggy
almost died. A fall in a New York hotel.
She was tripped. At the top of a set of
stairs. By a man with no legs. He leaked
a secret. Don’t be in such a rush.
Peggy sang. Quietly. Her voice
simmered. Everyone leaned. Forward. The waiters
hesitated to wait. No one dared slam a
door. In the kitchen. Or in the parking lot.
In the hotel rooms. Lovers held their
breath. If silence were a dance. Singing was
a substitute for love.
Labels:
art,
arts,
collage,
collages,
culture,
David Halliday,
mystery,
photoshop,
poems,
poetry,
surrealism
Monday, April 20, 2020
Sunday, April 19, 2020
Saturday, April 18, 2020
Friday, April 17, 2020
Thursday, April 16, 2020
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
Monday, April 13, 2020
Sunday, April 12, 2020
Saturday, April 11, 2020
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