September 28, 2020. PATHS

“Country Road” by Vian Borchert (ink and markers drawing, 2017)

– – –

"The Innocent Handshake" by M.A.A.
On the way to an artist’s acclaimed fall
through a black hole tacked on a mirror
an innocent handshake took it all
with twisted grabs and forceful pulls
it channeled a debate like a mortal
versus an ancestor of some kind.
He had so disregarded earth
in pursuit of the old suns
denied yet another urge
to run restlessly amok
and search for the cure
take the liquid heart
and make it all burn.
 
          And it was said,
          "All these wasted years
          you testified with a blink of an eye,
          but worry not, for I know
          they aren't for you to decide."
 
In and out, proudly announced
the rhymes of fellow cowards
as nonetheless stolen valour
but the same confused crowd
scavenges for the stones
of imagination left by the fathers
while the emancipated creations
flee to the swamps of the makers.
And as they scurried for remains
somewhere in the distance
in a short little instance
came echoing rendition
invitation for recognition
for loose frames
for empty contents.
 
          Again, it was said,
          "Next week your world's anew,
          for it changes, in its eternal kindness
          it changes, and it does so just for you."
 
But the flow - what for this change
if the creations run free from the fall
and all that was to be risked for art!
Ascended but subtle is this glory,
pieces of dignity slowly burning
in wild stories of the playful past
hit like a sack of blighting stones
but miss the author's hungry soul!
Who is standing in an empty space
at the center of the void's deep sigh
under the lights up high!
But what consolidation now,
that confessions of pride and preservance
went missing amidst the lights' clearance?
One screaming the long nights
will see their escapist daydreams
under these inquiring lights
and as their oneiric paths dictate
they will either call them bitter lies
or hone them to the ends of the Earth
thus becoming more of a tale of fiction
faded and ousted as a living person.
 
           And again, he had written,
          "Yes, unfortunate to be condemned
           for the letters you denied to have read,
           awfully similar these judgements in kind,
           by the riches of the mind or just naked in time,
           to the other side you went all the same, all in line."
 
Ah, our good old suns,
in a competition of lunar androgyny
lovingly blinking behind aethereal bars
telling not to offer a finger but the whole palm
to be kind to the muses within our small hearts
for they are nothing but an unforgiving race
our decades come with different kinds of love
pushing the tedious hours into cramped space
unevenly tinted with all colours of bleakness
around here we take a quick shot every time
someone's confusing trail leads to our hall
and proudly diligent we bear witness
to the innocent handshake
that takes it all.
 
Hurray.

– – –

“You Can Crow Your Own Way” by Conal Gilliland

– – –

"Path-Analogy" by Vian Borchert
This path is a bit swampy
It has thirsty mosquitoes
they love to bite you
they love to suck your blood
leave you itchy
red, bumpy, sore
This path is rainy
full of overgrown trees
I can’t even see clear
This path makes me feel humid
tired and uncertain
This path…
Lord knows why am I on this path
This path is not clear
this path is shady
this path is tricky
this path is tight
this path is dark
this path needs light
this path is narrow
this path is long
Am I even on a path
or, a haunted forest of some sort?
This path
I am not even sure
what am I doing on this path
Yet, I know one thing for sure
I have to keep on walking
and sometimes even running
to get to the light!

– – –

“Trudging Home” by Seán Delaney (March, 2018)

– – –

"The Lonesome Path" by S.J. Saighead
We wonder along each lonesome day,
From here to there we go. 
Reaping the grain we did not sow,
We wonder along each lonesome day.

From here to there we go,
upon occasion falling deep
Into the welcome rest of sleep,
From here to there we go. 

Upon occasion falling deep
into the trenches lain before,
we wonder what we're bothering for,
upon occasion falling deep

Into the trenches lain before
By hands now fail, fingers wagging
They drone behind us, as we're falling
Into the trenches lain before

By hands now frail, fingers wagging.
We roam the path of desolation,
not wanting or needing consolation
By hands now frail, fingers wagging.

We roam the path of desolation
But we wonder this path together;
Through storms or welcome sunny weather
We roam the path of desolation.  

– – –

Next exhibition theme: DEATH (it will be October after all)

Deadline: Midnight, October 11th

Submit at: artisticdifferencesproject@gmail.com

More information under ‘Submissions’ tab

Published by artisticdifferencescurator

My name is Seán and I am the creator and curator of the Artistic Differences Project. I started this project during the lockdown in Ireland due to COVID-19 in March 2020 as a way to get my friends and I creating during a troubling time. From there the project as gone from strength to strength and now we publish a new exhibition every two weeks.

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