Posted tagged ‘iPhone art’

Head Household

February 20, 2013

Brain in Bed (With Dog)

Head Household

My home
is mottled grey; perhaps red/blue would
be better, chambered
rather than lobed–no matter–

Furnishings fuzz
to buzz; occupants (increasingly
occluded) defy
vacancies, sparks fry blinds that tilt
over streaked glass; you try
to knock, I don’t
always answer, rooms fold in
on themselves.

**************************

This is a very rough draft poem for Real Toads “words matter” (i.e. keep it short) challenge hosted by Mama Zen to write about a toad’s house.  (Toad as in writing participant.)

I am in the midst of moving; much was placed and transported today in an extremely cold truck.   I’m sorry to be slow in responding to people – I wrote this poem, more or less, while standing in the truck bed, guarding stuff.   A reposting of picture too – brain in bed with Pearl!  Not really suited for poem – but really, how often can you post a brain in bed!?  (I am writing of the metaphorical little grey cells = yes, I understand they are pink in pic.)

Note that I’ve edited since first posting.

Not really Comic or Super Poem (For dVerse Poets Pub “Comic” Prompt) (But at least has elephant)

December 3, 2011

Here’s a new poem (too long–sorry–and still very much a draft), written for dVerse Poets Pub “Poetics” challenge relating to comics.    The drawing (done on my iPhone) doesn’t really suit the poem, but I couldn’t resist using it.

Power of Choice or Need

My childhood comic of choice was Archie and heroine
Betty, (fellow blonde and would-be
do-gooder), even though doing good,
in those comics, seemed
synonymous with disappointment.

Of course, the disappointment, was only in the long-lashed eye
of the short-sighted; those impatient
grasping sorts who did not
understand that good-hearted losses,
like all karmic set-backs, must turn golden (i.e. blonde)
at the end, as the universal
balance of good and evil (i.e. Betty’s cute turned-up nose vs.
Veronica’s snooty turned-up nose) righted itself, and a date
with Archie was achieved.

But now that I have no hope of cinched-in waist,
parabolic breasts, or a date with even a
rather bumbling teen throb, my sites turn to the super, those
tragic but helpful figures, only I think
that if I could grow a super power of choice or need, it
would sprout not in my limbs, but inside my heart, taking
the crud of resentment
as its Krypton;
transforming the sting (recurrent)
of abandonment into
the spark of a magic spider’s
teeth.  (With what else
do they bite?)
Morphing the hurt that embeds the claw
into the wide yaw
of empathy; telescoping
that chopped controlling beat into
a galaxy of embrace whose
planets orbit some other sun, where
there are no black holes, and where love, like other
universal forces, can be found in the radial outreach
of just about everything (sound waves from dropped pin,
ringed water round skipped stone, mossy antlers on
rutting stag, maple branches in
wet snow, the listening
consciousness).

It would be a strength, I think,
inked in the unhealed, unhealing heart, allowing it
to flow with the currents of uncertainty,  to
fly vulnerable.

Pop Art – Serious Poem

October 1, 2011

Andy with Elephant

I am posting this in response to a dVerse Poets prompt to write something about Pop Art.    My illustration above has (ovbiously) quite a bit to do with Pop art, but nothing with the poem below.  (I couldn’t resist it.)

The poem has less to do with Pop Art, I suppose.  My excuse is that the prompt talked of writing about a cultural phenomenon.  I don’t know if this qualifies, so my second excuse is that I think of Pop Art, some times, as complex juxtapositions flattened out upon a page.  Here goes:

Train of Thought

I am thinking, as I sit upon the train,
that the person who invented rubberized eggs,
that is, those eggs that are scrambled, squared,
and then somehow boinged, for easy sale,
should be shot, or at least, forced to eat them, when
a woman with a rubbed-out face
steps onto my car.  She’s been burned badly,
her face segmented into angular wedges of scar that
web from one ear to the opposite cheekbone.
Hard to read the history
in the hieroglyphics.
An explosion on a stove?
Acid thrown in warning?  Retribution?
Her skin is tan, hair dark, but any particulars
of ethnicity scratched out. I go
for the acid, knowing that whether or not she is a woman
purposely victimized, there are such women.
She stands, her face turned
so that I can see only an edge of eye (though her eyes
are almost all edge).
I want to give her my seat, but the gesture feels
intrusive, a stare made physical, so I do nothing but wonder
about a world in which eggs are turned
into seamless elasticized squares, women’s faces into
a stitching of stiff triangles, and how our minds can hold such things at once–
the trivial, the tragic, this train. 

(All rights reserved.)

Dabbling in Painting Apps

June 4, 2011

20110604-062548.jpg

As even non-Apple partisans admit, one of the appealing aspects of having an iPad or iPhone are the Apps.

As an Apple partisan, I freely declare that some Apps are pretty terrific. Some, such as the “Bed Bug App,” that I saw advertised on the NYC subway the other day, don’t seem terribly appealing, but others, like the Brushes App (a finger-painting app), have become tools that I use almost every day.

Lately though, as much as I love the Brushes App, I’ve been a bit curious to branch out.

The good news here is that most Apps are quite inexpensive (much much cheaper than comparable computer software) so you can try different ones without a huge outlay of cash. The bad news is that most of the art Apps I’ve seen do not seem to come with “user manuals.” Rather, they seem rely on either (i) pre-existing computer graphics skill or (ii) a lot of time spent poking at the screen and hoping that something comes out.

I’m not saying that I would actually read through a user manual even if they had one–but some of these painting Apps are extremely complicated and seem, to me at least, much less intuitive than Brushes. So I’ve downloaded a couple, like Art Studio, which look really promising, but which I simply can’t operate.

One that has worked better for me is Sketchbook Pro. It seems (so far) a bit more cumbersome than Brushes, but has definitely possibilities. It allows for text (which I do not have the hang of yet–see above), weird geometric templates (below), and (very cool) mirrored effects in drawing. (See the Siamese Elephant.). (I confess to having finished this last one on Brushes, because I couldn’t figure out how to narrow certain strokes–the air brush style–on Sketchbook Pro.)

At any rate, a very new and odd world for a dabbler like me. I encourage others to give it a try.

20110604-062652.jpg

20110604-062740.jpg

National Poetry Month – Day 11 – “On the Subway, NYC”

April 11, 2011

I admit to being very tired this eleventh day of National Poetry Month and Monday to boot!  (More on boots below.)

Here’s a draft poem written in and about the New York City subway system.

On the subway, NYC

Oh the energy of the human!
Not only do we wend our tubal way
each day through track and dim
and the jim-jam of more
humanity; we also make the effort, pre-
trek, in some looking-glassed, dim-lit room, to don
a black gaucho hat
with a silver patterned band encircling
its crown, a band which nestles just above another
band of braided brown.
Nestled below the hat
come blue jeans embroidered
at the shins
with a cartoon hip-hot kid in crimson and white,
who carries a similarly threaded boom box
about knee-level,
which brings up, along this same track,
wonder at the energy of
manufacturers, their surging press for
logos, crests, pink princesses
interspersed with spirited teams–the man’s shoes
narrow to points unknown, while
the black leather boots of the woman just across are
open-toed, her nails like lips painted beige
to match her blazer, earrings
sparkling to the clavicle–all
of us poised in our best grim readiness–I myself
washed hair this a.m., rubbed on mousse–
inside these tubes of darkness, mostly,
to step on out into the tiled echoes, beneath the
ceilinged stars, of
Grand Central.

All rights reserved.  Suggestions welcomed.

National Poetry Month – Day 8 “Dear Fred” (Astaire-way to Heaven)

April 8, 2011

I wrote a poem on the subway this morning which I later deemed just too weird to post. So, feeling glum over the possibility of doing more than one draft poem a day, I spent much of the evening dancing.  But dancing is just so great!  It never fails to give you something!

What it gave tonight:  another draft poem.

Dear Fred

 

Listening to Fred Astaire,
I feel that I could waltz on air,
my mind aloft in swirling swirls
of skirts and arms, top hats and twirls.
My heart is light, if movements less so.
(My tapping hits more heel than tiptoe.)
I clamber, but with grace and ease,
at least through my synaptic trees,
those nerve ends buoyed by Porter’s bubbles
to dance away a host of troubles.
Oh Fred, my hero bold and meek
who dances with me cheek to cheek.
So what you’re just a memory–
they can’t take you away from me.

As always, all rights reserved, and all suggestions welcomed.

 

I am linking this to Bluebell Books weekly submission re bubbles, since Fred is my favorite bubbly guy.

 

 

National Poetry Month – Day 6 – “If I could be”

April 6, 2011

Another day of National Poetry Month, another draft poem!  I have to say that when I wrote this one I was not (for a change) thinking of any kind of digital device.

If I could be

If I could be myself,
I would stand up straight as a stalk,
my arms flowing
from my breastbone like
the wings of a heron
sweeping the sky.

I would dance across
sanded planks, mornings, eating
blackberry jam,
flavoring the lips you’d kiss
with blackberries.

Afternoons, I’d write
novels, which would be
great the very first draft.
When their movies were made, I’d
play cameos; the directors
would get everything else
right too.

None of my loved ones, nor
their loved ones,
would ever grow ill, and when time
presented its bill,
I (who was myself) would still
stand straight as a stalk, my arms
flowing from my breastbone,
my lips tasting
of you
and blackberries.

All rights reserved.

P.S. if you are interested in blackberries (not digital) and poetry, check out my book of poetry “Going on Somewhere” on Amazon.