Saturday, February 6, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
POEM
by Sydney Solis
POEM: came while writing you.
The cat works her claws into the $700 chair.
I'm mad, but I don't feel like getting up to swat her off
and preserve the $700 chair, pretty as it may be.
POEM: came while writing you.
The cat works her claws into the $700 chair.
I'm mad, but I don't feel like getting up to swat her off
and preserve the $700 chair, pretty as it may be.
WORN AWAY
by Sydney Solis
As a child, Tracy played with three little dolls so much that their eyes were rubbed away.
Her three-year-old daughter finds them in the closet.
"Ooooooh, Mommy., that's Spooky. They don't have any eyes."
As a child, Tracy played with three little dolls so much that their eyes were rubbed away.
Her three-year-old daughter finds them in the closet.
"Ooooooh, Mommy., that's Spooky. They don't have any eyes."
PERFORMANCE ART
by Sydney Solis
True story in the newspaper. A woman tried to pay at the check-out in Target with a million dollar bill. She tried to pay for $2,000 worth of stuff with $2.62 on a gift card. The clerk wouldn't take it, so she handed him the million. Cops arrested her.
My sister, when she heard the story, insisted that maybe the woman was just misunderstood. Perhaps it was just performance art. Six other women came in, paid with million dollar bills, but went unnoticed.
Can you break a million?
It should go further, she said.
To be a glamour girl stick-up artist. Red lipstick, platinum blonde wig, black stiletto heels, red skirt buxom bounce. On bank video surveillance, she's crossing in front of the camera in Yuma, Chicago, Tampa, San Francisco, Buffalo, all at the same time. There's a Hollywood glamour girl robbing a bank at gunpoint. She's all over the country. Five different cameras juxtaposed on the newscast. Five blonde wigs, five skirts in motion diagonally in the lobby and across your screen. In the sight of millions across the country watching it over and over and over again. They've realize they've seen her before, but nobody knows who she is.
True story in the newspaper. A woman tried to pay at the check-out in Target with a million dollar bill. She tried to pay for $2,000 worth of stuff with $2.62 on a gift card. The clerk wouldn't take it, so she handed him the million. Cops arrested her.
My sister, when she heard the story, insisted that maybe the woman was just misunderstood. Perhaps it was just performance art. Six other women came in, paid with million dollar bills, but went unnoticed.
Can you break a million?
It should go further, she said.
To be a glamour girl stick-up artist. Red lipstick, platinum blonde wig, black stiletto heels, red skirt buxom bounce. On bank video surveillance, she's crossing in front of the camera in Yuma, Chicago, Tampa, San Francisco, Buffalo, all at the same time. There's a Hollywood glamour girl robbing a bank at gunpoint. She's all over the country. Five different cameras juxtaposed on the newscast. Five blonde wigs, five skirts in motion diagonally in the lobby and across your screen. In the sight of millions across the country watching it over and over and over again. They've realize they've seen her before, but nobody knows who she is.
DYING LIGHT
by Sydney Solis
I am dying
Make no mistake
The change in voice
The deepening of shadows
Speak, silent voice. For now I weep and attend to you
You stroke the top of the head
Wet, puffy eyes looking up
Attention
on the deep where whales moan around
navels and this is where the world beings
In the misty play of my picture to see ahead
Play, creator
Play me while I'm fresh
No longer
Goodbye temptress, you wild daughter you, you enjoyed and I am glad
Now bring your body back to me
So that we can paint the sky and water the canals
Roll in the hay and grow roses at night
Oh, poet of body
of pleasure, of pain
How do I part you?
The urgency of time
The wall begins to dim
The clock now lost, the game is near end
Until my final exhale.
I am dying
Make no mistake
The change in voice
The deepening of shadows
Speak, silent voice. For now I weep and attend to you
You stroke the top of the head
Wet, puffy eyes looking up
Attention
on the deep where whales moan around
navels and this is where the world beings
In the misty play of my picture to see ahead
Play, creator
Play me while I'm fresh
No longer
Goodbye temptress, you wild daughter you, you enjoyed and I am glad
Now bring your body back to me
So that we can paint the sky and water the canals
Roll in the hay and grow roses at night
Oh, poet of body
of pleasure, of pain
How do I part you?
The urgency of time
The wall begins to dim
The clock now lost, the game is near end
Until my final exhale.
YEARNING
by Sydney Solis
Yearning
Heavy stone my heart
Floating in darkness
Dreams unremembered
Haunting from below
Fragments, broken pictures
Movement without footsteps
Or voices
And still I wait
And still I wait.
Yearning
Heavy stone my heart
Floating in darkness
Dreams unremembered
Haunting from below
Fragments, broken pictures
Movement without footsteps
Or voices
And still I wait
And still I wait.
ADDICTS
by Sydney Solis
Addicts
they say
can't deal with their reality
Well, nothing
not even the old skull ashtray
can deter my bitter sorrow
and retreat to red Marlboro
Smoke to rock my lungs
Something to hold me
In the desperate desolation of my soul
Alone
Winter 2003
Addicts
they say
can't deal with their reality
Well, nothing
not even the old skull ashtray
can deter my bitter sorrow
and retreat to red Marlboro
Smoke to rock my lungs
Something to hold me
In the desperate desolation of my soul
Alone
Winter 2003
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