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West Virginia, WV Businesses & Yellow Pages

May 16, 2017

SELF-PORTRAIT


 when_art_comes_to_life_by_two_tickets-d4f0ndc

  (My poem is based on a painting by Kyla @Deviantart)

This is how my critics will remember me,
the painter gone raving mad in his studio,
a scape of land or sea sadly unfinished,
a sky so morosely dark the blue dappled to gray.
These eyes once joyfully squinted out of focus
so that I might envision the sketched canvas
imbued with pigments, a painting brushed into life.
Now the eyes you see in this self-portrait
lock themselves in a black-rimmed bugging stare
that confesses lunacy. Bands and splotches of red,
blue and yellow: colors meant for saner work.
What am I thinking here? Will a caption save me?

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(C) 2017 by Salvatore Buttaci 

May 12, 2017

TROIKU #2


fresh fallen snow
dot the flower heads
like white patches of stars
the yellow Chrysanthemums look
upward assembling Heaven
with myriad facets of their petals
more yellowish
than autumn leaves –
each petal a miniature sun
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May 9, 2017

SKIP THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

I once believed that if I read
too many tales of fantasy, 
somehow a witch would find a way
to make my life a travesty.
She's pile on my scrawny head
whatever mash her cauldron made,
then melt to mush my sanity.
I'd chase that little Riding Hood,
cleave her head with a wedge of steel,
or follow Snow White bashfully.
I'd shed fake tears and disagree,
I'd stomp my feet in nasal whines,
I'd live my life vicariously.
But is it smart to live a lie?
Perhaps I ought to give the boot
to books without a shred of truth.

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(C) 2017 by Salvatore Buttaci



May 2, 2017

TO SHED SOME LIGHT



(inspired by a painting by Matt Dixon)

I miss the old light bulbs Uncle Sam
replaced with new halogen incandescents.
To shed some light on the situation,
watt prompted intensifying the lumen count?
The white coil screwed into the fixture
strikes me as almost other-worldly alien,
the way it lies about long-life illumination,
the subterfuge, the home invasion
of those content with a darker shade of light.
But what disturbs me most is the loss
of that metaphoric light bulb that clicked
with every new idea bulging with
brilliance, lighting the road just enough
to gather words and phrases to build a poem.

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http://www.salbuttaci.blogspot.com