civilization - the sonnet

A generation of fake excitement

making end days is rich irony,

unless you are buried in excrement.

it's hard to laugh in that reality.

Funny though - closer we get, farther we are;

far from being one - barely know how many - 

the flaw being this: many can't see that far,

most picking a nose, waiting for mommy .  .

And we all know that you can pick your friends

and your nose, but cannot pick your friend's nose.

At collapse we'll see how far our being bends,

where if noble, seen by the one who knows.

My guess is our cosmic hiccup, while grand,

is best seen from what we do when we stand.

jts 19 March 2014

more @ http://stoneartist.com

India - the sonnet

I made weapons to kill for Mir Ali;

though Muslim, he came from India

and dotted every "i"; crossed every "t"

his name approved my deadly media.

Now i don't want his job or the lucre

but empty my soul through hammer and chisel.

Knowing it's gone, what's left of my life,

grateful for what i find, big and little.

Little is what i need, big would be stone -

and paying much for a hovel makes no sense,

so if for drawings that kill, i must atone

i'll bring money to those carving for cents.

To have - one gives; so i'll give what i want

bringing aid for carving comrades more gaunt.

jts 10 March 2014

Valentine's Day - the sonnet

Ma turned me out when i was in high school
and again this Valentine's day - okay ?
Maybe right , maybe wrong , maybe useful .
If i can still love , it is a good day . 

When in high school , i was sure about love ,
today i use a muse to love through art 
i brought ma a portrait of she above ;  
it may help ma to see me in my heart .

Now of all there is , it's all i want 
love of art is what i found without ties ;
and the fear and hurt contained by a taunt
can be best blunted where the love will rise .

I am alone , i judge that's not too bad , 
for the love i learned was at home as a lad .

jts 021614
more @ http://stoneartist.com

Mexico - the Sonnet

When nine, a Ray found my heel in Guaymas;

At sixty-nine I'd go back to that bay - 
Perhaps to verify pain is no boss,
Or to pass some more time that's on my way.

There'd be stone and workers - both I prefer.
Not to say, I don't love y'all where I am,
Yet "who" I am won't be found with either -
Nor in some rank described by an emblem.

What's left when the hammer, chisel and stone
stop ringing ? Peer deeper - a bunch of dust.
Take this poem where it began? I can moan,
Or use what I've learned, to create more trust.

Why Mexico? la mujer son bella,
Y la comida es sabrosa

2 July 2014 jts 

http://ExtinctionChronicles.blogspot.com 

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http://stoanartst.blogspot.com

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Greece - the sonnet

To choose anywhere in the world to carve

I’d choose Greece for its stone and history .

Our for profit world marked that land to starve

so I got “ stagnation “ for my query .

She who-would-be-Queen knew ; i did not hear .

Where else in our orbit to carve in Peace . ?

Knew I my muse , I’d go there to be near , 

and as with all things of worth , not use keys . 

A quarry is in my future , old love 

returned that truth when asked “ where do i go . ? “

I must listen for guidance from above

but know from my gut which line to toe .

The hardest part is done ; inside my heart

the reason i am here is to make art .

jts 1 January 2014
more @ http://stoneartist.com

christmas Eve day - the sonnet ·

Last year tonight i insulated pipe ;

this year they froze , and for that i’m glad .

Family thinks i’m mad , i guess i fit the type ,

that or they think frozen water is bad

My body's filled by water - some think’s theirs .

" Frozen " after the month's hottest ever - s'good .

Hot’s what comes next ; “ they survive - who shares “

i’m old , i’d share what i’ve seen if i could .

This morning a witch said “ only hearts speak “ ;

so true that many just read “ lonely hearts .  . “ ,

others will cry “ witch ! he must be a freak “ -

and be right , for “ good sums “ exceed their parts .

i know as certain as my hot bath grows cold

“ save love for holy days “ is what we’re sold .

(˚ ㄥ _˚)    

jts 122413

http://ExtinctionChronicles.blogspot.com 

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http://stoanartst.blogspot.com

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Leaving Bali - the sonnet

Sang Made Budiasa - artist

I am leaving Bali, and I am sad
It’s my own damn fault, same as when happy.
Being torn from illusion can make one mad -
odd, such nonsense can come from being 'sappy'.

How can holy-hoards, 'Boarding' be snappish?
Limitless yoga won’t quench some rages;
You love being served; not asking 'what's your wish?'
What do 'Boolays' find that's not on stages?

When the world will not help Bali be well,
no one will care - “where are the resorts?”
The demons had been loosed - all Bali hell ...
funny watching 'retreats' turned into forts.

When i am gone, i pray it won’t get worse;
if so, still my blame, it'll be a good curse.

(˚ ㄥ _˚)                    

jts 15/11/2011

http://ExtinctionChronicles.blogspot.com 

http://JosephTStevens.blogspot.com 

http://stoanartst.blogspot.com

prohibited from AI sampling in any form

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