The Poetry of Arthur Vaso

The Blind Painter     

There is a part of me missing
There is a part of me that shall never be
Inside of this dark sad brooding mind
Is the painter who will never see
 
So I take my pen, and vaso of wine
I contemplate
I get lost in the drunkenness of time
Stooped over my own memories on a sour palette
 
I had the brushes staring at the naked breast
My paints were frozen, at such beauties unrest
Erect and tall, at her feet I did fall
The blind painter, who lost it all
 
So now you see I am a poet of some seedy sort
Painting Braille, is poetry of my last resort
I write down words with the flourish of my pen
The Braille poet, cause painting I could not fend
 
I take words and wish them bountiful explosive colors
If only I had talent, a painter and not a story teller
So for me, in pain and clad in the cloth of sadness
I write words, for this painter has only Braille
 
I have no painting brushes
I possess no smile, wandering along on wistful miles
Of blindness, blowing in the winds of the frail
No map for the future, and yet I set sail
 
Hoping my words one day will be seen
By an artist who paints the soul and the serene
She takes my blindness and paints boldly my dreams
Taking my words, from Braille to bright pastel creams

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Feb 2017
Undiscovered Tears
July2016
 
Tears are the poison
In your Vaso of wine
 
Sadness prevails
In fermented barrels
 
Vineyards ripen in the golden sun
The tortures of life come later with rum
 
Old grapes rot in old caskets
Old stories fade in book baskets
 
Wine to vinegar
Heart to hate
 
Tribal battles
Leave young lovers to fate
 
Honey and wine
Suckle the vine
 
When the grape dies
As it surely will
 
The prison of lovers
Always left undiscovered
 
Will be exposed to the ages
Tombs with sage, uncovered mazes

Me above, Hell below, Enjoy the darkness and the show

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The Burning
 
 
It was seven days and seven nights
Or there abouts, I was not so sure
Life was shrouded in the darkness not at all pure
I lost track of dawn, of dusk, of realities fight
To keep me conscious
To keep me right
Comatose, delirious, unmoving slumber
 
In this dream like state
My desires still existed
Thirsts to be quenched
Passions flared
She was seductively dressed
I, with the eye of a tiger
Wishing to devour her being
To be with her, in her, be her
To taste her very soul
I smelled her nectar's inviting scent
 
The bed sheets become drenched in sweat
The heat of the night ensconced me
A thousand candles and yet one more burned
The heat of passion mixed with the heat of the night
Flames rose from the desires within and without
My subconscious has played evil tricks and fooled me again
Lighting the candles that shall bring me to the beyond
The sheets became brimstone, the fire engulfed me
My mind in hazy confusion smelled roast flock of some sort
A meal after the passions was a succulent dessert
I became dizzy with the lust and the love intermixed
Somehow I am sleepy, dreamy, so very tired
The heat blankets me and I feel a strange foreboding
The reaper is grinning, staring down on my face
I try to wake, but I haven’t the wherewithal
 
I feel the burning
Painful for but a moment as the smokey flames take me
For one last dance
Burning, burning, searing heat
Blackened and burnt
Dreams
No more

 
 
Sunday, at 24 minutes past midnight, firetrucks arrived at an apartment in Dublin, Ireland 24 O’Connell street, and above Murrays pub, a lone tenant was found burnt to a crisp, apparently by a fire cause by candles, the remains have not been identified, and the building is a total loss.
 
 
 
 
 
Arthur’s Day in Dublin Posted on September 24, 2009
To celebrate Arthur’s Day, From 17:59 to 22:00 All Pints of draft beers were €2.50

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The Hanging

 
 
The jury was unanimous
Twelve cried out justice
Guilty
It was just before the changing hour
The hanging planned for quarter past midnight or so
The moon was full, the shining light exposing deaths dance
The grim reaper was ready, one more for his collection
 
I was ready for this moment
Ready to face my freedom and my death
Long ago, a mirror shattered into twelve pieces
Twelve faces who said I have to go
Twelve past the midnight hour
 
Sacred ghosts haunting twilight hours
Whiskey filling the soul soon to be departed
The hangman at the ready with a somber face
For his duties he did not so much embrace
This evening he knew the hanging would take all effort
Of spirit and determination
To send this one of to his eternal damnation
 
He was shivering and I sensed in fear
As I stared at him solemnly in the mirror
We both eye to eye knew this day would come
The hangman and me, conscious of the sum
 
So the note was neatly written
The whiskey bottle all alone, empty on the floor
I stood bravely or maybe cowardly
Upon the wooden chair
 
The rope I wrapped around I my neck
As the hangman in the mirror was in despair
I patted him on the back and said no worries my friend
This, you see is the end of it all
All that we ever both wished or dreamed
 
A week or two later
They found the hangman
A rope around his neck
Staring blanking in the mirror
 
A note on the bedside table
Told this story as you hear
A man with a broken heart
Hanged because of his own mutilated reflection
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The Calling



 
I hear the calling
She is out there in the wind
The darkness though
Hides her inside my very thoughts
My dreams escape only at the light of day
Where I wonder
Was she there at all


 
My life has been this journey
Seeking the calling of the one in the wind
Her voice does sing, and the pain of loneliness
Is my very own chamber of horrors, that stings
I would fly away, if only, if only
My broken wings would mend
My heart is silent for it does not move
There is no beat, no flow of love or tear
No bonds to hold me to your breast so dear


 
I have given this world a million smiles and facades
I have cried for the pain of all the woeful stories untold
Burdened it seems, with angel duties
I am no longer with strength to hold or hope
I feel the dust inside my mouth
I hear the calling
The kiss comes too late
To wet my soul
Thus is I who must let you now go
To the depths of torment far deep and down below

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The Loss
 
The pain will never leave me
The grey skies I fear are here to stay
I stroll amongst the stone and graves
Of histories lived so long ago
Why I am here, I do not know
Maybe, just maybe, within my solitude
I cling to a youthful desire
Even that the sadness shall never leave me
That one day
I meander along winding garden pathways
Taking in the sweet scent of flowers and 
      ......spring
Holding hands in a discarnate way
With someone as lost as I
Who understands
 With no need for words

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One day
The angels will command
That even broken wings must fly
Free of earthly bonds that haunt the night
For there will be a time
To kiss the stars above

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La vie en mort noire
 
 
The Life in Black Death
 
I gaze out the window of my mind
I am somewhat longing and lost
Yes, even jealous of those inside of loves fireplace comforts
For I wish to write a passionate love letter
Professing desires and devotions deeper than the ocean true
The ocean that divides me with you and me with love
Sadly I have pen and heart, yet no lover with whom to depart
 
I belong to no one
I belong to nowhere
I was born on the outside; only to walk along life looking in windows
Shopping for love is pathetic in the darkness of desperation
It is vile to be one who has no place, nor roots, nor smile or frown
Passion has been emptied from my body like the sap drained from a tree
I toss a vase upon the marble floor
Shattering in chess pieces
It belongs there more than I on this earth
Morbid thoughts of departure are halted by my broken wings
As travelers wait in bus depots of sin
I wait in the soldier’s graveyard, for we all know
My battles there have just begin
 
 
I know, for the demons, I have seen, have sung
Life and death for me, both undone
 
seannachie
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   The Painter

   She painted a boat
   All alone in the sea
   I whispered softly
   You painted me



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  • Home
  • Vaso's Blog
  • Current Poems
  • Introspection
  • Humanity-People
  • France
  • MIddle East
  • Dark
  • Gothic
  • History
    • Woman in History
  • Humor
    • Limericks
  • Love
  • Stories
    • ChildrensPoems
    • StoryTelling
  • Guest Poets
    • GuestBio's
    • Guests2016
    • In Memory
    • Collaborations
    • Dedicated To
    • Music of the Week
  • ARTGallery
  • Music
  • Support