This series is bound together by the mystery of travel and adventure. A surrender to the universe, in an unspoken bond that we will be given clues as to our destination if we look deeply enough into the poetry of life ~ to hear all the movements of existence as a poem, to see all the world as a work of art that unfolds.
"Tell Me More" represents a day in New York City ~ two people finding their way through the labyrinth of the streets, its' history and its future. Finding through the city’s gardens what it means to know oneself and each-other.
The poetry was written like a journal as I stopped by cafes and park benches always with a notepad in my pocket. The people I met like characters in a novel or film and the things they said part of one long narrative that flowed like a river.
TELL ME MORE
A voice that whispers,
Like a sage on the wind through the windows cracked with age,
Searching for answers they want it to matter,
Gather the pieces where others did shatter,
See all the petals from tulips did scatter?
Dropping from the sky like it was raining down ashes.
The fall of elation,
Euphoria’s follies in Deus creation,
Just a day in the park for Miss Polly,
Old money and something sweet,
Writing poetry in the New York heat.
The lightness of her feet,
Like a dancer without any shoes,
Loose laces, do they look loose to you?
Matches lit the flame in blue.
Guru with all the answers to the labyrinths of our mind,
To what kind of cult do you belong,
The spiritual undoing of our finely tuned song.
Over oil, steam and grated vents, they stepped to a silent music,
Missing the elevation from the pollen off the trees,
The devotees waving as they leave.
Caper simmering streets,
Echoing meeting place in the heat,
They stopped by the tulip beds to rest,
Buds that keep pattering by the beating of her chest,
Morning in a poet’s corner,
Printing metaphors of each other,
Impressions on paper,
Nobody challenges their defiant behavior.
Rest their legs from the labor,
Baudelaire and his green fingers,
My passionate neighbor.
Is the day another way to hide the shadows?
Do the final hours before beauty is formed make up her face?
New lovers embrace,
No regrets.
A moment in France’s cabin,
Duck of any kind, what he gets is confit,
Confident cauliflowers,
And moments of bliss,
Picked up the ocean what she got was a kiss.
As they left ~ a question posted by the door, with a note beneath;
"Tell me more
Those petals told a story, but tell me more."
Laurence Fuller, 2023
Poetry, Produced and Performed by Laurence Fuller
Animated AI Art & Music by Laurence Fuller
Curated & Produced by Animus
@laurencefuller
www.laurencefuller.art/web3
An adventure from my travels to Portugal.
COSTUMES TO FILL by Laurence Fuller
A great shuddering chandelier,
Beneath pearls drop like ancient tears,
Toes on the edge daring their fears,
Eyes of sparkling onyx,
Which pulled them in with a promise,
Skin like a glistening shell,
Past reflections of the deepest well,
Mysteries dancing on the balances of the lines of her lips,
Marquees left it all for the talents and her gifts,
Circling the wheels of time,
The distant silhouette of a kiss,
Through mirrored doors and colorful bells,
A velvet coat, his fabrics draped and felt,
The hem between her fingers.
Before she left the room,
The faintest scent of perfume,
Her youth in full bloom.
What is a word worth,
On the edge of this world,
A shadow which hangs from his lapel.
Memories of a headdress by the tomb of an angel,
Contained 12 pins, each one pricked by the small drops,
Those first gems of the sea.
Weaving tapestry of her garments,
Curtains hang from the glass door where she leaves,
That fate kept them inch by inch closer to the trenches,
Where young soldiers, ships and the remnants of a great adventure.
Where few sacrificed all for their nation,
Hearts beating across the land in unison,
Mirrors reflecting stories of the lives they lived behind the glass.
The hours preserved without beating hearts,
But a costume to fill,
With skin and scars.
To journey to that fountain,
The spring which boils so hot,
Where passions overwhelm but a thrill to stand there so close to see it’s steam rise,
They risk it all to touch.
Laurence Fuller, 2023
Animated AI art & music ~ Sound, Poetry, Produced and Performed by Laurence Fuller @laurencefuller
www.laurencefuller.art/web3
Pigeons know the city's secrets and they pass messages to each-other about its’ rises and falls.
City speckled bird, Dusty wings covered in dirt, Black gum stained feet, The salty chips from the street.
All the city, the pigeon's mission, And it’s stories they do listen.
How much do they know, Do they read? How far do they see? The sacred above the steeple, People’s angel freeing the unfree A company of the murky valor.
The eyes and ears of the streets, Whisper their comings and goings. The flea ridden and sacred, Run the show.
Original Poetry & Performance by Laurence Fuller AI Cinematics by Laurence Fuller @laurencefuller