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Dreaming In The Yellow House.

"What's the matter with you Vincent
Are you all right?What are you gazing at?
Don't you know we're deep in the night?"
Silently he turns to tread lightly past
sun burned paintings that adorn plain walls,
falling  into his own room, senses swimming
in sunlight shot through with dark shadows.
Bleached grass waves against sparkling seas.
A boat arrives, the long coated man steps down
"Theo,Theo! come here and look." Crows gather
in stooks, claws grip brown knotted branches on nearby
cypress trees.Dark skinned exotic girls crowd an easel
spread awry, holding an image of a starry sky.
Paul lost in meditative abtraction, dreaming
in front of nature, dreaming of escape.
The Christmas morning train leaves Arles
crossing a carpet of lightly dusted snow.
The boat departs, floating on a violet sea
of moon glinted surfaces.A woman holds
a painting, its intense light invaded by
pigments of black.
Months later in the cool of late evening
she will stare past  her master as he  paints,
musing on that picture carried from far away,
and come to know how genius succumbed,
its blooms tainted, shrivelling at its roots,
leaving only a muted scream blown through
a  field of wheat, where crows circle like vultures
after a desert storm, while a voice calls "Paul,
Paul come home." over and over, as night falls
and darkness shrouds the sun.

10 Apr 06

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Nice descriptions.
 — unknown

Dear Unknown

Thanks for taking the time and trouble to read.
 — larrylark

Never any trouble to read you Larry.
 — unknown

Dear Unknown

I always try to go for a smooth read.

Larry old smoothy Lark
 — unknown


noodle master of teh obvious man
 — noodleman

Dear Noodles

I wrote this after reading the review of a book written about the time that Gaughin and Van Gogh spent together in Arles.It was a time of plus and minuses for both artists but quickly came to an end largely due to  the combustable mixture of their temperaments and Gaughins fears regarding Van Goghs sanity.This was the period when Van Gogh chopped of the lobe of his ear and gave it to a local prostitute for safe keeping and many have speculated what apart from his mental instability was the trigger for so extreme an action,Some speculating that it may have been connected with the Ripper murders which were gripping London at that time and news of which had spread to France.Who knows.

Larry Titbits Lark
 — larrylark

you suck monkey ass
 — unknown

LARRYLARK? come on now. no really, you suck. just stop writing, do us a favor and break your fingers and never write again this is the worst poem i have ever read...
 — unknown

i thought you meant abstraction for abtraction. but most likely not.
  high quality.
 — listen

I love loo larry lark.

imagery is exquisite. 12-13 are wildly driven in a red corvette.

 — unknown

No, Unknown. I actually sniff gorilla bum.

Larry born to be wils lark
 — larrylark

Dear Unknown

I know what will break my fingers,sticking 'em up yours and pulling down your intestines to give 'em some air.

Larry tight arse Lark
 — larrylark

Dear OK Computer

I think i'm going to quit this site.It don't feel right

Larry Impersonator.
 — larrylark