The Art and Poetry of Life
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"Are you God?" He beseeched me screaming louder, Seeking confirmation far beyond my own domain, While I stood disarmed yet fully certain, Of the Deity I disavowed and fully disclaimed. For the villains and the warlords that roam unfettered, Sharing time with pestilence, disease and sin, And the inexcusable suffering of the innocent, As the world cold, without spirit, continued to spin. "No I am not God," I shouted within me, "Look around, it’s all but crystal clear, If He was here, in our universe, for even a short time, He has all but left and disappeared!" And from this little boy came an utter, Kneeling in prostration did he moan and prod, Almost in silence the words still echoed, Begging softly, "Are you God?" "Yes, I am God," I whispered, Stunned as I heard the phrase I owned, Shocked at the hypocrisy inside me, And how easily I ascended upon the throne.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bruce Slater was born in Long Island, N.Y. He received his undergraduate degree from the University of Connecticut, law degree from Ohio Northern University where he served as associate editor of the law review, and masters degree in environmental studies from Yale University. His poetry publications include a wide variety of what makes life wonderful, challenging, humorous, tragic, rewarding and most often, absolutely astonishing. He is the creator of Slater Fine Art (External link opens in new tab or windowSlaterfineart.com), an online gallery of his acrylic paintings, sculpture and photography and Humanity Collection (External link opens in new tab or windowhumanitycollection.org), his original designs, humanity based clothing. He has written four full-length plays focused on various areas of social commentary. His stage productions include Dilemma of Escape, 2017 and Chaos of Spirit, 2022, which he produced and directed. He is currently living in Virginia with his wife of 50 years, has three daughters, son-in laws and six grandchildren.




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The Art and Poetry of life

Artwork, Text, Author's Commentary

by

Bruce Slater


Forward by Lillian G. Lippold




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To consider, treasure and celebrate

the gift of life

and inspire the humanity in us all.





  Discover the beauty of life through a unique partnership of art, poetry and commentary.

Every page is a journey of emotion,  exploring fresh and unworn pathways in life's journey, challenging old ideas and preparing for new experiences.


A table book which will add design, color and curiosity to any room while providing enjoyment to anyone who opens its pages with vivid imagery and thought provoking content.


Each poem is paired with artwork specifically chosen by the author/artist for that poem.     A brief commentary follows to provide a deeper understanding of both poem and art.

Relevant quotations of prominent authors, artists, scientists and celebrities are included.



Table Book Specifications:

High Quality Casebound 

Full Color Cover- Front, Back and Spine

Dimensions: 11" Width x 14" Height

320 Full Color Premium Guage High Gloss Pages,

Custom Designed Durable and Protective Slipcase



EXCERPTS  

 



 

ELUSIVE

. . . But if you find a kernel truthful

That soothes and mends the soul,
And problems vanish quickly
Worries rest their firm control,


Remember well the poet’s secret
To reflect between the lines,
The book of life, its hidden pathways,

In colors elusive, alive with rhyme.













   ART

Art is a gift God gave us all,

On the pyramid of five senses it stands.

Mediums of the inspired reflect life’s carousel,

Perceptions blend from the finesse in their hands.


Infuse the mix with a beat of the heart,

Mystical touch of the soul undefined,

Passion of a dream, grace of a wish,

Fantasies abound, imagination unwinds.


Laws of nature apply to our every breath,

Reach firmly shackled by limits of sight and sound,

But our grasp untethered through the fabric of the mind,

The universe be ours as our walls come tumbling down.


Fortune be to us in the landscape of life

To inherit the wonderment of mind,

To challenge our vision beyond who we are,

Clear images perceived, infinite sight of the blind.



SOMEWHERE

. . . Somewhere a starving woman grasps her child to her breast,

And dust surrounds the encampment where her fathers laid to rest.

They fled from home with nothing for the refuge of this site,

And here they wait forgotten, hungry and cold against the night.


Somewhere fires raging, people screaming, injured, lost.

Old men shivering against the wind, broken windows thick with frost.

Women cowering in the shadows, men with guns against their heads.

Children begging for scraps of food, tattered blankets hide their heads.


Somewhere there's great suffering just beyond our sight and sound.

The cries for help are distant, yet haunting and profound.

Lest we ignore the rhythm of their pain that stirs the soul,

Then the light of hope will darken as their night falls black as coal. 



     "     

                                                                                                                                       


                                                          DECREED

                         

        . . . Yes, it may well be for others, these grand feats for which I strive,

       That with passion and commitment makes me thrilled to be alive,

       But within a crevice of my mind a whisper echoes, will not quit,

     "You'll never know what you cannot achieve, until you cannot achieve it."


       So let failure be your friend and not some foe from which to hide,

       For all the world respects the few that had the courage  just to try.

       For those who never took the risk knew not the passion of the quest,

       And the thrill deep in the veins as standing tall you took the test.


       Success may be the province of those chosen to succeed.

       But, just perhaps, the list is open of whose greatness is decreed.

       Open to all who have the spark, in spite of the odds to fail,

       Whose sinew extends beyond their reach to touch the holy grail.


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ANOTHER DAY

.. . .I am caressed by a light touch of sun and the scent of fresh air

Like someone gently prodding me to wake. Truly wake.

The deep blue sky with high puffs of clouds. . . floating. . . in endless designs

A painting on the ceiling of the world

A work of art that I see. . .No. . . That I am part of

And it calls to me not just to wake but to come alive

As I peer through the blinders, the fog that blocks the senses,

I begin to see this day

Another day. . .


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The First New Universe book on white textile


  . .

BIRD OF “PRAY”

. . . I noticed, and quite certain, his gaze fixed and sure

Was upon me, once settling, neither subtle nor obscure.

And he stared quite intensely as I slowly strode past,

Till curiosity stilled me. . . I stood silent, quite aghast.


And I said to this bird sitting stoic and still,

Looking first for no passer by who may think me a shill,

"Why bird, of all places to repose from your flight,

And take comfort landing here at this portal of night.

For I find you intrusive, my good temper out of sort,

As you trespass upon me, peace of mind you abort"


"So tell me, I pray you, my senses on edge.

Fowl friend, have you landed just by chance upon this ledge

Or do nefarious currents guide your wings o'er land and sea

To the coordinates preordained, exact location to find me?"



 . .

MORE

Am I deprived? Absolutely yes!

There's stuff I need but nonetheless,

What do I get? Nothin' day after day,

Except told I'm spoiled, to my total dismay.


I keep a long list of things that I lack.

It grows as we speak though I try to hold back

On luxury items they say I don't need,

But so far, all are crucial. I think you'll agree.


Number one: a nose job. Can you see how it's grown?

Makes me sound nasal like a dying trombone.

For miles you can see it, I know how it looks,

It curves right, bends left and ends in a hook.


Next on the list is my smile, not so good.

It's toothy and goofy; I should go out with a hood

So no one will see that one lip veers south;

When I smile, I lean north to hide part of my mouth.


My figure needs work, it’s horrid in shape.

I need to be lean, but I'm round as a grape.

And my breasts are so tiny I may as well have none.

With my savings I’ve stashed, I can only do one . . .





REDEMPTION

What are these demons that slip into my head,

That crawl from the floor and into my bed,

That watch for my slumber when I cannot defend,

Too tired to escape, run away or transcend?


My demons I made out of mistake and regret,

When I tried and I failed and could not forget.

So without the power to undo the past,

I gave mistakes life with both legs and a mask.


And now they visit me whenever they please.

They torment with memories till I fall to my knees.

And I think if only I could erase what I’ve done,

Be absolved and released from the web I have spun . . .


yy k k  kk



 . .                                                                  ECLIPSE

. . . Either way, I heard the statement loud and clear. . . Infinitely small, insignificant specs.


Message received.


But-


Message denied.


Tell me universe, who has the sense to see you, to hear you, touch you, smell you. Who has the power to understand even a little about you, to sing to you, write to you, fear you, love you?


It is me, it is us.


And it may be us alone in all the universe.


So, perhaps, the only things of such enormous ability to perceive the universe is God and humans and I’m not too sure about God.


So, while we maybe infinitely small, we are not insignificant. In fact, we may have a giant presence in the cosmos.


Yet, I think, there is another message to us from this celestial event.


It is subtext. . .


. . . s   


                            ANOINTED                                                               

. . . "Are you God?" He beseeched me screaming louder,

Seeking confirmation far beyond my own domain,

While I stood disarmed yet fully certain,

Of the Deity I disavowed and fully disclaimed.


For the villains and the warlords that roam unfettered,

Sharing time with pestilence, disease and sin,

And the inexcusable suffering of the innocent,

As the world cold, without spirit, continues to spin.


"No I am not God," I shouted within me,

"Look around, it’s all but crystal clear,

If He was here, in our universe, for even a short time,

He has all but left and disappeared!"


And from this little boy came an utter,

Kneeling in prostration did he moan and prod,

Almost in silence the words still echoed,

Begging softly, "Are you God?



                                                                                                                             

I SNOOZE

  . . . Afraid she would speak and require my reply, I began quickly thinking, "Should I laugh or start to cry,"   

 So to prevent any fainting, throwing up or heavy wheeze, In silence I just stood there, fumbling nervously with my keys,


And she said, "I am sorry, I'm so clumsy, please excuse", Then unexpectedly from my lips came, "My fault, I snooze,"

"My fault, I snooze?" I thought as I froze, "Are you kidding, what was that, what did it mean, who knows?"  . . .                                                                                                                 

                                                                                                                     



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                                                             COLLISION

                        Can we be more than who we are,

                        Transcend the borders of our grasp and reach?

                        As the boundaries of our talents rise,

                        Do we have the power to force a breach?


                         Are we not victims of celestial whim,

                         Inheriting our abilities as the chips are thrown,

                         Baffled as we push against our margins,

                         Defeated when attempting to escape our zone?


                         What must it be liked to be graced with a gift,

                         Like great bards whose words hang like fruit,

                         Ripe and sweet as they glow ready to be picked,

                         Placed perfectly, beyond repute.


                         Would I be the grantee of such favor on high,

                         Just one day as my pen itched to write,

                         When thoughts turn to elegance as they dance

                         on the page,

                         The sonnet to glow forever in the darkest night. . .




                                                                                             

                                                                                       

           

                                                                                                CLIFF


CLIFF

 . . .  It’s so dark down below, inside the abyss, as I lean and strain to see,     

And the chasm looms larger the longer I stare, my legs are twitching to flee.     

 

The air is laden with a dank that I sense as it rises from the waters far below

And encircles my senses that my skin feels entrapped by the rasp of its touch, even though,


I do not retreat at this moment of dread though my mind is veering off course,

From the path that I’ve chartered, so carefully planned, and, from afar, fully endorsed.


Now as I stand at the edge of my life and face the precipice from which I must leap,

My courage recedes with a vision in the dark of demons that may drive my defeat.


All account I have taken to buffer the winds of calamity which may well befall

The attempt I am making against odds of success of this venture I have given my all. . .


                                          NORMA & LOU

  . . . In the office, waited patiently, my name was called,

  A nurse greeted me, we walked together down the hall.

  She was munching on chocolate, her mouth full to the brim.

  Said to me, "I love to eat, never been to a gym."

 

   She was slender and shapely, with a big happy smile,

   And I asked, "Were you heavy?" as we walked along the aisle.

   "Oh yes, just tremendous, I was maxi. . .now I'm mini.

   I owe it all, without a doubt, to our own Dr. Binney."


   Then she said something strange, I will never forget,

   Are you in love? Are you dating? Anyone special have you met?"

   "No, I'm single. Who would possibly be attracted to me?

   Don't want any calls, don't answer the phone, in my life I'm absentee." , , ,





 . .

                                                                                             CHORUS

                                                                      Listen closely, you will hear it all around you,

                                                                      Nature performing the music of life,

                                                                      With melodies, delicate and exquisite.

                                                                      Harmonies, complex and precise.


                                                                      Symphonies all but surround us,

                                                                      Many scores at once fill the air.

                                                                      A cacophony of sound at first hearing,

                                                                      Irrelevant, disengaged, unaware.


                                                                     But each note is filled with life's colors.

                                                                     Every beat echoes rhythms of the heart.

                                                                     Abstract sounds in perfect syncopation.

                                                                     A blended palette to nature's work of art. . .


In the heart of this little girl.

                   GRANDDAUGHTERS

. . . They stare at me still without knowing

If their intrusion will be well received,

And I give them a wink and a smile

And a twinkle in their eyes I perceive.


There is a sweet moment of magic,

Where the mysteries of life do converge,

And the splendor of all that is gracious,

Unite as God’s wonders emerge.


I will be but a small grain of sand

In life’s hourglass of my radiant pearls,

But my soul they will carry forever

In the hearts of  these little girls.

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Contacts:

General Information: 

Theartandpoetryoflife.com


Contact the author:
Bruce@theartandpoetryoflife.com

$145 Dlvd Continental US

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