A Trip to Seoul . . .

detail of photo courtesy norman j. olson

A Trip to Seoul September 23 to 25, 2011

by Norman J. Olson

I traveled

from the intricate

branches of an oak tree

etched

against a rainy blue/gray sky,

to an auditorium filled

with Picasso and his

millions of

children

I walked on old cobblestones

and rode on shiny steel rails

everyone was polite

enough not to laugh

at

a fat old American

with

artistic pretensions… I had no use

for the condom on the dresser,

but it did

remind me that love

is everywhere

and

can take many

forms

~ first published in Sketchbook

"back to LAX"

artwork: norman j. olson

“back to LAX”

by Norman J. Olson

my eyes roll across the dusty floor
through spilled coffee
and
out the door…
like a cockroach among the ladybugs,
I have to leave… I have to
become another metal mole on the 405…

I see swirls of lights that
William Blake could not have imagined
in his wildest dreams
of heaven and hell… yellow sparks
in the night and cars
everywhere but no
people… no legs or lips…
no hair or hips…

just electrons firing photons
through
red plastic and tricks of memory…

imagine Francois Boucher standing by
the freeway
with his wig blown sideways… with his big
palette
and tiny brushes painted with
road dust… imagine a horrible teal
green seeping through
the craquelure of
this oily vision

vast shards of unbroken
plate glass are mirrors and
I guess Joni Mitchell was right that
smoky
clouds
are angel hair
but where
in this tangle of
cartwheeling street lights and
spasms
have the angels
gone?

~ first published in Ascent Aspirations

a visit to the museo del prado

artwork: norman j. olson

a visit to the museo del prado

 by Norman J. Olson

I saw an El Greco man

in the museum today, dangling

gangling

arms… 

I saw pictures of flying

gods swarming like all the monkeys

of Oz…  pictures of

conquistadors

in gilt frames

on guilty walls…  genocidal nazis, yes, but

for all of that tough sons of bitches,

in gray painted grieves reflecting

specks of

16^th Century light…  imagine that light

hopping like a rabbit down mullioned halls,

vaulting

through vast webs

of empty and black painted space…

a woman with a face like a seashell

closed a shutter to keep the evening sun from touching

the wall…  imagine…

I heard a voice crying out

in English…  too loud

in

the echoing galleries…  cursing…

I hoped it was not my voice…

I hoped it was not my bloody hands

tearing at the gray painted

shackles

of light

and time…

~ first published in Ascent Aspirations