Poetry & Art by Stuart Hampton

Poetry & Art

by Stuart Hampton

The Mandlebrot set

Beyond white wheels and shifting tides, a spere of eyes glistens
Ruby red and emerald green are noticed by the not-to-be seen as a presence neither man nor machine, listens.

Form and figure take many shapes and no conclusions are made
Ideas flashing curiously with colour are embraced and forgotton in this ever-weaving wind of symmetrical difference like a peacocks plummage in a playful parade.

The feeling I get

The forest, the tree, a water wave
The boundless sea, a crystal cave
An island beyond, the earth below
Combined and united by a simple glow-
The feeling I get.

The feeling I get as my world unfolds
Like petals of light on an etheric rose
The essence stays as my body grows
To a destination no-one knows.

A seemingly seamless expressionate whole
Both inner and outer, yet nothing at all
Its all for one and one for all
Nothing is set- Its a feeling I get.

Daily

She not I passed three lanes through orange room seven.
A line rung yellow around dry wall sixteen.
Nose flow crash waved last steel ribbon as lines find time to unwind and recombine.

A shrill cream flicker lost brown droplets of wave.
From nothing sudden space filled room stirred chaos.
I chose to be here with the intention to move on.

The blue man and sight we lost thickened.
Rustle unanswered symbolic vision.
Red bars and talking black shapes will visitors to engage.

I never relived long enough to weave a tapestry of concise complete.
But who said the winds picture wasn’t neat.
My scattered whole frames a window of ever-changing singularity.

Zebra-Universe Part 1 & 2

How do spoons bend under the slim hog-light of cow hooves cactus?
In the purple broccoli-wood music box an orchid sang sweet potato.
The rusty Velcro roots of old seasons musk crack and whip with whistles and sparks.
Along sandpaper dunes eagles dropped a million daisy’s until the sand was white.
A similar thing the next day.

How does a butterfly melt when Orange is sacrificed?
Never has old grey mountain forged a time encrusted plane.
Buzz of black and yellow buzz through a dot and then a hole.
Until a shadow holds a droplet of light-crackle bang bang.
The tumbling rocks clang through plastic tubes and footsteps become prints in the sand.

Election

Rooster- you mustard loose.
Jelly fish for un-comings.
A brass hole with handle,
And it squeaks a clapping corn.
A mighty dog ruffle.
Rule said blue-drop.
The fist fell high, crack.
The moths sprayed wing-dust,
Then everyone could fly.
Rooster- you mustard loose.

Pete Townshend Stuart Hampton brooklyn brooklynvoice Pete Townshend