Sunday, November 23, 2014

Native American Art in Postmodern Times

Verses by Dr Abe V Rotor
 Indian dance to pop music,
its rhyme and rhythm lost;
what music lacks costume fills,
but at pseudo fashion cost  
 A single tree in a lake of snow;
orphaned from the woods I know;
the prairies where once they roamed 
these horses are all but doomed.   
Which run faster, feet or stream?
coherent words or scream?
witness the houses and flowers,
the idleness  before the showers.  
 A world of fantasy in Exupery's The Little Prince
save for a fox untamed and a stairway to the sky,  
amid night butterflies and day roses sans thorns - 
a potpourri of events in a setting false and wry.   

Fireworks, but whose and for whom -
doesn't matter, if at the bidding end, 
such spectacle by man genius is open,
more to the poor and the children. 
If Jack and the Beanstalk is still alive,
here is a scene to ponder and compare, 
to dream of the goose that lays the golden egg,
with thousands at their bidding simply stare.  
 Do you still believe in Santa Claus?
If you believe, then you do not know;
and if you know, then you don't believe.

Just listen to the soft falling snow. ~

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