~ fall 2oo8 ~
issue #11

IMAGES

steve hammond

WORDS

archives: daniel stewart

Circumstance

Not I

White Striped Red

Water and Moon

Bio

Circumstance

Thrown shadows leap
the weathered bark
like dry parchment;
dancing tattoos
surf fitfully
athwart gray skin.
Driven by wind,
the blown branches.
The stones, trodden, blond
speckled, ancient dust,
ingesting sun light,
harden in color—
heated with stoic
inanimateness.
Stone dust eager to
be seen as marble.
Piercing, a bird’s bellow
prompts the subtle movement
of sand, wind-blown, whirling,
feverishly shaping
the stones, who, like anvils
are battered quietly.
Struck by mirrored mallets,
sand aching to be stone.
Lightning introduces rain
in cacophonous white, flash—
an old photo framed by clouds
which drape the sun in blue smoke
and begin the maddening
plunge of unwavering rain.
Darkened branches left to weep
over stones fixed in damp sand.

© Daniel Stewart

Not I

Poet.
The image
that arises, prescribed,
a cigarette smoking cliché
enveloped in narcissism
and false introspection;
discarding courage for pomposity.

Painter.
The cultural caricature
that lay suspended, waiting
to be drawn out, a ghost
in trance, in dance with muse,
twitching from social maladjustment;
speaking in sodden color.

Writer.
The scratching, lexicon
ridden hat rack
that imprisons
the head,
held by the arbitrary
designations that discard communication
for semantics.

Art as a biological function,
an evolved human need;
innate desire to inspect,
to beautify, in situ.
No, I am not the dead genius of the artist.
I am a reflection
of the art in which I live.

© Daniel Stewart

White Stripes Red

50 states,
congressional template,
staples, paper clips and paperweights;
50 stars,
back-door lobbyists,
shadowed populists;
signatures getting lap danced in topless bars
and cargo crates.
Lines of pipe piles
cement on corporate insider rail rights.
Old world new money in its 515^th round
is the heavy weight fight of a life,
paraded by well known profiles on floats;
plastic orchards and golden lawns yelling Stroke!
to rowing Mexicans eluding hounds,
while media takes tea on the deck of Aztec tiles.
Puppet tongue
13 strings and stripes,
Bill of Rights
red and white blood cellblock injection,
overdosed deflation;
tax fed pig lies, apple pie in mouth,
digested in the gaping jaws
of a bio chemical plant.
Military ant
dances,
but doesn’t take chances
on the magnifying glass in the sun.

© Daniel Stewart

Water and Moon

Water spills over the crevices of the dry basin.
Waiting, silver warriors circle to ensnare the migration
of darting, frantic travelers, who push the rushing tide
toward the openings in the sandy coast.
Claws and beaks drop from above
to batter and punish the surface of the water
as the gulls screech encouragement to the assassins below.
The land sits, cracked, welcoming the water
to lift and set into motion countless crystals of sand.
The moon grows weary, and, retiring, calls to her the whole of the world’s water.

© Daniel Stewart

Daniel Stewart lives in St. Augustine, FL and states, "I live off of food and water, I breathe oxygen, I'm a husband, father, graduate of Rutgers University, collection of electricity in a shell, exchange station for molecules, and finally, naked ape. In actuality, I believe along the lines of Roland Barthes. The author is dead the minute the writing is accomplished. The reader invents his own author using the signifier on the page to make a relevant connection with the culture in which s/he live. The art is in the process of writing; the capturing of countless influences to be bottle necked into scattered phrases. The reader reinvents the phrases when s/he reads them." To contact this writer, click here.