Walking out of the deserted white building into a mystical and hidden garden where no one has stepped for hundreds of years. Stone benches and sculptures covered with weeds... Unkempt hedges blossoming into the sky. The sounds of silence except for a distant harps. Wandering through this world of bluebells, columbines, lupens, scattered sweet peas, clovers and apple blossom trees. The trickling of water from a rusted stone mermaid. Just floating over the lush flowers, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of infinite wilderness... It is a sunny day, the white structure far in the background. The gold arches of Greek Gods gaurding into the distance. The scent of the small berries and moss and jasmine streaking the sky. I wander endlessly looking for a clue to the lost powers of the ancient world, before the winding vines of past wisteria.
(this poem is inspired by the song Ian Fish, UK Heir on Buddah of Surburbia. I wrote this whole poem while listening to that song. This imaginary place is derived from the gardens outside the Eastman House in Rochester, New York.)
Man of Power, Man of Beauty Man of Awe, Man of Grace The endless crooning beyond compare. Visions of dancing in the universe, spending a day in space. Speed of light zapping through the sky. Beautiful fauna and ferns of a Rococo painting. The constant pattering of rain in a garden, the thunder of spikes of icecycles peircing glass. The bubble bum architecture of Las Vegas and the looming towers of London spinning before your eyes. The horrific advancement to the end of the world. The exact moment of being suspended upside down on a 200 foot rollar coaster. The groanings of griffens and small creatures in magical lands. The grinding power of the gun, a murdering sex machine. The John Travoltesque trend of a pulsating beat. The pouring green punch on yellow striped plastic bellbottoms. The pathetic moanings of Ramona, the arrogant violence of Ziggy, the artful tactics of Chinagirl. The twirling of the fabrics of the universe and raining of gold diamonds from the sky. A true genius, bursting in the climax of life. The nuances of space. The man who sold the world with wonderful songs of all shapes, sizes, colors and internsities.
(Here I am applying David's numerous styles to visions that pop in my head at the spur of the moment. I want to celerate the diversity of his musical genius.)