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My Art Blog:

ARTRIFT: To visit ARTRIFT, click HERE . This site has recieved over 500,000 visits...and is considered one of the best fine arts blogs on the web.

I also maintain a website: www.rickvisser.com

And here is some of my POETRY:  

THE PERSPICACITY OF ANGELS

The perspicacity of angels
Crosses over the domain of drifters,
Terrorists gravitate toward it's bleak edge
Without their conscious knowledge or tender intent,
It's application stressed by those who wait.

Last night my friend and traveling companion
Stopped and knocked after everyone
Had given up on the day,
As I opened the door I knew
The perspicacity of angels was clinging
To his coarse and stubbly beard,
The night then was so terribly bright
A new morning dawned long before midnight.

Published in 'Blue Light Review.'

I WONDERED

I wondered how I was supposed to react
Seeing you propped in bed on a metal bowl
Your life flowing silently into it's cold bottom
Drugged to the wall, your tongue thick.
I was young and we had spoken little
Nor reached beyond the deflected distance
Divided by a book, table top, and music.
You offered me the edges of your world, affection
Given in objects, ritual counters tendered

In close space, an uncoiling view --
Dante, Dore, Aida and the Eskimos.
Enough time has passed to witness
My first-born listening to your music
Waiting for her lover to flow in silently.
I did not keep all your books, but I did
Your gifts, and your photograph which I took
While you must have known why.

Published in 'Writer's Forum.'

ONSET OF WINTER

Each time I go deeply
Into winter,
Cold crisp nights close
On my exposed skin
From where I rise
Hovering in the lights of great
Tree trunks glowing
Over canyons of dust.

One cannot call this
Depression, when Cezanne
Gestures with folded hands,
And each leave's agitation -
Living or dying -
Compliments the song
Of many small bells,
Exhaust cleansed again
From our ancient and very fresh blood.

One calls it instead an invitation,
Or, if you are able,
Take a moment to ask Jonah
What he now thinks of winter.

Published in 'Parnassus.'

SUMMER OF SMOKE

This is the summer of smoke
Of ash flakes dusting our finest finish
Orange sun over invisible mountains
Voices of Puccini arias in the cool morning
Sunflowers challenging even the fastest car

Such trees overpowering the cattle
Standing silent in the black night
Looking down, another head up unmoving
Old broom fallen down where the weeds grow
In paths worn too narrowly for the moon

Each by itself --
Shadows on your white slippers
Moon on your back
Rain outside our room
Gate slightly ajar.

Published in 'Windhorse.' 

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