Frog and The Crocodile: A Poem and Painting by C.T. Rasmuss.

                                                              Frog and The Crocodile; Closeup

Frog and The Crocodile

Chaos Theory is string is long,

the scientists say is Earth to Sun..

Mankind hums his lonely song
“Where the hell are we going?”

The Constellations and Planets,

left to countless interpretations
thru naked eyes and human beings,
a constant and never-ending stagnant.

The crocodile envisions his meal

and fulfillment of insatiable appetite,

combating his infinite nasty hunger

for weak and lesser of constellations.

Skeletal remains of an angel fish

stops to stare at the intriguing frog,

who is nesting on his occupied planet;

this odd frog doesn't mind being studied.

He holds a seed, the seed for life, the life

of another planet, similar to the one

he sits so proudly upon; for time sake he

sits patiently, waiting for will to strike!

If there is no movement in the

constellations nor the planets

then how is it: that the crocodile

and this frog came to meet?

On a path, traveling from one galaxy

to the next, a darkened forced known

as carelessness treads along in a vehicle,

without regard for even it's own presence.

Frog and The Crocodile  C.T. Rasmuss, acrylic (2013).

Some Men: A Poem by C.T.Rasmuss.

Some Men   C.T. Rasmuss, mixed media/juxtaposed-grayscale (2013).

Some Men

Taming doubt and mastering grand

illusions of the impossible,

do these factor in Mr. Keats;

into your theorem of consolation?

“Beauty is truth, truth beauty”!

Some men need to know more.

Exploring an inexhaustible system of caverns

masked with lavish odors of tasty Mint Julip:

streams of relevant hopes cascade along,

emptying waste and spoils into an epicenter

of shipwrecked faith and smashed dreams.

Some men unfortunately drift out to sea.

Chronicles of captain's bliss, read softly aloud

upon vast lands of turmoil and vengeance;

all the while, its impressionable audience being

captured by sidewinder speeches, hissed by

forked tongues wrapped in corrupted silhouette.

Some men find themselves stranded ashore.

In the wake of God's infinite brilliance

it is beckoned to us all that:

“Men shalt not live by bread alone...”

Perhaps because in a muffled den of thieves,

virtuous men would drop like flies!

Signal...Some men pray on their knees.

Endearing temptations to reach something greater:

souls of isolation steer clear into magnanimous wake.

Relentless subordination to fierce elements and tide,

the artist, records his findings with a naive brush;

attained destination is relevant, given with each stroke.

Some men go on, continue bailing out their boats.

Basking in a hypnotic Amber light, graciously cast

by smoldering embers, crackling, becoming internalized:

ashes continue piling into the outstretched urn of time.

Flickering from petrified dreams of youth, mortality gains

acceptance from its morality, with fully glazed eyes;

Some men wade in a pool of eternity.

John Keats: Is This the Truth and Beauty you Imagined? A poem b y C.T.Rasmuss

Some Men  C.T. Rasmuss, India Ink/acrylic/pastels (2013).

First and foremost I'm an artist, and as an artist I give myself the freedom to express my intentions any which way I please!

Lately I've been working on a series which has nothing to do with which I wish to express via this 'blog'...what is..relevant is the poem which I've been working on, a poem which is intended for a local poetry contest.  

You see...writing/poetry is my White Whale, so I've devised a plan to pursue this eluded art-form as well as apply my strengths as a visual artist into another field; a sort of self satisfying experiment if you will, or more like a form of self validation as well as spiritual release, But as always I give my utmost attention to truth, beauty and Humanity(with God's blessing of course).

 Some Men (1st rough draft)

Taming Doubt and Mastering

Illusions of the Impossible,

Is this part of the truth and beauty 

we need to know of, Mr. Keats?

In the wake of God's infinite Brilliance;

it is told to us, "Men shall not

live by bread alone, but..."

perhaps in a world of thieves,

virtuous men would drop like flies!

Some men still pray on their knees.

The Chronicles of Bliss softly read

upon the lands of turmoil;

while it's impressionable audience

is captivated by speeches

of those corrupted silhouettes.

Some men are bailing out their boats.

Endearing to reach something greater

souls of isolation in magnanimous quake,

subordination to the fiercest elements,

an artist records his findings with a brush

attained destination is relevant with every stroke

Some men are stranded ashore.

In a system of bountiful caverns

masked with a lavish odor of Mint Julep

streams of irrelevant hope cascades along, 

emptying its spoils into the epicenter of 

smashed dreams and crushed faith.

Some men drift out to sea

In light of smoldering embers of mortality

flickering from petrified dreams of youth;

Some men choose to wade out eternity.

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