Alex Nodopaka , conceived in Ukraine & first exhibitionist show in 1940 Russia. Finger-painted in Austria, 1946 doodled & sketched since. Studied tongue-in-cheek at the Ecole des Beaux Arts, Casablanca, Morocco, 1958. Since 1959 lives in the USA where he is a full time artist, art instructor, art judge, self-appointed art critic and pretends to write poetry.
~ Samson & Delilah ~
Arms flailing and gasping for air
Samson struggles from his deep sleep
To his surprise he can't see or breathe
His mouth and eyes bound by silken threads
But so is Delilah's Venus mound
Intricately laced like Venetian glass
Her twat is also zipped
Barred by our mutual magnetic
North-North poles repulsion
South-South are now imprisoned
Arachnae has spun an intricate web
Pearly dew still drips
Droplets swing rung to rung
Like midget acrobats
Liquid gravity takes its toll
It vibrates the maze
Rousing Arachnae's attention
There's no time to escape from her
Except this time
For us to re-enter its worm-like mouth
Where time is spun
We must understand
There will be times when time
Will be absent from our time
When we're swallowed
by worm's leading edge of time
~ Blind acrobatics ~
nothing of caffeine
nothing about skating
All I know
is that ice is slippery
and a mirror that may or not
reflect your psyche
It is a mathematical corollary
of how many times
the blade of the skate
crisscrosses your soul
branding your lips
with which you speak
But to brush a kiss on a frog
in heavy fog is blind acrobatics
~ 1776 ~
someone from Russia
said that the turkeys that think too much
die from thinking
it turned out no one needed to carbon date me
I stuffed myself with Polish sausage
and we all had me for Thanksgiving
God Bless 1776!
~ Cosmic Clock ~
This is pure and simple synchronicity!
I dreamt of another Woman and
her inverted image reflected off your mirror.
My unadulterated imagination,
registered an upturned negative
which I metamorphosed
into an upright positive.
Yet it shall never be the flesh
and blood of you, all it can be is
a diffracted, barely perceived hologram
contained in the shards of your personality!
I've written pages and pages in my head and
now, exhausted, I reduced the chapters
to one sentence:
We tick to a common cosmic clock
cross-pollinating from flower to flower
each season originating ingenuity.
~ Entrechat ~
Look Ma! No hands!
I am all grown up now and
I can do the S&M on my tiptoes!
The satyrs are here
only to whet the bone under my tutu
and the crow is there only for its feather
to exacerbate my itch!
They all are hungry, waiting their turn
after Misha leaps outta
*Ladies' tooter :p in French slang
The poem is a play on word between 'entrechat', a dancer's term, 'chatte' (cat) and 'entre chats' (between pussycats) in the same language.