Contrast (an acrostic poem)

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Cold, cold logic sets fire to my imagination

Oblivious to the pain, I draw out tears of joy

Nothing can stop me but myself

That’s what makes creating so hard.  It’s destroying simple things

Reaching the basic elements and then building complex structures on them

Always digging deeper and climbing higher

Searching for the thing that is always with you

That is the war of the abstract and realism that defines me

Factory (an acrostic poem)

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Focused on manufacturing

And maximizing profits

Creating parts and pieces for consumption

Then spitting them out into the hopefully accepting world

Ordering the chaos of creation into ridged steps

Reaching for peek throughput and yields

Yet that damn Murphy was always on the visitor’s list

Innovate (an acrostic poem)

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It all comes down to creating something new

Not that it is easy, but with inspiration and perspiration

New things can come into existence

Of course you hope to capture lightning in a bottle

Value of your creation skyrockets, your company declared a unicorn

And you would be hailed as a genius

That is all well and good, but first do the hard part

Envision a new future and make it happen

Chart (an acrostic poem)

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Creating pictures to represent data

Has a power unto its own

And we react to that image in about a half a second

Reaching conclusions without really knowing the story behind it

That is why even though a picture is a thousand words, they could all be lies

Dance (an acrostic poem)

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Deep bass notes punctuated the melody

Announcing it was time to get up

Nascent instincts awaken and bodies begins to move

Creating a kinetic ephemeral work of art

Even though some of the pieces need some tweaking

Click (an acrostic poem)

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Can it be we are a time that the number of likes is a metric of success?

Leaving empty falsehoods and catchy memes the currency of the realm

It is sad that each one of us has to become fact checkers to just exist

Creating a media weariness that affects all of us to one degree or another

Keeping us dreading, yet secretly addicted to, that next mouse ….

Gallery (an acrostic poem)

 

Gazing on the works of art

All scattered around the floor and walls

Left Marcus speechless

Long ago he wanted to be an artist

Every moment of every day he was constantly drawing

Realizing eventually that making a living at creating art was not in the cards

Yet stealing it….

 

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