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Visual Art & Poetry by Jo Forrest

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Keywords: canadian poetry, canadian art, canadian visual art, canadian poets, canadian fiction,
canadian writers, canadian photography, canadian literary magazine, canadian art magazine,
canada's art magazine, canadian poetry contests, free poetry contests
"mobius #208 verse:13"
27 x 45"
Acrylic on canvas/mixed media collage
Artist's statement:
Art is the emotional,
made physical by this,
time, and objects made of bone,
and death's immortal kiss.
(the sentimental object, #242 verse:12)
Biography of Jo Forrest
I live in Glenarm, Ontario. I have been doing visual poetry for about 15 years.  I won Best in Show
for a poem/collage called "Sacrifice", at the Robert McLaughlin Gallery in Oshawa in July 2010.
I show at the Lindsay Gallery, in Lindsay, and have won an Honourable Mention for 'The Oracle of
Pain" verse:5, in 2014, and for a collage/book/poem called "The Book of the Dead, volume 2", in
2013.  I'm from Gibsons, B.C.  I taught stained glass at the Arts Resource Center, in Oshawa, Ont.
for seven years.  I am now retired.
Also published by Kirk Ramdath
"Engaging human life and critiquing
human society". Publishes socially
engaged poetry, fiction, photography,
visual art, spoken word, and more.
http://eleventhtransmission.com.
Publishes fiction and photography.
http://phoenixphotofiction.com.
Publishes poetry, visual art, and
photography.
http://weeklypoems.com.
"The creativity and thought of young
people". Submissions open to persons
under 25 years of age. Publishes poetry,
fiction, visual art, photography, spoken
word, and more.
http://axilpoetryart.com.
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"mobius, #208 verse:9"
36 x 22 1/2"
Acrylic/mixed media on canvas/poetry
Artist's statement:
Memory is a celluloid ghost trapped in amber,
time wears a crown of dinosaur bones,
victory burns the book of the dead,
words are satan's voodoo dolls,
death counts backwards from ten,
love is a satellite in a decaying orbit.
I sing like a machine,
heavy...
metal.
black apple for 'ephemera'
#219 verse:13
30 x 30"
Acrylic/mixed media on canvas
Artists statement:
This is the victory of time over memory.
Leonard Cohen's right, poems should be sung,
they should be celluloid ghosts trapped in amber.
Call Tim Burton and k.d. lang,
tell them I'm coming.
Listen,
even when you speak,
you sing.
ephemera                                                                

We cloak ourselves in darkness,                                                                                
it's like velvet on our skin,
we're waiting in the shadows
for the chaos to begin.

We'll burn the books like firewood,
we'll exorcize the night,
then those who sought salvation
will remember who was right.

The moon will rise an hour late,
anonymous and new,
tonight the dreams of those who live forever
will come true.

I dressed up like a circus clown
to watch the last parade,
you tapped your watch and told me that
the rain would be delayed.

Seven days have passed since I
sold everything I had,
'relics', said the ferryman,
are just a passing fad.

I took you to the river's edge,
the boat took you across,
you left your bloody skeleton
submerged beneath the moss.

I own my skin, and nothing else,
Anubis owns my heart,
I carry your dismembered body
in a shopping cart.

I wrapped your bones in paper but
in time they turned to stone,
the dark abyss of silence is
the grave of the unknown.

Your silver eyes reflect the sky,
who knows how far they see,
memory's a burning house
of smoke and prophecy.

If you wait forever then
the stars will twinkle out,
this is what the book of incantations
is about.

The devil snapped his fingers once
and turned into a snake,
he said you have to resurrect the dead
when you're awake.

How far is it to paradise?
How far is it to hell?
Maybe you know right from wrong,
but no one else can tell.

'Apple', said the devil
with a teardrop in his eye,
he'd sell you his immortal soul,
but all you want is pie.

You're the fruit, and I'm the branch,
but gravity's the king,
we've passed the point of no return,
where 'down' is everything.



mobius

I drove through Kapuskasing
with a zombie in the trunk,
I found him in a topless bar,
pretending to be drunk.

I drove through Kapuskasing
with my phasers set to stun,
there's nothing so insidious
as turning into one.

I drove through Kapuskasing
in a stolen chevrolet,
I remember deja vu
like it was yesterday.

I drove through Kapuskasing
to avoid the third world war,
exuding toxic chemicals
from every single pore.

I drove through Kapuskasing
with a man named Oberon,
he said to put the hammer down,
and baby, I was gone.

I drove through Kapuskasing
with a bottle in my hand,
bowing to temptation
in this never never land.

I drove through Kapuskasing
in an alcoholic haze,
glowing like a firefly
in oh so many ways.

I drove through Kapuskasing
in a diamond-studded bra,
the devil gave me apples,
but that's not against the law.

I drove through Kapuskasing
my virginity intact,
the thin veneer of purity,
ever so slightly cracked.

I drove through Kapuskasing
with a map to paradise,
the devil gives directions,
but you have to pay the price.

I drove through Kapuskasing
for the twenty-seventh time,
the bobble-headed Elvis
was as silent as a mime.

I drove through Kapuskasing
with a rose between my teeth,
I stripped the skin from beauty
to reveal the bones beneath.

I drove through Kapuskasing
past the point of no return,
I wacked him with a cricket bat,
but zombies never learn.
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