Defensive Stance - Art/ Poetry/ Music (Collaboration)

I am pleased to share with you; my most recent collaboration with abstract Artist: Sophia.
Sophia is a fine Arts graduate, independent studies in Florence, Italy. Awarded student in Literature and Drama. Art shows in solo expositions, selling Art in America and overseas. Speaks English, French, Italian, and working on German. Sophia is also a great friend and one with whom, I have enjoyed many in-depth conversations on topics such as: Art; Quantum Physics; AI Technologies and many other interesting and varied subjects. Take a look at Sophia's other work here: http://sophiafine.com/main/

I have used Sophia's painting (below), as inspiration to write the poem. I have also decided to use Eva Cassidy's song: True colours, as I think, it fits very well with both the painting and the poem. Performing his beautiful rendition of the song on Keyboard/Piano is: Simon from Malaysia. Simon shows such grace and refinement when he plays, he is a joy to watch, as well as, to listen too. I believe that Simon has a tutorial about how to play this magnificent Song - Here's his Channel:  http://www.youtube.com/user/malaysiansimon

 Press play; scroll down to the Painting and Poem - Read; view; listen and enjoy!

The above image: Copyright © 2006-2011 Sophia's Fine Art.

Title: Defensive Stance

Hidden depths trying to surface

Intention resides, always a purpose

Feelings outed, become surplus

So we take the stance: Guarded safe

Hidden colours, for a defensive sake.

Bright deep hue, as colours seep through

A thin wash of white, keeps it all inside;

But no matter, how hard you try

True colours will always rise;

Through a thin white guise.

Defensive stance, but truth never lies.

True colours mark the cries

bleeding through: veneered white eyes.

Passion, fear, love and hate

All enclosed, within a pearly state.

As we contemplate: "defensive stances"

Able now, to give others chances;

Beyond that, which we might;

If we don't see past, the initial sight!

Hidden depths, brought into the light.

Defensive stance: examined; released;
Sitting now, in attitudes of peace.

To Forgive Or Not To Forgive? That Is The Question.

Hear them shudder; see them shake, as they contemplate their fate; on long lonely moonlit nights.

Blackened Stone begets blackened stone; hearts set to roam alone; thine self fulfilling and forlorn prophecy.

Demand life's coloured claret, in vengeful hate and thine own certain peril is marked in graves.

Debt and fines, created in minds; purposefully executed warrants; besieged thine quacking enemy; relieved of breath!




Instantaneously, a dark wish fulfilled; a slaughtered enemy lays down killed, payment forced upon their soul.

No redemption came; no offer to change; no mercy to give; no compassion shown - love flown.

Family scribed with tears on tomb, friends pay respect and life is missing an important part.

Fallout: families crumble from the pain, killed more than one heart, when the enemy was slain.




Now, we reach the latter part, I'll endeavour to show you; Hell, on a round rock:

To swim In a sea of vengeance; without getting wet; can never be a sure bet!

Bathed in thine charge of honour; Splashed with waves of thine bitterness,  undercurrents dragging; washed up!

Karmic harmonics align; manifests thoughout lifetime; dreams ceased, plans awry, blackened hearts bound to die, sigh!




Forgiveness and forget is your only debt, hard to manage, but mastered; will leave no regret!

Forsake: to take a pink stone and make it black, for the sake of striking back.

For your own redemption, your own peace of mind, refuse to live in shadowy moonlit nights.

Understand these words if none other: Forgiveness is a selfless act; forgiveness is a selfish act.

In A Heart Beat

A blip; A beat; A gust of wind
Come and gone in rapid haste
Life starts its end, when it began
So quickly stopped, a heart's clock
A blip; A beat; A gust of wind
A shallow grave, in sands of time
A pointless dream? or a ride sublime?
The blip, beat and gust are mine!
Choosing fun as my guide
If only for the shortest of time
A blip; A beat; A gust of wind.

Yaz The Doghead

Choices

I write about the light, in our world
the troubles too, I find
and out of my mind, they sometimes slip
The negative viewpoint, that no good
pinprick!
I vowed that light should win the day.
Darkness there, but hidden away.
There's too much darkness having its say
I'll not let my demons out
like Bukowski so often did.
The pain lives on eternally.
So make a choice and set yourself free
I'll face the journey with joyess gratitude,
my choice being mine
choice not allowed to control my mind.
If i were to spue, from my mouth ,
that which i really knew.
Hank would down a bottle or two.
Half a dozen or more than a few.
Because, yeah . . . . . . . . . .
It can get really dark at times.
So what do you have left?
Just an empty bottle, baccy: empty sack?
Or did you journey on,
through all the pointless pain?
With a smile in your heart
and a careless regard.
You'll have left, this fulfilling Facade.
And that, is what you'll have left
instead of a dry bottle, baccy: empty sack.

Hast Thou?

Souls dancing against the din
Hast thou seen them in the night?
Cast out demons with a howling fright
Souls trampling, minds scrambling
Hast thou seen them crying in the night?
and in the day walking tall,
all lion like their looks and proud growls
Souls doing the jive just to stay alive
Hast thou seen them never feared.
Hast thou seen them and seen their tears
Alone, in a mind they are still dancing
Dancing on and dancing with death
Hast thou seen them on a lonely road?
Will you see them? will you choose to see them
They are there and waiting to be seen.
Hast thou seen them, art thee one of them?
Souls dancing against the din.

Artless World

How Deeply black that World without Art
How truly awful that beating Heart
Minds exploding voluntarily to escape
The war of Monotony taking place
on landscapes of level and plain fields
No relief from the pains and strains
No fleeting moment, nor respite, at ones door
No escaping that persistent condition
No remedy in grasp or in vision
No beauty in the cell, grey matter
Where grey only does dwell
Dark and dank, miserable and Hostile
Broken souls with no will, of their own.
We couldn't endure, survive, live-on
With a vacuous primary there can be no other.
Desperately clinging to any form with potential
And hoping just hoping that it might
One day shine bright in this World without Art.
I'd smuggle some in, if it were possible
And damn the consequences, for a worthwhile cause.
I'd import a small part of art into this rotting core
Then I'd stand back in Macroscopic view

And watch that tiny piece spread and grow
I'd watch the faces nurture smiles wider and wider
As art engulfs, rather than passes them by
Journeying throughout this blank palette:  the planet.
Art, into a big black hole, and the new World is filled
With abundance, radiating, reverberating, throughout the globe.

 The old primary removed and reform taken place
Art replaced, that outdated game, once standing so high.
Now that old primary, makes no more and does die.
Art for the masses, art for the few, Art in the World, it's for me and for you.

Words Travelling

Words travelling, an intriguing path
Can make you cry, or even laugh
Set the future; record the past.
Words tossed; words designed to last.
To design a World that's good for all
To inspire the young, to provide a cure
All the while, creating: aspirations abound.
Did you know, words are double crowned?
Take a look at what can be found!
It may not delight, but it will certainly astound.
Watch! Don't be a rabbit lost in the round.
Have a look but come back to solid ground.
Keep the best and disregard the rest;
In circular illusions and square memes
Words: the translator of a mind's dreams
The inventors I think, did like their laugh:
If you ask me, this is what, they had to saith
"Now get off your resting place, read my epitaph"
Left their lines of lights, in darkened minds
Words travelling on intriguing paths
Words are bound to us and bound to last .
Because I am you and you are me
We read or write, we lead the fight,
We light the night and embrace the day.
We clasp in joy, everyone, from day one, on.
From the very first time, that the sun shone
Words are mighty, in sword form.
They sometimes mimic, a bird of a feather
Tickling, the nether, nether. . .nether.  .erm?. . .nether :)
A shelter, in a stormy port.
A port in a stormy, weather storm.
Words are oceans, filled with drawn out notions
Words are the potions, that guide our emotions
Words travelling on intriguing paths.
Words can change hearts, do the maths.

It's Not Ideal

Belief in a stream, above all others,
equals, equal eyes; covered!
"It", is only that we aspire to, "it"
An ideology and ideally WE;
Should diverge the direction;
Use inutition, not a rigid goal.
Never one solution, to the whole.
Don't throw your lot, into a hole.
"It", is only that we use a guide;
An ideal chased, then put aside!
For an ideal equal, every side.
Negotiation, skill and intelligence
Empathy; friendship; souls entwined.
No need for weapons, just brilliant minds.
Now walk with me, as we write these lines:
"Humans are humans, so where's the divide."
And where ever lines intersect
We should always, engage our intellect.
Not based in fear, nor in regret
Minds can change, they're not rigid set.

Today We Party

Tired of writing about: Duality; Politics; Science; Mythology; Philosophy; Human emotions; Natural disasters; bankers and all of the other dross. Give me a party today, for I may not live to see tomorrow - Carpe diem. Today will be a fine celebration, of the here and now. We'll drink and frolic, cast off the stolid, let us dance, give me your hand, let's dance i implore you, today we hold the World in our hands. We shall close our eyes - We, will! look towards the starry sky and we will! call this day ours. Let us dress now, in glimmering gowns; shining colours that match the sounds. Bass beats arithmetical, accompanies our wonderfully wilful bliss. Today, my friends: will be a haughty jaunt, of the Ecstasy sort. We'll forget our troubles and sing instead, we'll celebrate that we're living and not zombie dead. Today, the knocks, will not knock us, the pain, will be pleasure and our minds will be treasure. Shall we dance some more? Shall we forget what we saw; what we know; what we were - Hold my hand then and I'll shake your bones. Today we don't do boxes, cages or pens; today, is about, you and me friends. On this glorious love filled day, we shall, be clock kings and queens; able to ignore the dawn: an intrusive moon and the setting sun. Bass keeps on beating when the music's gone, there's only one thing left to do: Party on!

Bubble Pop

Lend me your eyes and I will help you to see.
I come not to shelter, but burst a brutish bubble.
And destroy the stagnant Oxygen, encased within.
Purified by the abundance, of free and fresh air.
Perforated perfection, restores a balance lost.
A mere micro bubble within the Macro bubble - Micro-pop!
And Jim's "Tears of wine", will soon depart.
Surface tension is reversed, subversion dispersed.
Flimsy film with golden hues, in a spherical cap collapses,
Golden bows of droplets, rain down on all around,
That bigger bubble gets to shine, down on hallowed ground.
With Zero curvature mean design, golden hues, travel the line
Equally endowed and all allowed, to taste, a morsel, of freedom.

Empress

I swear to your face, I swear in your face
and I swear that you still don't care.

I swear, I swear and I swear, it gets me nowhere.

I swore I wouldn't swear, but it just isn't fair.
I swore I'd try to square your eye, fie upon that lie.
I swear that's how I started out;
Circumference surrounding, have ye no doubt.
I swear by the great unknown, that; by which I stand.
Outside of logic, there's another land.
A place unknown, the enlightenment missed.
Shadow cast, darkened moon; lots of doubt.
Obfuscated, obscured; erased; cast out.
I see a darkened corner, in a room full of light
I see a spark of pre-conscious creation: complex.
Empress, clothed in a dusky dress.
She offers up the answers, through the mess.

No force, no stress; she's less than less.
She's the exquisite tune, in nothingness.

Writer's Curse.

The paradox of a writer's curse
With spacious purse, empty
and a requirement to be reimbursed
for every verse; blood spattered sweat!
An urge for recognition wraps tentacles;
of boa's; tightly grasped onto neck.
Begging opinion: the positive sort at first
and when that doesn't show
Any kind will suffice.
Someone hating, enough to care
Writer's curse laid bare.
And even if it comes, the curse will appear.
Successfully filled that spacious purse
but now I sold that piece of me
and received that recognition
I wish I could go back
And reverse that awful decision.
The curse of networking to prove
Your life's work; your life.
To prove the words weren't
a complete and utter waste.
And then you realise.
What the hell am I doing.
Why am I perpetuating, multiple dream states
upon the biggest dream of all.

Language of Form

Sculpting is the cure: of the requirement to indulge in poetic savagery - A word filled tragedy, of truths that are fantasy. The language of kings can no more say, what it is that I want to portray; than a mouse could convince a feline to relinquish its grip. That thing, that the king; professes the right: born disjointed into the light. King logos arms his troops in a readying rage of war and what for? To protect a division, in the hope of a unifying whole. Language can never deliver this goal, in king logos' realm; it ceases to exist; if it doesn't come complete with an accomplice.

The Sculptor speaks the language of form, in this realm; the whole is the norm, The form speaks a thousand words; in simultaneous harmonious bursts; of poetry; that can cause ones capillaries to explode into a thousand pieces, one for each word of form's, language bursts. The beauty can be likened to musical notes inducing a tear of wonderment; to roll in slow motion, down your blood flushed face. A sense of beauty captured or created by a loving hand. An unexplained flow, that fixates an eye in a semi permanent gaze, awe struck and truly amazed. Polite postures and cheeky curves, sorrowed faces and ones full of glee, this is the language, I can see. The innocence of sleep; the dignity of choice; the power to grow beyond mere existence.

Form, that peasantry queen: I love her language and I create her dream. She begs me to let go; of all that I know, saying things like: "it's all in the flow." So I take her heed and make good speed in leaving king logos' land. I know I'll never find her there, never taste her sweet mysterious charms; her hope inside a gated Kingdom. Become the bird my Prince, she beckoned my call; fly to me on wings of love and faith; in a fragile humanity; outside of a fabled reality, switch from the mind of polarity; to encompass her land with clarity.

Consciousness awakening, free from restraints; but tempered by good will. There you will find me in a land, that speaks a language; that lay deep in my heart. I do my best with words, to shine a torch on this place, but even in form, there has to be space. Oh my wonder, at a glimpse of her; for just one fleeting moment; that seemed to last; for all of time; present and past. The signs are there and all around, but experience is the beast to tame, its hard to explain. It's in the moment, then its gone; replaced by another, perpetually.


Below is one of my sculpture videos; enjoy.

The Attraction of Action

A life weary with a World at odds

Seeks out a sense of familiarity

Yearns it, to divisive destruction

And builds a temple upon quicksand

Next to a boundary, o’er yonder, quicksand

Runs for shelter in a rickety shack

Call it home, a club, a Rome, a dome or a sphere

Its primary cause, is usually fear

Always backed up by a spear, a jagged end

A dagger of death for the other side of a line

A fear that one could think and free their mind

Fear disabling, manifests hate, makes you blind

Don’t be resigned to your blind fate,

Free your mind its never too late, use it to contemplate.

Control the place that feels irate, replace it with action.

If

Fear breeds fear

Hatred breeds hatred

Mistrust breeds mistrust

Jealousy breeds jealousy

 Contempt breeds contempt

Then

Why aren’t we manifesting:

Love breeds love

Peace breeds peace

Trust breeds trust

Self esteem breeds self esteem

Forgiveness breeds forgiveness

So

That we may replace:

Fear with love

Hatred with peace

Mistrust with trust

Jealousy with self esteem

Contempt with forgiveness

In action we manifest, in inaction we fester.

We must concentrate on what it is we desire

Then it is guaranteed to manifest in nature

This is the divine law of the cosmos.

The power lies squarely in our hands

Reading the manual however, isn’t enough.

To know a divine law and not participate

In the action of its manifestation

Is to lose control over ones circumstances

When it was entirely unavoidable.

Eastern Promise Sculpture

Twelve

Twelve gallons of pain
Twelve gallons of petrol,
light the flame
Twelve doves burning
Twelve types of hope yearning
Twelve faces turning
Twelve lost spirits discerning
Twelve grey faced fools
Twelve destructive tools
Twelve purple hearts guiding
Twelve evil souls hiding
Twelve minds blind
Twelve hearts side lined.

The Boy Who Grew

The boy who grew and grew,
he traveled through, an alternate view
And as this little fellow plodded on and on
He grew a little more and every bit of it he shone
Always thought he knew it all
He got so tall, then came the fall,
on one fine day he realised
He knew not one thing, but two to say.
And in knowing not one thing, but two
He realised that he didn't have a clue.
And now that boy, turned into a man.
And how that man still would grow and grow.
Even though, he walked on circular paths.
And spirals were the only maps and a mind that risked
complete collapse, like Cantor, or Nash
Though he found his way back, before the shocks
Avoided the jagged forms of washed up rocks
The boy liked to go into a secret Garden
and pick golden cherries from the tree tops
To come back and communicate what was found
Lay foundations for a future ground,
that are sturdy, safe and sound
Planting seeds in heads and hearts
Organising the core and every ring
Growing leaves and branching out
Don't forget the roots, lying underground.
The boy became a forester in his adulthood
But the man, still longs to connect forest to forest.
Tree to tree is good to see
Tree to tree, is all well and good,
but its still not as sturdy, as solid wood.
So he has a dream daily,
that the forests of the world will become,
one mass of Jungle and a whole lot of fun.
The boy and the man traveled so far
without treading one step or using cars
Reached out and grabbed the stars
He went up and down, round and around
Left and right, planting seeds in open fields
Encouraging them to grow,
feeding the seedlings, 'Nurturing Tales'.
Putting back, on the tracks, fixing broken rails.
The forever growing boy, the forever growing man.
 Traveled where he liked,
disregarding the Status Quo
Like a chef pinches salt: Taking or leaving duality
The garden is a fine principality, it grows a new reality.
One where charity is a byword of sanity, not pedantry.
Not persecution, nor profit pollution, that's hardly a solution.
The boy is a man and the man is the boy
They both treat the World in a united fashion.
See behind the division with complete passion.

Unicorn

Summer Bloom

Laurel

Life's Gamble

Japan

For sorrow born another day;
On sweet meadow torn, set to stay.

Undefined words, cannot say;
Hearts breached, souls washed away.

A dead dog lays beneath his dead master's feet;
Loyal through, right to the end, friends.

A decaying love on bitterly nights.
Children lost in a final frost.

Frozen salted beads; Snow capped hair;
Survivors left out in the cold air.

Homeless in a flash of a retched tidal splash;
Loss beyond compare, A life just isn't fair.

The love lost is the same we share;
Compassion and charity, send it over there.

Triangular burns from invisible flames;
Fifty fearless fighters in Fukushima.

Humanity is prevailing in a World full of tears.

Graham Vivian Sutherland OM

I see a light purple colour
in a fire of pastel flames
Orange flecks of dull hues
O'er head, above the flame
way up high, A bright sky lay
All licked in colour of sun ray beams
now it bursts from the seams
Sutherland's Shadowy friends,
wrapped around forms of a surrealist lens
Where valleys deep and on they roam
Winding, coiling, spiraling, turning 
On paths lighted in the haze
Capturing fields before the war
Owning a landscape in the mind he saw.
Dressing Green blades, in powdery blues,
of fine Pembrokeshire sunny views
Wiped away when peace resigned
A light became a darkened heart.
Though, it did regain, found inspiration
Through all of the pain.
In habitats of nature, it was laying there
on coastal shores, a love was restored.

Its Only A Hand

How a human spirit can be set free, by a kind hand up
To offer up a chance for someone to grow.
And a treasured gift you did bestow, for if you hadn't
Then all of that potential was squashed and repressed
And the World once again was stabbed in the chest
So know that your gift lives on, in a perpetual spin
You made a world well again, you helped with a hand
To heal the pain, so don't ever think that it's all in vein
Circuits of hands, currents of love, powering humanity.

How Why Who

How can I be this strong and yet, be washing my feet
In a basin of my own blood?
Why does a stranger run into a burning house?
And why can't the innocence of a child's eyes,
Continue to view, right through, to adulthood?
Like we somehow, we misunderstood.
Who is brave enough to walk away?
To understand what the others say?
To find common ground in the affray?
How does a difference, Affect a rising sun?
Does it change anything, except killing all the fun?
Why are we still in chains? change C & H for brains,
Reborn from the flames.
Who will take us kicking and screaming;
To a land of broken promises?
And who will lead themselves;
In their own dominion, of temporal kings?

Equinox Dreams

Political strife is critically rife

At what cost is freedom right?

Human life, humanities fight

Forgiveness can heal!

Mercy protector: a bullet reflector.

Global elite drumming their beat.

Propaganda's tune,

The music of a loon.

We will feel the effects, very soon.

One world, one love,

not one world and sell the dove.

Profit last, Humanity first

Corporations driving the Hearse

On faux golden Highways, of the perverse.

Time to reverse or turn around, change direction.

Rid ourselves of this viral infection.

Pay Bridget, with the milk from ewes

Spring festivals and heady revelry

Art, poetry and music, creating carrier waves

to modulate the minds and set us free.

Fun and frolic should be penciled in

Absorbing - feel the love this spring

Bathe in falls of harmony and unity

Rid the World of its perpetual lunacy.

For you and me, I hope you see

What life could really, potentially be.

Lonely Street

White doves with mud on their wings

No bird song sings

Complicity in the silence stings

Peoples worn out slings

Blood red rose buds

Blown to bits with missile scuds

Brave slave

Child's despair

As bodies lay strewn 

on streets that don’t care.

Mocking World

To kill a mocking world
A story of profitable greed
brokers taking the lead
Trying to top the league
Fear is spread and so are bets
Then come the order for fighter jets
And all the time singing out
It's just the way it is - grab yours!
Trees are falling faster than living standards
The lungs are ripped from earth's chest
I do not jest, have we chosen the best?
Addicted like crack to plastic bits of tack
Will the Planet, ever win its respect back?
A tale from old that is told and told.
Civilisations from times gone
didn't believe it could be done
We have the tools to choose
Consumer views, it's big news
World can win or world can lose.
So go ahead, buy that fifty fifth pair of shoes.

It's Elementary

To balance the unbalanced
And provide the wet to the dry
Create with elements rearranged
Not simply arranged on empirical plains
Sometimes disarranged.
The elements were happy in their state
They'd tell you if you'd listen, They'd say:
"We're quite in order, thank you very much!"
Place them in the fiery cup
until they're too hot to touch
Watch their cries entangling
And their impurities cast aside
Mixed up and born a new
Another combination to add to the zoo
The elements number few
They make up me and you.
Perfected in their original state.
A mountain, a flower, or a lake
Because, we, all of us, pretty patterns make
But as I want to create:
I will Arrange, disarrange and rearrange
and if that seems abstract or strange
Happy to explain in a personal exchange.

Fiery Maiden

The fiery maiden could not pretend;
To trust the handsome man in the end.
She told him: "Let us not pretend;
That you have love to send, it's all about your end."
The man replied, "This love is not a guise;
I wear no mask, now look into my eyes."
Furnace heat from a look that could cook.
Her stern cold eyes did melt in surprise;
Molten smiles did now appear;
Stretched right from ear to ear!
Fiery maiden with lips ablaze;
Quenched in a watery future gaze, made her see!
The handsome man, was seeing two or three.
He of course denied, this womaniser sighed:
"I'm telling the truth, your so damn hot."
But fiery maiden had heard enough;
She owned self respect and told him: "Tough;
Punk you're out of luck, I want more than just a casual ****!"

Song Lyrics

The following are Lyrics to a song that hasn't been composed yet. Because some of my followers expressed a wish to hear these lyrics in a completed song form - I thought I would post them here for people to view. If anyone: composers, musicians or the like, wish to take-up the challenge, that would be magnificent. Leave a comment, let me know what you think, thanks :)


Something gotta change today
deep Inside the system is dead
People are crying
for loved ones that are dying
Nothing gonna change without pain
Nothing sacred, my slave child set free

Hypocrisy rife, struggle and strife, only one life
And now is the time, to spread our wings
to end all the things that stop us being kings
Rule domain, living without Pain
Just simple and peaceful, we are the people

Something gotta change today
deep Inside the system is dead
People are crying
for loved ones that are dying
Nothing gonna change without pain
Nothing sacred, my slave child set free

And the world is burning and smoke smells of freedom
And the corpses of bravery will not go by in vain
For we the common people will eternally reign
And when finally, they get the message that we all abstain
Then they might run for fear of life
and we would have no more sacrifice.

Something gotta change today
deep Inside the system is dead
People are crying
for loved ones that are dying
Nothing gonna change without pain
Nothing sacred, my slave child set free

And the strife and the struggle will be all but gone
And the shadowy pirates will get there dues
For the common people will take no more
and the common people of the World will unite
and in that unity, your fate is sealed.
We the common people will never yield.

Something gotta change today
deep Inside the system is dead
People are crying
for loved ones that are dying
Nothing gonna change without pain
Nothing sacred, my slave child set free

Everything Happens For A Reason

Everything happens for a reason
Be sure of this fact and in this very act
Your mind is free to soar in the sky
beyond the stars to a land of treasures
Where merry spirits find peaceful play
Where weary weathers never stay
And destinations have no ends
The journey is the life my friends
Everything happens for a reason
So have no regret etched in your heart
Because the past, was but, just the start.
Find this land of golden clouds
Full of silver linings. Gently now we tread.
Tapestry of life, enjoying every thread.
Living out your life, to the fullest bloom
Come soon, to a land of no regrets
Where everything happens for a reason.

Sycophantic Spies

Surrounded by sycophantic spies
Some would call them guides
Others: Safeguards of the system
Influence-rs of an artistic mind
Are they ill meaning or are they kind?
Do I swallow their lines, do I repeat
Do I sing along to their beat?
I'll use my brain in the fast lane
If their lines fail and are lame
I'll choose to refrain, to remain sane.
Do they harbour resent? not to my face!
Do they think, that I don't recognise
Truths wrapped up in sycophantic lies
Do they only care about the race?
Hasten the pace! My mind is MY place.
I'll choose my own truth and my own line.
Told you before I am not the fine, the swine
Not A Guan, to be played at will,
Conduct orchestras with my quill
Fighting for the people, to relieve their cries
Not sycophantic peoples lies.

Great Firewall Burning

Chinese Government: Statu quo;

Involved in repression,

Of freedom's thought;

Through distorted court, they ply their trade.

As they invade, mind, body and soul;

Scared to lose control,

A few ruling the whole.

Shackle that brain they do exclaim!

Ball and chain clinking,

Great firewall burning!

It's freedom they’re earning.

Standing up against the STATE of things,

These are intelligent human beings.

A few can't control the many;

Brave warrior souls with pen in hand,

Their writings are never bland,

So keep on writing to free your land.

Freedom fighting is always right.

Please keep this in sight;

Bringing light to your country's plight.

Standing

We stand for everything
We stand for nothing
Infinitely better than just sitting,
Waiting for your lot.
We seek a cause
We effect a change
Infinitely better than blindly accepting
We do as we feel
We use intuitions wheel.
Infinitely better than living someone Else's spin.

Dissent

If only you would allow me
the freedom from dissent
but your intention was eyed
and we know what you meant.
Decent, dissent, against the bent
Crooked twisted and contorted
You thought you had it sorted
This message sent from
the heart of dissent.
We won't allow your putrid stench
nor your stain upon our brow
This is a fair and just row
So take your sticks and carrots too.
For the majority will rule the few.

Sculptor's Magic

Squash, Squish, Chop, slice, dig
Add, remove, repeat over and over
Squash, Squish, chop, slice, dig
Hollow, break to avoid a break
Detail, detail, fine detail, finer detail
Squash, squish, chop, slice, dig
Wet, dry, wet, dry, cover with plastic
Slog, grog, slog, grog, clay, powder, mud
Squash, squish, chop, slice , dig.
The magic of a master sculptor, laid bare.

Thief

You can steal my poems, but not my creativity
You'll try to say they're yours, though it isn't so
But I'll write fifty more, right in front of your eyes
I'll write about the lack of creativity and your lies
With pen and ink, i'll mark your card, fraudster bard
And by the time, i am done writing, having fun
You'll turn on your cowardly heels and run, run, run.
So steal what you like, you'll never be me, slimy, slippery;
weaselly thief, my words will knock out, your shiny teeth. 
This is my conclusion and your brief: broken shattered thief!

A Letter To A Patron

Won't you Pay me in: Krugerrands, diamonds or kindness?
So that I may come and go by shadowy moonlight.
Take flight when I please, freely travel where I like
By night I shall leave and in the morning fog, return.
As I travel; lighting darkened, extravagant golden walkways
Meeting, Influencing; strangers that wield a powerful axe.
With coffers filled and mission set,cultivating humanness
So don't give me cheques or useless bits of paper.
For services rendered, another heart surrendered.
No pass controls to slow me down, no red tape and no blue too.
Won't you pay me in Krugerrands, diamonds or kindness.
Without them, stranded on a dried out lake, high rolling seas are calling.
Sailing the winds without a boat, swimming in water, but its just a moat.
If only someone would vote and agree to give me a float.
A Boat! A boat! My loyalty for a boat.

List Of Well-Known Artists, That I Admire

Rembrant
Pablo Picasso
Van gogh
Monet
Cézanne
Gauguin
Jackson Pollock
Wassily Kandinsky
Arshile Gorky
Franz Kline
Mark Rothko
James McNeill Whistler
f John Constable
J M W Turner
Camille Corot
Edvard Munch
James Ensor
Hilma af Klint
Piet Mondrian
Georges Seurat
Henri Matisse
Georges Braque
André Derain
Raoul Dufy
Maurice de Vlaminck
Fernand Léger
Juan Gris
Albert Gleizes
Marcel Duchamp
Kurt Schwitters
Man Ray
Robert and Sonia Delaunay
František Kupka
Kasimir Malevich
Liubov Popova
Piet Mondrian
Vladimir Tatlin
Kazimir Malevich
Anton Pevsner
Naum Gabo
Paul Klee
Johannes Itten
Josef Albers
Anni Albers
Theo van Doesburg
Laszlo Moholy-Nagy
Sophie Tauber
Jean Arp
Katarzyna Kobro
Michel Seuphor
Joan Miró
Barbara Hepworth
Ben Nicholson
Jacques Lipchitz
Max Ernst
André Breton
Georgia O'Keeffe
John D. Graham
Hans Hofmann
Willem de Kooning
Barnett Newman
John McLaughlin
Agnes Martin
Robert Motherwell
Patrick Heron
Kenneth Noland
Sam Francis
Cy Twombly
Richard Diebenkorn
Helen Frankenthaler
Joan Mitchell
Eugene delacroix

Waiting at the side of the road

I am watching and I'm on the side of the road
I'm waiting and deciding which way to go
I'm looking for the right vehicle to stop and hitch a ride
North or south, east or west, travel all directions I find it's best
On my journey and on the quest I seek not one direction, as I choose the rest.
and if I come across you on my way, guaranteed I'll treat you with dignity
because I'm watching and I'm waiting on the side of the road
No cross ways in my path, no folk in road, no divergence from the path.
I'll just be over here watching and waiting, whilst travelling

My Girl

The girl that never asked for a thing
The girl that gave her all
She didn't want attention to fulfill her
She didn't care or sweat the nothing things
And when she was up against it all
Facing death head on, with a great big smile
This girl was classy, so much style
She deserved the World and a whole lot more.
She was beautiful: skin and right through to the core

Lost Moments

This Poem was the result of a collaboration with Well known Stage and Jazz photographer, Juan Carlos Hernandez. Juan asked me to look through his photographic archive and write a poem if I was inspired too. The image I choose was one that he had taken back in 2009. I could have chosen many of his Photographs, for inspiration; they are all very inspiring and amazing images. Here is the link to the Photograph:  http://juancarloshernandezphotographe.blogspot.com/2009/08/stolen-moments.html

Encased, within enveloping Time-Spatial Curves
Cosmic ray showers, fade as Muons decay
Swallowed whole, in that great ocean of sands
Likened to the silence, in-between Musical notes
Memory evokes such, wonderfully fond tales;
Cheap impersonations, that hardly fill the void;
Of stolen moments in, transitory Manifestation.
Hustle and bustle, tempered by the mild gentle wind.
Ebbing and flowing, toing and froing.
Untouched by even, the most severest, of frost.
A young boy never standing still, a childhood lost.
A moppet's memory, of scented meadows, freshly cut.
The way the scent fades, as the years pass.
Those treasured moments never seem to last.
Chasing them is a pointless and thankless task;
And as the Grand 'Ammon's horn', starts to stir and trip
On Neptune's vehicle in the high seas of the Hippocampus
Click, click, Clack, there's only one logical fact.
Steal your future back, Conjure up: 'Omnipresent Style',
Live, every waking instant, as if it were your last.
Fill all of those, pilfered Flashes, with moments; worth stealing.
Too busy fashioning, to look back, creating stolen moments;
That's the task, and that will always last, this kind of trice is always nice.
So the choice is yours: Celebrate or Regret: "Stolen Moments."
Though - as you swoosh on through; Fleeting, flashes;
Cherish and adore, as the phenomenology does unfold,
For, surely this: the very definition, of purest Gold.

The sculptor's regret

She was almost nearly there
Her pursed lips and rye smile
Her grace and slender style
She was almost nearly there
Her prominent cheeks
Her sensual frown.
She was almost nearly there
Her soft gentle eyes,
Her lids hiding lies
And she was, oh-so nearly there.
It was her chin that failed to win me over
And as I tried to slice her guise
Her form was forever lost.
She was almost nearly here.

Splashed Around

I smashed down and splashed around
on a stretched, tensioned board
I abhorred what appeared, amazed by the colour
Intrigued by the form and the journey of up and downs
Then all of a sudden the image clears,
the muddy fuzzy canvas, held full of light
And a slight satisfaction fills your brim
If only one could let it dry
frozen in that time.
But the picture goes on
back down to murky depths.

On Marks, Get Ready, Set.

If you keep on yearning, wishing you were deserving
Then you'll keep on learning, just pain and regret.
On marks, get ready, set, it hasn't happened yet
Racing, chasing more of the same, how insane.
It won't be better in the end, let's not pretend.
Dreams with dirty and broken seams, achieved!
So now what? You start again further up the track
On marks, get ready, set, it still hasn't happened yet.
More dreams to attain to satisfy this unsatisfied brain.
Futile dreams that offer no respite, provide no insight.
Keep on journeying, pointlessly, instead of sitting still.

Oh Dear

Give 'm what they want.
Don't give em nothing!
Show em the way.
Don't be so arrogant!
Sell yourself.
Sellout yourself!
Give 'm what they want.
Give 'm nothing!
Oh dear!???

Keep the Mystic

Keep the Mystic
But I just want to speak!
Keep the mystic
Familiarity breeds contempt
But I just want to speak.
Look you'll blow if they know you
We're all never as perfect as the image we portray
We betray it everyday day, so don't speak, stay away
Mystic or speak? speak or mystic?
I just want to speak.

Words Grrrr

I hate words and
Words hate me.
We tolerate each other;
Mutually beneficial but
don't make the mistake
of thinking we're friends
I hate words and
words hate me.
We live in a democracy;
Me and my words
Me on the side of facts.
Them on the side of rhyme.
I hate words and
Words hate me.