Words are cheap?

Into the bosom of humanity, launch a leap!

Intelligence, a scale less marked in time.

People and love are the treasures to keep.

Sharing and kindness are words to combine.

Symbols that exchange, trickle, change and seep.

Valuable words remain excessively cheap.

Assimilated

Led by the hand of Inanna, encapsulating, assimilating xenocryst, can none resist, these seven witches wailing and drinking blood.

But dear fellow Blood be spilt! 'til days are darker than night and night be as empty as the day, there's none can resist this disarray.

"Blood be spilt!", you say, the sound you utter and the echo, will soon fade away, blood be spilt for sure whilst you're the watchman.

But dear chap blood will be spilt and xenocryst will crumble, behold silt! Many fragments cast far and wide over land and sea, tribes.

I say peace beyond it all, how far you dare is how far you walk, that claustrophobic xenocryst might turn to dust but silt is all of us!

So then! Be assimilated, take her hand, the stains of blood are on the sand, appreciate this slavish glove could be on the other hand.

I'm not so foolhardy to think the script is mine, but this heart stops beating if it can't roar, the core is original,not some boorish whore.

One last lesson, one last chance to listen; I'll state one last time your position so you can make your decision, happiness or derision.

Happiness is never blood and no! this spilt can never spell good! I think we want both the same but I just can't hack the rules of the game.

You can walk alone, do nothing and moan, build your tiny thrown or pick up the story and start from there, you "Change" within without a care. 

I change within without a care, not so easy when it's integrity you wear, now be aware of this so true, I'll not change for them and either for you!

That's up to you,let Lil cast you out, at least from there I won't hear you shout, you should listen well to what I say, not shout and ball to have your way.

I listened, I heard, I know what you said! Do as I say or your cast out and dead! Maybe it's time that you so bled! Assimilated under the red over the dead.

You listened... you heard nothing.

Abstract Painting 80 x 60

Abstract in Acrylic

Flux

I love the way the metallic's catch the light. I won't mention my camera this week, lest there be A catchphrase created in my honour. Are you still dancing... good.

Sculpture Investment Proposal

Most people lack belief in themselves to the point of self-destruction, I on the other hand, have the polar opposite problem. A pittance, is the bowl outstretched, to continue breezing on the mantle; and so easy it would disapear without these crumbs selflessly brushed from caked plate. How can one even hope to stop the hate - to help the divide and the toppers, toppler's principle. A pittance in pennies, though a Faustian stake; and so here it is, that beastly rub, that I shall still partake - for this truth remains to an end: An unfading urge to me belongs, the will too is strong and I WILL have these crumbs, which I need to create. I will flog what's mine, make profit for the line, all of the time increasing in size, I've eyed a sculpture that reaches the skies. These breadcrumbs are foundations so I can start the rise, because the circle of creation is near to a square and the bumble bees don't give a damn. 

A bridge too far.

How many more, should cross an owls bridge?

A toll torn body blue, withered... and free.

Enduring, bitter and cold as freedom could be.

And what about those others, crying alone?

When the battle is over, the wailing ceased.

New wounds appear deeper with every crease.

Crossed were the arms and further from peace.

Sign Of Our Times

This is from my found art series. I still have a rubbish camera! The effect is one similar to that found on the face on mars (apparently some ignorant twazzocks actually believe i'm a high level mason with links to the marzipan people), my point being that my camera doesn't pick up the effect as well as the human eye does. You'd think with all these high-up contacts I could get a show and then you could see a whole body of my work viewed as it should be, in a white room with appropriate lighting and ambiance. For now though I am just creating regardless of judges, kings and especially noble men.

Random Ramblings

1.I heard an art curator say that in order to be successful in art, one has to be appealing to the masses and I nearly fell over. After gathering my calm and intellect, I walked over to the "expert", and simply uttered: "Success is defined by the individual who experiences it", then off I walked to the bus stop feeling somewhat satisfied with my witty riposte ... until I realised I couldn't afford the fare home.


2.I don't just say ironic things, I create maps of wooded areas that lead through a sarcastic discourse, which eventually leads to the heart of the irony, considering of course that your brain doesn't first explode before completing the complex and multidimensional journey.


3.The imposition is that one must participate in the act of creating daily, to be considered as creating or a creator; this is a logical fallacy. When one creates on Monday, that creation lives on until at least tueday night.


4.I used to be a tea-leaf reader, then they brought out instant teabags, so now I search through the murky beige liquid remnants. I find one lone tea leaf particle which must have escaped the group, out of the bag, in order that it pass the message. Having studied this oracle for clues the answer became clear: Stop.


5.You can't blame them, after all, they are faced with so much dross on a daily basis, is it any wonder they don't have time to search for real talent, or the inclination if said talent doesn't come wrapped in its retail box, marked ready for dispatch. To them it's all about the finances and pleasing sponsors; which is part of life. To the said talent though, it is about the exposure, so at some point a compromise should be sought, and of course, in favor of the said talent, lest that talent fade and dwindle under the constraints of a hierarchy bearing down....


6.An organisation requires elements to make up the whole, how can one say and know for sure that a "peaceful" organisation won't have rouge elements hiding in its bowels.


7.Trying to create art without concerning oneself with humanity in a meaningful way is like trying to move all of the snow from the Antarctica to Australia in one wheelbarrow.


8.One would have to admit that at low guard one can find that elitism directed at oneself (especially from an inferior opponent) can be annoying to the point of ignoring this pointless specimen for the rest of their natural; but moreover, elitism feels absofuckinglutly empowering when one retorts with one's own impeccable elitist style wrapped in wit which beguiles the self-proclaimed king of kings or queen of queens. 


9.If you piss in the rain don't expect anyone to notice.

If you piss in the wind and rain expect wet feet

If you piss in a toilet on command, you'll go far.

10.I assure you my humour is a blessing rather than an impediment, even though, often resulting in false accusations of treating talent development with tardiness , for if these hands were tied and I could not laugh at this fact, I would surely turn tardiness into complete withdrawal and any talent that did so lurk in the bowels of me, would dissipate like the energy in a photon hitting a brick wall made of nanospikes. Think chicken and egg! Egg and chicken! Now I'm feeling peckish.

Found Art

As this morning is such a lovely sunny day I thought I'd take some of my art outside and photograph it for you. As many of you know, I haven't written much poetry lately - if you didn't already know - that's because I've been busy creating art (Digital images and videos, Wood carvings, sculpture, paintings, mixed media and the next thing to tackle is Glass). This is just a small selection from my found art series. I have quite a few new projects on the go too, more ideas than time to produce them all, which is another thing I'm working at changing. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy what you see. 

I should probably do a write up for each piece, but I've only posted these for the people who have asked me what I'm working on - I had intended to wait until I got around to creating my new Artist website before putting any pics up, but it seemed churlish to make you wait.

 I've also added a few poems over the last two weeks for you word hungry folk and I intend to get some more recordings done for you audio-types; Kinesthetic-types will have to visit me in person. 

Jack's Back Talking Crap

Its mind is whack with feet clad in jack

As Subtle as a knife plunged into back

No Cropped moustache and flat cap

Just filled with pride and talking crap

Blaming, flaming lightening brigade

It comes in brown dressed for downtown

As subtle as a brick-smashed-crown

No bolts displayed just policies played

No sceptre raised, discrimination praised

Blaming, flaming lightening brigade

It creeps along if brains are asleep

It plays the songs of insecure fools:

Blame is a culture it's not our fault!

Was the song they sang in revolt

Now sit when we say, dance and halt!

Came the second verse of their assault.

Yellow spawn, golden prawn, mustard primates

Blaming, flaming, lightening brigade.

To The Lost: The Prize And The Cost

1.Which cause is more than that of peace?
What mighty triumph trumps equilibrium?
To feign it's worth for fighting to cease.

For gold as a tainted love, delivered Abrin.
Noxious clouds fowl in stench released.
From Nature's beauty born, twisted to win.


2.A nobler path to follow in hapless vein.
How much cost a life to live in peace?
Abridged between hopeless and gain.

Remorseless still and sleepless night.
Tearful acid rains on life's every brow;
And even Granite relinquishes it right. 


3.Tis choice alone should decide the sun.
A quart for a quart, an Illusion or taught?
How much cost a life to rest in the run?

A daydream worth owning on dark nights.
A struggle worth more than struggling for. 
Directing in the winds of time's starry lights.


4.A World's weight in gold, to a chrysophilist.
A Fruit-filled plate - full - to a starving child.
How much cost a life to live in peace?


To wit, whichever ransom stole us, our keepers.
Remember well this, our collective lease:
Tis all our brows, laughers and weepers.


5.What other prize can forfeit frightened eyes?
To heal a wound, repair the weary and the blind?
How much cost a life to be rid of these lies?

And just how much cost a life to live in peace?

Tim

Tim, Tim nice but dim

Waves and smiles 

And says hello

All said and done

He's Just an average Joe.

Oh Tim, oh Tim don't take me on

You'd be lying broken

If you came from where I come from.

Oh Tim did I detect a hint of

Elitist blurb that made you feel good?

Your probably just misunderstood

Mommy held you too tight

Cotton in your ears

Three big jeers!

For Joe and his fears.

Revenge Is A Dish That Repeats.

All he wanted was freedom,

But when he held it;

All he wanted was justice,

But when he held it;

All he wanted was revenge,

But when he held it;

He knew! Twas true!

He'd sacrificed the previous two.

Toil And Trouble

Have you worn the quick to score the stick;

Broke head and tail, back all torn, for the grail;

Weathered, beaten; burning Ouroboros' wick?

Toil marked in sweat, no longer able to Tally.

Decan after Decan, imprisoned stars stick, tick;

The rowers and Thelemites locked in the galley.

Certain gallows circle as the dog-shark fades.

In nighttime fever raids every peak and valley.

Sun will rise, the frenzy shan't relent for shade.

Caballus, my trusted steed broken in a cavalcade.

When nears end she bought;  A cock was sort;

And to the cock: Another terrible lesson taught!

Love nor money could nor would hold her reigns!

She trotted and she galloped to make her trade.

Light and dark are in equidistant binding chains.

Have you worn your back and shoulders thin?

Worked like a dying dog earning your parade?

Point your chin high; who cares if you don't fit in?

What's more my Caba-friend: Living to work; Dying- 

To live, Living to die, Waiting to live, Working to live, 

Waiting to die, or living and loving to live, regardless?

Pilintel Garbando Prelimpa

Bramshackle cheng ran

be-ectran targo makuwa

freppeltak mulipang chan

crickling clong miak ooa

pripple dripple cranahan

pokimtracting sucuer ana

hagreten envalaped san

From Them, To Them.

Now I'm gone don't miss me
I heard an angel cry out
I'm still here listening
No need to raise and shout
Why can't you hear me?
This angel in despair


Basking in your shadow
Following you everywhere
I'm sitting right beside you
I wish that you could see
I think you'd have to agree
With this angel crying out


I'm waiting for you patiently
As now your time is not
I want you to enjoy life
Because it's over in a jot.
Be reassured it's all absurd
So have fun with the plot.


I swear I heard an angel cry
I swear I saw their tears
I swore I'd pass this message
To alleviate your fears:
Every single one of them
Is nearer than you think.


So hold your glasses high
To them let's have a drink!

The Blue Bird's Maiden Flight

The following Poem and Animation is part of my Experimental Video Art Series. The Bird was created using a digital eraser and a digital smudge feature. The whole thing has been created using rudimentary Software, freely available on the net.



The Title is: Bluebird singing in the East.

Nonlinear Scream

The following Experimental Photography, is from a series of digital images that I'm currently  working on, exploring repetition and colour. Like many of my other artworks, this set is rich in metaphor and symbolism. I will be writing a full description when I have completed the whole series, so for now, you'll have to use your artistic knowledge to conduct your own examination (The clue is in the title...or is it?) Thanks for viewing and would be interested to hear your thoughts regarding the piece. 


The finished images will be separate Museum quality fine art Giclée prints on black coloured block board.


(Click on image to enlarge)

Our latest project for POINT-less Art Group's Co-labs, is a poem/ art/ music/ video. IHONO Arts group and POINT-less Arts group combined their efforts to produce the following tribute to Japan and to promote awareness in the aftermath of the devastating Tsunami that struck in March 2011.


In addition to these two Art groups; over 50 Artists, Poets, Writers and other creative people from around the World, provided images for this project. OXOXO Arts group has kindly offered to announce the project in Japan. A big thank you to all of you that helped make this project a reality. Images and contributor details are listed on POINT-less' blog: 

http://plcolabs.blogspot.com/2011/11/nihon-rising_07.html?showComment=1320776558083

After a lengthy discussion between Kaoru Fukushima of IHONO Arts Group and myself, we decided that we should create something to help raise awareness of the Japanese peoples plight. I then wrote a poem and recorded it. Kaoru then started creating the music to match the rhythm of the poem, which he did very successfully indeed. I then went about the task of asking my creative friends and associates to contribute an image with a few words from the poem, overlaid onto the image. I compiled it and the rest, as they say, is History.


We hope that you enjoy the video and that it raises awareness that this disaster is far from over, but there is hope! 


I would appreciate it, if you would share this video with your friends, thanks.

Crass Class and Pluto too.

Bastions of hopeful dreams roam.

March in costumes of skin and bone.

No longer begging Mercy; nor alone.

Scores, scales steeped in pain.

No wheat, just hail in stormy rain.

Think of you crying: we're the same.

Sharing warmth, kindly cuddling kin.

Constructing strength from within. 

Stand by me, as I stand by you: Win.

Hands athwart many seas and lands.

Our swaying voices, suave, heard echoing.

Echoing in corridors of power, verbatim.

Don your stubborn brow, head and heart fixed well.

United in that prisoners' dilemma: no cell, no cell!

Pushing, peacefully pursuing an end to plutocracy.

A hand full of tears, minds full of fears.

The game is real, the gloves are off.

Fair rules before freedom falls; and humanity is washed away.

Markets and Mountains

Held the Kingdom's keys; still relinquished a nettle.

Scribbled copiously: unknown untruths, unsettled:

When Man discovered fire, he knew not of furnaces;

In shadow and vane, blindness, beneath lids lay;

Weak Hand intentionally shown - Ghosts die hard. 

Magic in black on white papers and torn graphs.

With myth preceding: pride of place were short;

Tent pegs, tables and tarps: love-sick, will follow.

In winter north with the wind flies the savvy swallow. 

Creator, imperturbable in thermals hot and cold.

Human mind in Rescission; capturing every decision, 

Creating the vision; find inspiration in lost inspiration.

Hold tight this existential nettle - The dream is yours!

Though even in ownership, dreams can fade.

Though even in ownership, nightmares be made.

Though even in ownership, can all go awry.

I'll tell you this: Owning a truth is just owning a lie!

But owning your mind, your life and your dreams.

That's as real as the peaks, the trees and the streams.

Now go, master the mountains, my kings and queens.

Tears, Tantrums and Terraces

Sparse and bare on wasted sun baked fields of despair.

She cried and wailed for her green washed home.

Queen of a rainless forest, where nature's beauty doesn't care.

Lady barren, her happiness harassed;  put out to loan.

Surrounded by golden pillars and exotic jewels so rare. 

Sitting, slumped, slavishly, surveying from her thrown.

Emeralds failed to mimic the great green fountains of air.

Sighing, he heard her crying, crowned head, hung in shame.

"What can I do to heal her pain?", his mind did pace.

Then into his head, the idea came: "I shall mimic the rain!"

Gathered his wisest engineers, laid his plans on silk and lace.

Building fields of fountains green, to gently blow; dissipate her pain.

Promised to fill her empty space, head and heart, smile and face.

The king, he did proclaim: "For you my queen, nature, I will tame!"

With mud and force; wood and screw; slowly, dreams made true.

Shaped an exquisite, mountainous menagerie of floral jewels, out of stone.

Queen Amyitis wiped her eyes with the delightful hues in her view.

Nebuchadnezzar bought back the loan by building memories of her home.

Two dynasties entwined by love conquering design, imbued with glue.

For every emerald that was sewn, Amyitis' happiness had overflown.

Beauty spawned in Babylon, on hanging Gardens, sprinkling dew.

Mount Top Harp

Inspired by Mythical Irish folklore, with a smidgeon of Italian Renaissance for good measure.


Harp, of the mountain top;
Harp from beyond the dell.
Two harps to choose,
And cast that spell.

From treacherous ground,
To a mound so round.
Harmony to the din,
And realisation it's within.

Follow now your chartered brook.
Make thine eyes become unstuck.
From harboured walls; set free;
Ventured far into sea.

Choose tranquil waves - onward pale.
Avoid the torrent of the Gail.
Sail toward that luminescent,
Far off distance shore.

United by that one particular law!
Nature at the core;
So choose that door,
Upon which your future rests.

And listen to the harps at their best.
Be the guest and the host;
Lift thy tankered for the toast;
Now drink the wine of your good liking.

Feel the lightening striking,
Hitting the spring of wisdom's well;
Scented with a vibrant smell:
Harp from beyond the dell.
With cords from hell,
We bid you farewell.

Mount top Harp of harmony;
Spanning notes of the journey;
Bound by every sound that is worthy.
And onward bound the quest will be,
From Gene to Gene and tree to tree;
Until that treasure is begot.
And man remembers what it forgot.

Sages down the line;
Seers throughout time;
Subtly sublime in their masterful rhyme,
Directed through mine.
For future signs in peoples minds.

Guardian of the great toil,
Where buried treasure lay in soil.
Excavated by unfading lights gone by;
Showed the path with lantern high;
Showed the ground a one with sky.

Taishatrin folk did tell the tale,
Intent was on the vision bent,
Future lent before its sent.
Tale of the merriment,
Of the angels harp.
Cheering on all good hearts.

Now remember, when you cast your spell,
For the future to tell,
Avoid using harps from beyond the dell.
That's Dante's hell, avoided well.
Use this omen to quench your fire.
Ferment intent, so strong and pure.
Desire'th of a final cure.

No number two to divide and conquer.
One whole is greater than its parts
It's where it ends and where it starts
Creation and its Buona parts.
Guiding lost hearts on its way
Souls so light and free from pain.
The mount top harp plays again.

Dying Artist

Epic performance of a dying artist.

Too sensitive for this cruel world.

She stumbles, from pain to rage,

Screaming and destroyed on her stage.

Talent leaking through puncture holes;

Star dust fades before the eclipse.

People still pulling the purse,

Milking every last breathless verse.

Maybe it's time to reverse that curse?

Cats have eight, you have one;
Reserve that hearse!

Survive to see a clear setting sun.

Let the performance go on and on;

Without a premature interlude.

This Entr'acte is not the end!

You've earned the love,

Now it's time to spend.

And the haters just need a bone;

Their chests puffed up with every moan.

Borrowed time, we're all on loan.

Time alone will send you home.

Live a hundred times or more.

Leave Tragedy behind the door.

Drag the self from the pit.

Make that score your final hit.

The fool And The Master

I write poetry with the spontaneity and movement of a silken gown, falling slowly from the perfect form of a beautiful lady. I sculpt clay and carve my vision with simple strokes, that invokes, for a moment at least, the power that Art possesses; This of course is not good enough and so on I go to the next creative pursuit, in the name of struggle, perfection and mastery.

So, next I turn my hand, head and heart to painting. Painting so far, has me beaten and it is painting which most intrigues me; maybe for this reason alone. I wish to master painting with such grace, that it could be likened to a silken gloved hand, as it clasps delicately, but tightly, around a feather handled brush, without crushing its tender and original form [...or whatever, for those of you that dislike verboseness :) ]. Inadequacy can be hard to deal with, though I do also believe that inadequacy is a worthy state of affairs, because it is the required state, within the process of mastery. To master anything, one must first master oneself, including ones own inadequacies; to realise or acknowledge these short-comings, is to start the long journey toward mastery.

The next step is to conquer any fears that might be lurking in ones subconscious mind, these tend to rise to the surface like the slag in a smelter's pot, as the heat and pressure are turned up in the furnace of life; one must face these fears and they are plenty, let us not make any bones about that here.

Then comes determination, to fly in the face of adversity and not let one raindrop fall upon your shoulder, not one tear, not one morning dew drop. To take a running jump at that obstacle in your path; you will either clear it or fall flat on your face. Take solace when lying crumpled on the floor, face down; solace in the fact that you tried. You ran as fast as you could and you committed to the jump, as far as is humanly possible. When you get up and try that 'running jump', again and again, you will have mastered (no not running) determination. Success starts with and finishes with conquering/liberating your own mind and maybe as a consequence of that liberation, helping others to take that very same journey for themselves.

Forgiveness and understanding are also a part of mastery. When you are on this journey, it is like a crystallise changing into a butterfly, and just as the crystallise changes, so does the person making the journey; when one realises that this change is necessary and path of the course, then it becomes easier to understand others' mistakes or shifts in their nature/ attitudes etc. which are necessary, even in oneself. When undertaking to master something, this understanding grows and leads ultimately to forgiveness. So, it may be easy to judge a person based on a snapshot fragment of their life, but it is rarely a realistic picture of events. All of those that are trying to master something are trying to master themselves and this can be quite a task to complete. Anyone who undertakes such a task deserves a little bit of leeway.

Show me a self proclaimed master and I will show you someone who has given up on mastery and settled for being good at something.

Show me a fool who thinks that he/she is master of all that he/she purveys and I will show you a genius who knows that he/she is, but just a fool.

Allow the fool who tries, the grace to get up from their falls, so that they may continue their journey and reach their own elusive destination.

The G Neuron

Mixed Media Art

An exploration into the emotional nature of fluorescent colours on the human psyche. 

Four thousand segments of cut and stripped Willow Branches (Plus one blister), Hand painted and adhered to titanium white laminated board.

 These pictures don't do this piece any justice, in real life however, the multiple Two Photon absorption of the multiple electrons, inducing the shorter wave radiation emission, is stunning, mesmerising and simply energising. Turn down the lights and it actually hums ;)))

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.

Decay

Box shaped hearts and bloody roses.

Fast lane, life's marching onto death;

With coffins richly lined in silk and satin.

 

Manicured iron claws clasping;

At a World that forgot its tears;

Killing love, heightening fears.

 

Many machines marred by a machine;

Wheels grinding in shallow souls;

Sights set on selfish dreams.

 

And all will waste and decay.

Mise en abyme

The video below shows the workings out that I quickly scribbled down after waking from an intuitive dream. The Poem was inspired by the dream, so thought I'd include it here for you to view.  

This poem made it into a Physics Journal in America, which I was delighted about. The arts and sciences are inextricably linked and although they are often at odds with each other, in our enlightened [?] time; it may surprise you to know that many major scientific breakthroughs and discoveries have been made by Artists. In my opinion it is about time we bridged the gap between Art and Science and encourage Human exploration and creativity in any of its many forms. As an aside: My friend Robert Root-Bernstein, Ph. D. has some interesting information regarding this topic, you can find it here: https://www.msu.edu/~rootbern/ 

The poem spans subjects, such as: Quantum physics, Neurology and Fractals in mathematics, Nature and Time,  these are brought together to form a microscopic and macroscopic overview of how the Human mind thinks. That's not a great explanation, its difficult to explain, which is why I wrote the poem. Enjoy.

1.

Purposefully playing with Plato's peculiar solid shapes.

Meditating about the mysteriously, miraculous form.

Space-time continuum: a veil wrapped in many capes.

Landscapes of Superpositional particle waves, are the norm;

Right up until, of course, the viewer viewed and forcefully forced;

The transitory wave to collapse, at the point between synapse.

2.

Infinity unwrapped; potentials tangled, finitely trapped.

Multiple dimensions collide, implode inside of finite minds.

Rational brains chasing signs; trying to adapt, cells sapped!

Elusive point between two petals opposed on parallel bars.

Tracing thin lines around poppies and portals blind, never defined.

The ever shrinking dot goes way beyond A microscopic topic.

0.

3.

A quantum level quandary; halls full of crazy mirrors: black.

Wooded place on two spiral paths, within a maze of maths;

And I too, travelled roads less taken and wondered if I'd get back;

But for now, at least, I'll cease to cease and walk on multiple paths.

One day, I might be sitting and sighing in a morning Frost;

With friends from the past, to see a clear pass, between shadows cast.

4.

Creating inter-dimensional maps for irrational traps.

Prince of amateurs, resides within, from time to time, through my rhyme.

New discoveries, in every line and sign posts on desert tracks.

I stumbled on a place sublime; within my mind, outside of time;

Where the trees bristled and whispered great truths, in a foreign tongue.

Phenomena increased before thrice:  A non-material trice.

5.

Falling head over heels, for a Matryoshka model's figure;

Probing her core, to view beautifully hidden depths, once more.

Fractal Queen knocked on my door, set the tone, created the allure;

And what is more, my friends, I cracked the code and deciphered the law;

So now I chase her all day long and sometimes, between heartbeats;

She sings her song in silent verse and I, can hear, every sweet word.

The Weaver

Young Arachne: Lady, low she lay;

She heard a voice on one fine day;
When Goddess Athena started to say:

"I do take pity on your lowly lot.
I'd like to help you, believe or not.
I want to teach you how to sow.
A priceless gift I will bestow."

Arachne agreed to play her part.
Took the gift of a God given art.

Master weaver she quickly became;

Dreams in seams, none were the same!

Nymphs from far and wide they came;
But she mistook the rules of the game;
Head swollen, in measure with her fame.

They hoped in droves, to derive the prime;

Of how Arachne could spin weaves so fine.
They asked her again, time after time:

"Where did you learn to beautifully design"
Arachne replied, self conceit in her eye:
"Not one taught me to cast my spell;
It was all down me, that is all I shall tell!"

The Nymphs knew Arachne had deceived.

Only one other, which could have so weaved:

Goddess Athena! the nymphs perceived;
And as she sat sadly watching them all;
Athena decided to pay Arachne a call.
Dressed as an old lady; in rickety robes.
Depressed at the path, Arachne had chose.

Athena now in her old woman's disguise;
Tried in vain, to open Arachne's eyes:
"Respect the Gods for they are wise,

Skill and wisdom come with age, not lies."
Arachne angered, was not amused;
Challenged Athena with a mocking shrill:
"Goddess! I propose we pit skill to skill!"

Beneath Athena's old raggedy guise;

Goddess of wisdom and war did rise.
Those that could see, those that were near;

Trembled in fear, bowed down to the skies.
Proud Arachne, stood firm her ground.
Athena picked up the gauntlet and vowed:

"I'll teach you a lesson in front of this crowd!"

Both wanted to win - the spin started in haste.
They worked and weaved at a furious pace.
Beautiful weaves, they both conceived one.
Athena wove about her contest with Poseidon;
In the conquest to name the great City: Athens.
Arachne wove about the Cruelty of the Gods;
Depicting them compromised and at odds.

Athena told the Nymphs to adjudicate;
But not one of them could decide their fate.
Two tapestries so fine, impossible to define;
In their minds, no final winner could be assigned.
It mattered not, how they tried to deliberate;
There was just no way for them to equate;
Even when Athena was becoming irate.

Athena struck Arachne between the eyes!
Arachne immediately cried as she realised:
She should have listened not to her pride.
The newly felt, self-awareness of her arrogance;
Was in an instant flash, all too much to bare.
She tied a knotted rope fast around her neck;

To end of her despair, she swung without a care.

Goddess Athena now high on vengeance;
Sprinkled magic dust upon the dead weaver.
Mighty Athena with pure spite inside her;
Quickly turned Arachne into a spider;
For depicting Gods in a compromised guise.
Poor Arachne dropped a stitch in nine;
When she threaded tapestries beyond the line.

Arachne should have known to be wise;
Her head shrank, no ears nor visible eyes.
Her young slender arms, shrank in size.
She suddenly sprouted legs two by two;
It wasn't very long before eight of them grew!
The very first spider, Arachne became;
Her descendants still weave webs the same.

Beautiful webs that inspire the World;
But never a tapestry to rival the Gods.
Never again will they weave in that way;
Goddess Athena taught them how to play.
Play nicely if you don't wish to pay!
They'll always remember that fateful day;
When Arachne let her arrogance stray.

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.