On this darkest day oh hollow man shed this wanten skin….Bleed no more for these these things
That cause pause to a soldiers heart.
Such fragile breath on angels wings
Bared ones heart to scissored strings.
Never more shall I go into the darkness alone.
Never more shall I throw stones,,In glass houses.
Never more shall I sing of things to the tune of a def ear and blinded eye.
Silent such voided love and fill this cup with pain and paint.
Fill this vessel oh world of wonder for this knight grows long in the hall of unrequited love..
Born of mystery and misery…. Of healing want in one hand and a lovers whip in another..
Fly…fly away with the birds and the bees.
Flowers and trees for these things have no place in this heart of darkness.
These halls are mine.. And mine alone…
Cursed to wander for a thousand , thousand years…
Alone…me and these words…. Me and this paint that grows…
Alone…. or iam i destined to this life? id there a queen fit for my fits and delusions, these sharks and quakes that bury my mind and heart. For the one that heald my hand for better or for worse cast me aside and the beauty queen who said she’d stay lost her way.
Do you dare hold the hand of dying mad man? To watch as the chaos closes my eyes and blinds my mind for the final time here in chapter three of me…..?
words of fear and love spilled blindly these days as hope for a dream in dream that will take home once again for my sword and sheild have grown tired of the fight. I trade these tools of destruction and madness for hoe and shovel,All ove ever wanted is to come home….to plant a garden a fill it with love, art and the reminder that this world is heaven on earth. Someone just forget to us the right story.
I reach for you
Grasping at the small
Words that float and linger
Leaving tastes of want and hope
Lost in the nights sky.
Floating, floating like the ashen fire
Licks the nights
Skin then fades
Fades into the dawns hour
Forever floating just above
The edge of my dreams
And the silent wake of the night
I reach for you…
A whole bunch of words
In the cold of the night your words give warmth.
A gentle glow..sparks.. Of passion and love yet
to sew seed but born from a deeper place than I’ve traveled before.
A smile so strong a bridge it has built from heart to
heart and back again. Leaving no brick un bruised in the delight of her name.
By what charge of a poets heart does man claim his place
Amongst the angels.
Given no tenor to call home or a voice to speak of,
a wondering soul rest only where angles fear to tread…….
Such darkness gives way to a tender light
Gentle….. Soft….. Lost herself in a strangers land of newness.
A bold place for such a tender heart to trend.
After such destruction has been given her chase only to fall flat
for she rises like the phoenix.
Giving passion to my life like a teenaged boy in heat.
Such passion drip from that fountain that I yearn to
drink from in this life and no other.
Waiting……… Time passes so slowly as the days wander by
looking for a place to call home.
Kisses warm and wet fall upon counters made of Alice’s looking glass
Ponderous thoughts and days are these…..
Left alone…….in a crowded room…..by a mirror facing a mirror and myself.
I wonder what painters hand have I to create these thoughts I think in
colors of green and blue, of silken satin leather, lace and you……
For are we all not the muse of someone else’s muse. Given chase by another
Lovers lover from another place in time and their heart.
Such ponderous thoughts are these….
Such young love does sparkle in your eyes…
How I wish to kiss it from your aching lips
And let’s it’s taste linger upon my thirsting
Tongue as I whisper your name.
Breathe me in as I call to your
Take me deep within your beating soul
The very essence of desire, lust
and greed to consume the very flesh
Our hearts and minds feast upon.
Guide my hands to your wildest places
On your wildest nights on the craziest
days. Wet your lips with all I am
Make me call your name as my back arches
Against the cold stone walls of summers alley.
Give me release for on this day I am all
Yours as I give myself to thee.
Playing with Fire. A piece composed using only the palette knife and painters rag. Utilizing the tooth of the texture and the canvas. Reminiscent of the classic abstract expressionism painters of the 40′,50’s and 60’s drawing inspiration from Dali with his biomorphic shapes and the muted colors of Picasso. Bold swaths of paint and color lines left untouched not unlike the artist of the renaissance time leaving the eye to fill in the gaps. Still currently a work in progress Playing with Fire
I’ll update this piece as I complete bits today but it is just about done. After visiting many a fine arts museum over the last year literally spending days inches away from the great master works of people and painters long past. I’ve realized there is no perfect stoke nor color. I’ve realized one thing that rings more true than any critics tongue. You, we, I decide what is museum worthy. I stood in awe of an unfinished Picasso hanging in a prestigious gallery wondering, do they know its undone?
I’m on a bit of a rant today with art and the art world. It’s bit and pieces of what makes one great is it the art? Their story, their life, struggle? The plight of mankind or philosophical statement of the times, for goodness sake Mr.Warhol silk screened soup cans!!!! Silk screened!!! And we praise him for his genius REALLY!!! Not get me wrong Andy was crazy as fck, high as a kite and had a unique vision. If one wanted to get philosophical I could say that playing with fire represents the plight of the common man in the 21st century as the banks crumble and health care fails. Worlds at war but called political actions. Millions die of starvation while grain store rot due to political gain of dictators world wide. Children shot dead in the street because there parents worship Allah instead of some other god by a different name.
Okay enough said.
As always, Be Brave, Be Bold and Thrive in the life you have.