homosapiens
practicing chiropractors
correct us —
posture up —
try, and
… stand upright

formless before the big bang
chaotic with a dark past, and
the light an omnipresent
cognizant force with foresight
for the universes future is in order

simulation theory
0’s & 1’s
the singularity
near infinite
expanding with each addition
times, O
multiplied it is still nil

intrinsic

...

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he wouldn’t let us leave
without paying,
for our meal

had to-go

then bantered with them
and, you ordered to make him take it back

the whole ordeal was a real headache,
I could feel tension in the temple,
and had to meditate, to
clear my head and relieve the stress

I wanted to post a pic of my meal,
but it was almost traumatic

Maybe, I’m just being over dramatic?

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had me my hand me downs
and, we all know too well known
if the shoe fits wear it

nicest stuff is worn out and she wore my XXL shirt around the house
her chores, get done…
one bra in the wash and no panties on

The first steps
commemorated with expensive shoes,
soles being broken in,
a mash of burning glass,
molten sand and in it,
it’s silica content

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veered off, routine stop, in the shoulder…
looking over your paper work,
keep your hands on the steering wheel,
“I’m not going to ask again”
repeated offenses
respect my authority

police officers
a ford mustang and dodge charger

government funded electric vehicles
take a look inside the hood, it
purrs like a street cat with a scratchy throat

cut the lights on and off
I’m just try...

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Get yourself a lump of marble

Twenty feet by six by six

Borrow a set of chisels

Or buy them from Screwfix

Empty out your garage or outdoor store

Of furniture and kids’ bikes from ceiling to floor

Grab yourself a mallet

Michelangelo liked wood

And get stuck in whilst listening to Johnnie B Goode

With every blow you will release

The body shape within

From a...

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I don’t want to mask my poetry

I want you to understand me

Curse your perfect rhythms, rhymes, haikus

Your lyricism, your literary

When I try to adopt it, I turn mute.

Something channels through me

(I’ve never really found the root)

A demanding stream of consciousness

That cannot stop to breathe, let alone

Wait, conceptualise, draft, redraft

I can’t!

...

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every morning,
a parade of perfect lives,
smiles meticulously adjusted,
breakfast that looks more like a work of art,
but deep down,
it's just granola and a desperate hunt for likes.

people transform into characters,
each post a script,
each photo a scene,
life in shining squares
where reality dissolves like sugar in water.

hashtags dance on the screen,
like confetti at a birthday ...

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To paint a portrait of you I would have to
Borrow, as steal is a word not suiting you,
From the greatest artists pick inspiration,
And create an extraordinary combination.

From Klimt shining and hollow beauty,
Liars screaming about diamonds and superficiality,
When pairing the brilliance of your mind,
Sacred body asses the most desirable kind.

From Kadinski organised randomness contour...

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generational forefathers
bore thine
fruits of their labor,

to an heiress

Oh, the burden
given to this poor mistook child.

the Fall of man—after death
40 days and 40 nights,
If we were to predate the Gregorian calendar
… spring too,
life—before Christ—dark
and light archangels
would earn their halos
from Helios through
sun worship,
during the 7 Days of Creation,
summer was mad...

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You are an artist

Every morning as your eyes open up
you reach for your paintbrush 
unknowingly

You are the canvas 
and your actions are the splatters
Inspired by your dreams 
and all to you that matters 

You bring to life the beauty that you think
Transforming the formless into reality
your desires turn to ink

Do not downplay the smaller things you do
as every single brushstro...

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The last time I had made his acquaintance was in New York

His Mountains at Saint-Rémy hangs resplendent in The Guggenheim

And I was entranced coming face to face with Vincent’s art

in frame

Vividly he depicted his visions of the world, so full of passion and energy

The memory stayed with me…

Finding a bust of Vincent in Ramsgate felt peculiarly odd

He lived in Spencer Square a...

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Erecting her easel
at the foot of the boardwalk
she mixes the paint
a hell-fire pink and crimson
and dips her brush to begin…

She paints
the end of all things
a voice lost to the fractured mind
the final moments of a life
a hand slipping away

She paints
farewell hospital conversations
her father’s beard as a cloud
she thins the blue paint with her tears
She colours in his eyes
L...

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 Soundcloud Link

      (iv) voice...
reverberating ultrasound syllables
moans...
her breath
ALL wax lyrical from her gold frond tongue
dripping maple syrup rhythm
all over
              & through me

gold rush pulsing in my veins
to the tune of a hypnotic narcotic. 
intoxication.

her tongue is an aspergillum
soaking me
from head to denim
in holy water
& my once bland arid gard...

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robotic trails

the same songs, the same breakfast and the same people

over and over and over and 

replace me with a bug, a computer

fill up my mug with something truer 

transform me from this hollowed shell 

who knows painful repetition all too well 

i used to be so smart 

now my bleak life craves the abstract art 

which once gave it colour 

and a nihilist, my hopeful...

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‘Picasso’s not all he’s cracked up to be.’

He’d had a few by then, but understood

The dangers of hype and adulation

Of the spineless, unconditional kind.

We were on the last train from Fenchurch Street;

Among the massed drunks now quiet or depressed,

The air was thick with smoke and rancid ale.

At first, when he leant over to my side,

I groaned, half-expecting some hard-luc...

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i would fall from heights
shaking Lucifer terrified
for Luna's starry skies to linger,
in a Jashar night, by your side.

floating on Chopin stroked ivory nocturnes
swimming in deep ruby pools of Pinot Noir
dancing on your flowering lips,
sweet with vanilla cigarette smoke.

life is beautiful.

phosphorus waves of purple patches
carry me from seas of stormy eyes
onto shores sanctuary ...

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currently the new year rolls in
but had you gotten up high enough
weeks ago
you would have looked east, and
felt it, if not seen it

this cyclic existence is something to
break from,
but facing the wave
so many hear, “stay”

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Résumé / Michael Kwack

Love is, like art,

dull without passion.

Marriage is, like enterprise,

vain without fortune.

Home is, like a chair,

awkward without comfort.

Life is, like sleep,

hollow without a dream.

Death* is, like a letter,

absurd without a story.

  *Death means suicide.

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little NYC hotel on 23rd street (1980s)

our little

leo house hotel

on 23rd street

was operated by Sisters of St. Agnes

an old time hotel

an elevator with

brass  scissor gates

operated by a nun

separate hot

and cold faucets

a bath/ shower/bath

clad in white subway tile

a crucifix over our bed

spied on our lovemaking

blessing our ...

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Spells

She paints pebbles with rainbows

And places them on walls

Poetry on larger stones

For others to find

It is a small act of kindness

Of acknowledging our plight

She takes the paints and daubs

Her handprint on a slate

All over the footpaths and walks

Her art is left to the elements

A bright sun shining

through dark clouds

the people wh...

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Golden was the frame

That surrounded you

A beautiful scene

Filled with a magnificent hue

- Nature's canvas.

Centrally seated you

Looked at the artist

And drove the object

Out of the imagery

Created an image

Of yourself

Fighting back

Alive with strength

You and you alone

Noone else can be you

He...

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You are enough. 

Insecurity or 

grandiose confidence 

isn’t necessary. 

Doubt, distraction, 

procrastination, fear, 

impostor syndrome,

borderline lunacy... 

are costs of the 

creative process.

Keep creating 

through it all.

But, then again,

what do I know.

https://youtu.be/sIaT8Jl2zpI

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It’s a good a place to cross as any

London Eye destination of many

But not us, we seek Southbank for sure

It’s just other attractions have more allure

Art and creativity our magnetic attraction

Walk past tourists, our vision abstraction

Dali Universe to be our first port of call

Give ourselves all morning taking in it all

She pushes a melting clock it swings with ease

Ha...

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In the stillness, 

My tongue tastes each sip 

of my coffee

In the stillness,

My teeth grind every bite

of my food

In the stillness, 

My eyes linger over each word 

I read

In the stillness, 

My fingers 

languorously write every letter

In the stillness,

My hands slowly 

color each petal

In the stillness,

My heart speaks

And 

I hear my thoughts

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Living in the shadow

of someone else’s life

is a safe hiding place,

most of the time. 

You get to observe, 

detached, 

no fear, no pain. 

Fertile breeding ground

to create art, music, poetry...

Until the shadow turns around,

chases you down, 

strips you naked in front of a

stone-casting society. 

Do you stand erect

in the blinding light...

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Poetry and creative writing by the philosopher and author, alexis karpouzos.

Actress : Martha mourouzi

alexis karpouzos on Amazon

alexis karpouzos on Goodreads

alexis karpouzos on youtube

alexis karpouzos on spotify

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Poetry and creative writing by the philosopher and author, alexis karpouzos.

Actress : Martha mourouzi

alexis karpouzos on amazon

alexis karpouzos on Goodreads

alexis karpouzos on instagram

alexis karpouzos on twitter

Read and leave comments (0)

Alexis karpouzos poetry and creative writing.

Actress : Martha mourouzi

Alexis karpouzos on Amazon

Alexis karpouzos on Goodereads

alexis karpouzos on instagram

Read and leave comments (0)

It's attitude was neutral

Neither here, nor there

Just a bare canvas

That stands without care

A vast space vibrating

It waits without rush

Filled with anticipation

For the stroke of a brush

Allowing anything 

The artist desires

Till the picture appears

For all to admire

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Let the anticipation build Let the angst grow inside your gut Allow it to rumble and tumble and wreck havoc on your insides Feel the magnetic pull when we lock eyes a little bit too long and struggle to break away Watch me watching you while trying to hide your prying eyes Don't you dare rush a thing

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This poem was painstakingly transcribed by 23 unpaid

interns labouring under my cool, indifferent 'tutelage'

(and who, after each day's work is finished, in bars and cafés

across the city will pretend to their friends how valued

they're made to feel as students and protegés of mine.)

                                                                                                   E...

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A single blue dot on a canvas
That no one can understand
Over looked and unappreciated
So quit yet so loud 
A story waiting to be told 
But no one cares to ask 
Every canvas tells a story
This one is called depression

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Mortality stalks me 
like a jealous lover.

Breathlessly follows me
wherever I go, incessantly
banging a gong, 

chanting, 

it won't be long, 
come to me, let 
the pain end.

My eternal soul sees
this game of mortal gods 

and challenges me

to go where mortals
fear to tread...

Meditate in silent space
past the black hole,

beyond illness,
depression, despair

to that ...

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Dr. Love (or How I Learned to Stop Wallowing and Write Poetry)

By: Rodolfo Perez

Love is (sometimes) patient,

Love is (sometimes) kind,

And sometimes, love is a needle in the eye,

Or a kick to the groin.

It is a cliff-hanger,

With your mother waiting to catch you,

When you let go.

It is losing your voice,

From crying into your pillow.

It is real...

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Poetry about Real People - The power of poetry in hospice care 

There is a tension between the advance of medical science, that pursues its ability to fix and treat, and an acceptance of the natural order of death and how that may be experienced. Atul Gawande, a surgeon and health researcher, has reignited this debate with his book 'Being Mortal' (and also presented the 2014 Reith Lectures on B...

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If your art is good, as it feels in your bones

You will become known

Long after your ashes are sprinkled

And all of your senses are gone 

Particularly if you cut off your lobe

Or choose for yourself to end it all

Note scraps reveal queer love affairs

Poems show in the rubble of fallen walls

Fans will become obsessed

Frame you in the brightest light 

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My emotions pouring out

My head lost in the clouds

But my body seemed to drown

I look at whats around

Your nowhere to be found

Whos problem is it now

Somehow I feel proud

I got sober

When we were over

And yet you still use

I feel like I was used

When the money ran out

Cheating came from the muse

Yet I stayed amused

I ignored the clues

My emotions are my...

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Your body is a masterpiece 

I want to trace it with my tongue 

I lust after this art 

Longing to mimic its movements 

Like playing piano 

I keep stroking you 

To map your beauty with my hands 

The muscle memory kicking in 

I close my eyes 

I lean in to kiss your hips 

I taste you 

Your skin so soft and savory 

This is what art taste like 

It’s magic 

It’s ...

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This piece comes from an exhibition of the work of celebrated Australian artist and sculptor Brett Whiteley. Parts of his enormous masterwork "Alchemy" can be found on the cover artwork of Dire Straits' album of the same name. A long-term drug user, he died in 1992 from a heroin overdose.

Retrospective

A metaphor for clear technique,

the Gallery (patrolled, secure,

well-scrubbed, ...

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Spiritual Hymns

Are the essence of a highschool choir
That sings often the sounds of Queen in the style of acapella
But also the rolling notes of Ezekiel Saw the Wheel
And the thumping heart of Elijah Rock.

How Can I Keep From Singing
When piano pushed
And the opening notes gently pulled in, to meet a booming brillance
My life goes on in endless song
And I recall the disconnect...

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My head is full of numbers, 
my heart is full of dread 
if I go from black to blue 
all the rhymes 
will come out new. 
Red bleeds to yellow 
and all the numbers are blue
the three comes in threes and
makes the nine incomplete and 
the moon tells the secrets 
I'm not meant to keep 
it's a message of the future 
and the past complete. 

A half yellow star sharp 
pierces my art.
The ...

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Here we stand 'twixt mighty walls

Which once were feared by one and all

Today the bravest swordsmen's face

Jeans and jumper have replaced.

We're here for artists on display

To banish thoughts so torn astray

By Donlad Trump & Theresa May

Of meanness, cruelty and shame 

And all that humans do complain

And therefore just for a while

Replace our thoughts and hidden smile

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Don't be afraid of the night,
take the feathers 
and follow the light
for in the light we forever fly, 
eternally divine,  
immortalised through time.

©JMCole 

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I've lived the times
Of the theater of my life
Dancing in the foyer:

Commedia dell'Arte
Comprised the entirety
Of my personal repetoire;

Dress rehearsals were
Never taken seriously:
The final play was just

A moments decision
Hurried through a huddle
Of half-written plots.

The masterful monologues
Of my long and intrepid career
Were carried off by the

Glib tongue of the cha...

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On 21st November 2015, we all swing into action to light up the whole town with words and arts!

Make a day of it.. Arrive on the ELR as part of their Ales and Tales event. Come for brunch and leave your kids writing in the library 

Events for all the family all day and an 'adults only' theme in the evening as poetry meets burlesque.

See the website for details www.rammylitfest.com.

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Have you any idea how hard it is for me to play a G major?
Should I write a standard progression, put the chorus where it should be and scream ‘dada’ in a controlled display of abandon?
Know I am a charlatan?
The only true rebellion would be to, with utter sincerity, believe yourself a penguin
Flying in the face of all authority

AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
MMMMMMMMMWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRR...

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I have always collected paintings

Always on the lookout for another piece

Something to go there

Next to the door

I have pictures of women

Their backs turned

Japanese ink drawings

Of cranes

I have splashes of colour

That mean something different

Each time I see them

I have scenes of desolation

And of hope

I have idyllic cottages

Crumbled apartment blocks

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i am drawn to

    seas of clouds above in nothingness    

                    the seas of water

    the seas of open land and forests

    the cities with seas of

                        concrete and people

i was born to be a

                                sailor

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The greatest Russian star of ballet,

About herself she used to say:

I didn’t betray my friends,

I didn’t offend neither men nor animals.

Dealing with the professionals

I worked hard to improve my skills,

Always paid my debts and bills,

Thanks to my nature

And life full of adventure

I endured all and didn’t break

For someone’s crazy sake.

I have never given up

An...

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She was a painter and he was a performer. Both artists molded with talent but divided by passion. Nonetheless they connected emotionally and spiritually. Her canvas illustrated bright myriads of color and abstract scenes of memories and mental photographs. He sang with an emptiness of blues and love ballads intertwined with lost hopes and faded dreams. Empty acrylic paint tubes and coffee stained ...

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