They say home is where the heart is

and my heart is where the art lives.

So where is my home?

Art lives within us all

and begins an internal/external exchange...

a process

like humanity to trees.

We stop, relax, breathe

as one.

So where is my home?

First Contact was my spiritual home

gave meat and marrow to

broken sp...

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YOU are surrounded by glass

Within that

The world

Can observe

The normality of dinner

The association of wealth

The body on the table

The watching of soaps

The entertaining of guests

The reading of books

Masturbation in bedrooms

The privacy of thought.

WE live under mirrors

And reflect them back at you

With that emotion

We coat o...

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Wood and feather

brittle bone

silver leaf.

An obvious marriage

behind glass

to keepsafe.

There is a world

to know.

Place on paper.

It’s a poem

an heirloom.

If only I could fill

the box with wreathes of  mist then

I could be an artist and a poet.

Smoke out the meaning.

Let it breathe.

Feather, wood and bone.

fo...

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`

On a hand-hewn pedestal

imagination coalesced;

on milk-white face alight

eyes sparkle with a liquid flame.

Some build ivory towers,

these hands raw from driven labour,

on scratched cheeks a stricken eye

ransoms a sculpted orphan dream.

Across time and Middle Sea

another calloused hand chiselled;

laughter on a pine-white...

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Recorded live on Soundart Radio.

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