I am never sure what to fill in this daunting space.. What is there to know about an artist, other than what his or her art tells you?--Aside from that we are but worldly creatures, with worldly interests.. We are shifting clouds in the sky of life, who have the autonomy to take our own shapes before we are ushered on by the insistent wind.
No More Needles.. The hurt pulsed from his hunched frame, Rocking without the help of mothers arms, Testing a father that just won’t reply, Pushing off but holding on… Eyebrows turned down, A constant ache that won’t unfurl, Loaded and ashamed, Afraid to face what will not change. Can’t escape the love that pulls over us in waves, Which we shoot, and stab and rub at, Cannot clean the charge from our souls, It is always swirling trying to find contact. This tension drives us to silence it, It is only that, which we are, The begging of our divinity— We are only trying to get back to the whole from which we came.. Love in this and forge a purpose, time mind that contact.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Before dawn (16/11/2017)
The Baboon and the scales (09/04/2017)
Dear friend..no more needles (24/11/2016)
bring me my eyes (24/11/2016)
- 2017 (1)
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