About Us

I look at sight and see past illusions. I play the idiot by being idiotic. A thumb sucking foetal sleeper. A january storm on a summer's day. A profiteer of black poetry markets. Goya's drowning childhood dog. A lisper among stutterers. Stranger in a strange and familiar land. Balthus depicted my guitar lesson once. I am the image and the awareness. Poets I love and respect: @OliviaDresher @BiancoLuno

What We Do

The heart loves what destroys it. The Queen is a snarling beast on a leash. Neurosis bleats and lions roar. I read the names of poets to the wind and space of night. Like saints I invoked the sacred artists and Poets of transgression and transcendence. Big words are often empty like a cathedral waiting for a congregation to impart meaning. There's no where I can be different from where I am now. Friends have their own time and I have mine. I spend too much of it alone. so my appetites for love are ravenous and no meal is enough. I guess I'm needy but calm too accepting. I'm so terribly lost in an emotional swamp. My head is just above the surface can you see the desperation and fear in my eyes? I have no freedom just the pursuit that forever eludes me. I am free to move in the prescribed patterns created by others more ignorant than myself. Love that swoons into the soft tiresome night of blanketing blackouts. I was very serene and peaceful as I wrote this but I was and still am deeply sad or perhaps softly depressed: A deep pitch black night of velvet horrors. Seduction that snaps the neck with a slow and tender lover's caress. I accept the beggars demands by cutting their hands off and handing them back to them. At a price I am attained by thiefs. At a cost I am injected into the veins of the desperate. Vampires latch onto my neck and my skin crawls with revulsion. Jesus Christ's flesh is wrapped up in cellophane and sold for astonishing profits. The paralysis of desire's indecision. I anguish over a possibly flawed attempt at happiness to the extent that I will never even begin to attempt it. I live in a glass walled menagerie with traumatised animals. Tigers and giraffes pace the cells of gucci storefront prisons in Dubai. Our conditioning is mechanical and broken. Cruelty is beautiful for those who are guilty of it. We become victims out of a complicit passion for pleasing our tormentors. Lust sings softly sarcastic lyrics of dissociation and shocked serenity. Mouthfuls of choking verbosity vomited out like a scorching God being poured from the sun. She mouths silent psalms from her favourite criminals gone beyond laws totality. She eats paradox and crawls without limbs. Her Bandages are dirty and flies lay their children upon the staining rot. Smut has a colour. It stains...and it stinks too. I am hypnotised by the hypnotised and led by the blind to the back of sundays church queue. Holy church lovers drunk on naivety molest grace with perverted fingers. I severed the kindness of a cat by my unfeeling stony silence. A breeze block of emotional numbness. Regret is best served for a time that never waits. The menu says everything costs anorexia. Forgive me I have poisoned myself with thinking again. --

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Favourite Profiles

Profile image Cynthia Buell Thomas

Like your group to have a profile? Submit a profile


Profile image


Fri 28th Feb 2020 21:35

Beware of where your Ka goes'


Profile image

Cynthia Buell Thomas

Wed 26th Feb 2020 11:58

You are certainly diverse. And you rejoice in thinking. 'Poisoned' indeed; you amuse yourself!

I'll try to read more. You are very interesting. The pictures are striking.

You might enjoy this. At seventeen, my boyfriend and I were canoeing on a slim, low river, cheek to jowl with the overhanging banks and the sloping hillsides. The WORLD was wholly GREEN.
And I said facetiously, 'I'm so SICK of GREEN!'

Well, God got even. That night I dreamed of a world without 'green'! Woods, meadows, mountains, streets - all in pastels of yellows and pinks and blues and purples. Not a hint of green, anywhere! I woke up thoroughly chastened, not quite ready to laugh. Because I'm wasn't sure how my mind 'engineered' it.

Still not sure.

Sue Cuthbert

Fri 15th Mar 2019 15:43

I greatly admire Painting Grey, and your Painting Blue Sky is beautiful - it reminds me of chinoiserie, it is delicate, the colours are stunningly utilised, and the whole painting is so excellently balanced - beautiful!

View all comments

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message