Thursday, July 28, 2011

For Amy….


Your hair falls


in stings





not just a body


lonely





Outside the green


hear your vocal chords tremble…


woe




My generation experiences.


Though you call us fake


this reality.


with your eyes all stretched out like green peacocks in the green flame.



Tell me


how is it that you put love in a category.


Tell me how is it that you name a death by numbers and not by personality.








Tell me


What is it that you care for.


or what


even


you believe in.








Do you remember the first time you fell?


Because i do.


I will never forget.


Through the collapses it travels on the rivers


the guitar rumbles through it


up the back of jeering notes,


how they called her.


violently


and screams.


how she called herself to execute….


numb.




money.






I am not vauge.


just responsible.


that i can feel


that i can feel


that i can feel


that i can feel


that i can feel


that i can feel


that i can feel


that i can feel


that i can feel


that i can feel


that i can feel


that i can feel


that i can feel.


Soul .


Mother fucker hates.






Whether its gentle or rough


through her passion filled hips


she fuelled…in her funny way…






It will always hit.


What...are you still trying to judge books by covers and souls by body


Then why do i exist.


Tears fill embrace


this is her final resting

in place.









I am subdued, my heart rests


An angel finally sleeps





You sang for us…


You sang for us

we



are we worthy



we?


your song for us.


finger beat of the scratchy moon.


and my tears need not fade.


though they go


My reality grows but does not shatter your spokes or


falls




dancing on






I will dance on.


to the black


I will dance until my toes know not how.


to your voice.


But my heart can fight and reckon


from their is born


too many


many


colours….



settle.




judge and perceive,


the calling of a wilting rose,who was born to see the rain shatter her


though she took it


what is it to take?




like petals calls


good night dear sweet generation.My eyes are open


My heart still roars.


To those who feel love, you are not hidden


There is no judgement spoken







today's autumn sweet wind


august


caressing…


the air


with the sun.





Monday, July 18, 2011

In Response to the Paintings of artist Duncan Iago and Marc Sinclar



I want to ask you

Duncan Iago, What do you feel when you paint?




Music in the break beats and the harmonies of base,

shoulders

base

hips
base

release

base fingers base

tips

base

release

base

but within you show me your soul,

show me you can funk...




I am latent and bare,

I stand here sparring my self

the insecurities

and pass page by page,

the initiations of my heart.

Already complex.

Let me break it down

My heart rings thru the branches of twisted leaves

tearing and raging softly inside of my intestinal pull,

these paintings make me feel so empty but

so full,

ill,

out of the colours from my childhood I find a worksheet,

The universe lays through it,

I feel the funk music in my toes

and then i look at the strings of lines points and unembarrassed

no one else matters,

when you dance.

There is a detail that speaks to me it is like the soul but not so important,

this detail is funny

both

and beautiful,

colourful wishful and serene like a pipeline of rain

that leaked in to the crevices and crack fines of the street,

each colour separated by the dropping of ink,

harmonious

chaotic

and mine is happy.

If i stare at it too long my blood sugar makes it black

then white

then float.


Twists beat out endure,

raid,

rest

and bounce.

What was contained in my shoulders

is

light

feathered

and out

and then I notice mark Sinclair...

I stare in to the black gals eyes

and she tells it bare...




What do you feel when you paint?

Marc Sinclair : '....I feel naked, vulnerable....'

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

For a Boy...(and for me).I find it really hard to tell him how I feel...

These are the colours of the world.

One for passion deep inside of my heart.

One for persistence,

for the lonely,

Which lies within hard work and a graceful notion.

Flowering deep within the the forest flame, burning bright
and
extinguishing.

Feeling alive, young.

Hesitant, without measuring, stalling
But being bold not hidden

Bearing orange across you chest, like spider webs flowers

as you climb

Sway

and fall...

Wake,Blue around the glimmering tones.

Positive and alive.

Knowing what you are.

How no one can stop you as long you keep your chin up
and your hands and feets going.

spreading life...

Endurance is endurance burning in the flame.

Be who you are.

Patient green is staring through

El condor pasa

colours grey and white and blue weave.
bob in and out within the streaks of clouds,

the circus comes in waves

I am witness.

these are the colours of the world,

and peoples faces are a wash with amazement of the growth of the smallest

wings in a man

as like in a woman.

Each vein fills up and constricts, bursts with pangs and feels weary

with antenae...

Yet all this is

newborn
newborn.

Scar'd with being new born.

This light is not a blind position

though you will travel far

Screw your apologetics to the world of thoughts

and bear in on your chest the love you hold.

Though the bow and arrow speeds up...

be awake enough to feel it hit.

Let it be

if I cannot express my love let it be,

well it will be that the spirit

a collison

may spare us together

either by the river or the moon.

I am not afraid to feel my love
tho my cheeks blush.


A poem I wrote for dad a few months ago...

I am a box of matches,

I am old


I am tired



I am rusty



I am solid

I am stubborn.


I am woods

and feathers on trees

I am children's fingers


I am you

I am me.


I am in pain

I am not free

I am me

I cannot Fly


I feel conquered


trapped


and raped? Is too sour for me.


I feel like an escapist.


I feel like a fighter wearing blue.

Eating ice cream


Rusting veins out of my head.


I am serene.


I am uncomfortable


I do not play, I forgot too long ago how to do that.


I am unreal searching and dismissive.


I am a clown and pauper

A stream and a singer


A vision and a spy


A wish and definitely not a miracle.


I am so bitter and old.


My splinters used to heal but they forgot to.


I used to be romantic but now my belly is cynical


it farted.


I cared about the world but now the world has lost me.


Simple in the plain


A snake in the forest


A power that burns me out


A wishful dreamer


An optimist


in aligators skin.


And the veins on my writers forehead.


I see anger in your viscous destructive anger.


The kind I saw when you turned angels in to demons


Pigs in to chickens and stuck pillars in to the earth and forgot that you could have roots, forgot that you could fly and just hated.


I burn and expire


Burn and expire.


How is it with one word you can take all your wisdom away and with two bring it back to me.


It started to rain


shliuosp

sh heleeep

shemep shemep

SHEMEen

showaN sTROCKKCOK


SHROOP DSHO SIMMA


SIMZA ZIP SLIP still slow free


whispers.


I am your hypnotised piece of recycled card board grey soaked piece of fury


and fuck your anger and fuck your pride.


Fuck you.


Fuck your anger


Fuck me


And my pride.


Fuck you fuck your anger fuck me and this time I rhymed.

Monday, July 11, 2011

For a Boy...(and for me).I find it really hard to tell him how I feel...

These are the colours of the world.

One for passion deep inside of my heart.

One for persistence,

for the lonely,

Which lies within hard work and a graceful notion.

Flowering deep within the the forest flame, burning bright
and
extinguishing.

Feeling alive, young.

Hesitant, without measuring, stalling
But being bold not hidden

Bearing orange across you chest, like spider webs flowers

as you climb

Sway

and fall...

Wake,Blue around the glimmering tones.

Positive and alive.

Knowing what you are.

How no one can stop you as long you keep your chin up
and your hands and feets going.

spreading life...

Endurance is endurance burning in the flame.

Be who you are.

Patient green is staring through

El condor pasa

colours grey and white and blue weave.
bob in and out within the streaks of clouds,

the circus comes in waves

I am witness.

these are the colours of the world,

and peoples faces are a wash with amazement of the growth of the smallest

wings in a man

as like in a woman.

Each vein fills up and constricts, bursts with pangs and feels weary

with antenae...

Yet all this is

newborn
newborn.

Scar'd with being new born.

This light is not a blind position

though you will travel far

Screw your apologetics to the world of thoughts

and bear in on your chest the love you hold.

Though the bow and arrow speeds up...

be awake enough to feel it hit.

Let it be

if I cannot express my love let it be,

well it will be that the spirit

a collison

may spare us together

either by the river or the moon.

I am not afraid to feel my love
tho my cheeks blush.