Archives For Art

Trap

April 3, 2017 — Leave a comment

Wandering between two points

With no other exit plan

Wondering if I 

Will ever see the light of day

Again

Even though

The sun is covering the earth

In sweet golden light

I am trapped between coordinates

I put in place myself

Over time.

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I try to think

Of happiness,

As a concept

Encapsulated in its own image.

And laughingly believe

I’ll be happy,

Just by bringing to mind

The thought,

 

That thinking happy thoughts

Would then follow

Without effort

And all would be well.

 

But happy thoughts only

Materialize ,

Not by concentrated effort,

But by avoiding,

All these wicked

People From hell.

 

 

 

 

Image from Beliefnet.com

Turtle Doves

February 28, 2017 — Leave a comment

Dove at Sunset over Lago di Garda

Through orange heights,

Through turtle doves,

And through the alleyways,

I see the love

That hope enshrouds

Descend and take away

 

The thoughts I had of one I love

A city far but near

And in its grasp

A homesick dove

For whom I shed a tear.

 

The air is still,

I feel no wind

Inside I feel no sorrow

Upon my hope

My faith is pinned

The dove shall fly tomorrow.

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How much more can I take

From the weak, petty and jealous

Propping up their frail egos

By draining me

Of my peace

Of mind?

 

How will this end?

 

Their ego and character will sit unsteadily

On a dry faltering castle of sand

As my mind

Will become even more focused

And rid of the trivial,

Glowing like real solid gold

 

As the froth from the sliding ripples

Crawls

Towards an already

Shaky fort.

 

And the happiness

Drained from me

 

Was not enough

To save the castle

From crumbling

Back to the sea.

 

 

Doppelgänger

February 10, 2017 — Leave a comment

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Annoying neighbors, very intrusive,

Pry into my thinking process

(Whispers and rumors)

Because I stand alone.

 

I am not moved by windy whims,

Or current trends,

Or little lies

Or envy.

And don’t care if Jack

Bought a new lawn mower.

Or slept with one of his students.

 

I was born alone, 

Solitaire from dawn to dusk

But.

 

I do admit,

 

Any time the antagonism becomes

Overwhelmingly intense,

(Fortified by not knowing what I’ve done)

I step aside,

And conjure up a doppelgänger 

And hand it over.

 

I give him the racing brain,

And resentment,

The swirling fury

And anything else

I don’t need,

To get through the day,

And bid him farewell.

 

Though I must warn you, 

Bumping into this other personae

Would not be much fun for anyone.

 

 

 

Image – SPIE Digital Library

The Fisherman’s Jug

February 9, 2017 — Leave a comment

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The oak table in the corner, sturdy and solid,

Under the candelabra ,

In the farmhouse,

A cracked jug on top.

 

With other kitchen accruements

Laid out neatly

By the stove,

The plates and tankards

Strung on the wall,

It’s easy to ignore

The cracked jug.

 

Most visitors were apathetic

Regarding the unglazed vessel

That had been left

By an old fisherman.

 

Even the new tenants

And their friends

And families

Dismissed it

As aesthetically spoiling.

 

And the old fisherman

Who once lived there

Knew what it was like

To be ignored

And untouched

And unloved,

 

Saw the blemish on the jug

As a scar

That defined the jug

A perceptible imperfect mark.

 

So before he died

The old fisherman

Dropped a large pearl

Inside the jug

And left it there.

 

When he was gone,

And when people came by the farmhouse

They ignored the dirty old jug

Sitting alone;  like the old man

Would sit alone,

Not realizing that if they looked inside,

They would see the real beauty

The true value,

And their lives could have been changed

Forever.

And they come to tea
Uninvited
Fondling my fragile china cups
Tedious tapping of a tea spoon
On a saucer.

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Only to have my faith and peace trashed
And crumpled up
And thrown back on to the path.

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Peace Through Heavy

January 31, 2017 — Leave a comment

stacking-pub-glass

Another Friday night, I walked into the pub,

To meet my Dad who was cradling

A pint of Heavy,

And using his other hand

To prop up the bar,

With his eyes fixed on the Glasgow sawdust.

His swaying difficult to discern

But I could see it.

 

“Time to go home I said”

Looking up, “Hello son, want a pint”

And I had to decide,

Whether to stay and swallow a few,

Or to put his arm around my shoulder

And walk him home through the night time headlights,

And the rain,

And watch my Mum scream and throw a tantrum,

Which is more hellish than watching my Dad

Stagger.

 

So I ordered a pint and a Glenfiddich

With a splash of water,

And when my Dad looked at me

And lifted his pint,

He said “Cheers”

And how many beers

We had after that

I can’t remember,

And when I got home,

And how I got home

I can’t remember

So the night was a success

All round.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Your voices make little difference,

The wind has the power to defeat

And take away all this dire screaming

But leave blisters and scars on your feet.

 

You can dress in vaginal outfits,

Give a finger to every young cop

Throw water bottles

At barking Alsatians,

There is nothing to say you must stop.

 

Urinate on the stars and stripes if you want,

Wipe your feet or your ass on the flag,

Smash up a Starbucks

(But don’t expect to get served),

Smash up banks

(Who financed your candidate),

And shout down the scum who you hate.

 

But it won’t make any difference

I can assure you,

The bed in the attic’s still there,

The food stamps will keep on arriving,

And the wind will still blow in your hair.

 

The streets will be cleared in the morning

As sad bitter people disperse,

To the buses and trains and planes waiting,

And the undertaker driving the hearse.