Because I need to share my art holistically.

Because I need a space

where I can stitch all facets of my art together.

Because Galleries can only show the images,

but there are also the poems.

Because sometimes an artwork gives birth to a poem and

because sometimes a poem evolves into an artwork.

Because my poems and art are inextricably interwoven

and are meant to dance together.

 

Thank you for your visit.

Welcome to my head.





red bird 

 

red hook

 

an angry moon

 

feathers and blood

 

my confessors all

 

raise me up in 

 

transcendental grace

 

or allow my fall

 

as I sing my tale

 

with a broken voice

 

as I hang from 

 

winter trees

 

with broken wings

 

mutant 

 

penitential

 

ghost

 






Lonely child you were.

Is it too late to be your friend?

Selfish child you were,

always wanting what you could not have:

red ball, red stool, a dad who gave a shit,

a mother who didn't have to work herself

to the bone.

 

Pretty child you were,

an ugly old man now.

Is it too late to fold you into me,

to love us for who we are

and who we were

and who we will be?

 

I confess I abandoned you.

I was out of my mind for so long

and you were lost in the mazes of my heart.

I confess I believed

I could walk the years

without you.

 




Says

 

I am Alpha and Omega

 

The red burn of ice

 

And the silver rose

 

 

Says

 

Look deeper than confess

 

I am never words

 

I am always almost spring


 

 






Invocation

 

To the feathered gods?

 

To the white beard sky dog?

 

To The Others from the Far Beyond?

 

Who we always knew will save us

 

From our confessions

 

At the very

 

Last

 

Moment.

 



 

 

fish, mouse, poet

hooked, guillotined, silenced

 

from the beginning

no possibility of escape

 

I learned to love

the pointy end

 

pain and surrender

dancing the tango

 

so now I confess

with colours on my tongue

 

and holes in my heart




And it is coming, not a shadow of a doubt,

The Final, The Ultimate, The Inevitable.

The Call for Last Orders. One More For The Road.

Time, Ladies and Gentlemen Please, it's Time!

 

There are many strategies.

Run and hide?

But everything is suddenly transparent.

Try bribery?

Dust in your hand.

Deny, deny, deny?

But it's already too late.

 

I choose to go out with The Surfers From Hell,

bobbing skulls riding the waves, waiting.

Spiked boards slippery with mystery,

waiting for, THEBIGONE.

 

 


(TPSCLRC)

 







It was years before I could ask for help
From anyone.
But this endless personal improvement
And inner transformation business
Proved beyond my tenuous skills
And sanity.
So I confess, I finally called their number
And irrevocably surrendered to
The Piggy Sisters Chorus Line Renovation Crew.
And you may laugh my friend
But as you see, I am not the man I was
Anymore.
I am cubed, fragmented and transmogrified
Into blissful, transcendental chaos.

That's how it goes sometimes.