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.