She crawls towards me on sheets
Straight from cloath line
|Carrying a hint of the outside
In.|
Her eyes- two little storms of
Pure woman, self-respect and a firm knowing
That she is as beatiful as
Anything else mortal.
Warm with summer, slightly chilled from the breeze through
Dancing curtains-
Drowzy from sleep and wanting to wake with a
Thank You all over her being,

It's not what it looks like.
|It's not love, it's a very intense embrace|
That reaches through us both

And on into the Infinite Forevers.
Names whispered and toes curled in Utmost Ritual,

As an origo of heaven and ground.
This is how we say Grace.

This is how we thank.

I shuffled off my armour, fought with bow, then sword,
Then knife, then handfuls of gravel and stones.

Pebble for arrow, the ones who joined my flesh
I tore out and hurled back in crimson sprays.

My children were too young for slavery.
My wife was too pretty to be left alone.

Home redused to ashes.
Family lost in an inferno of boots and blades.

I would rise from this.
I would arise a cold and hungry demon,

Composed by the devil that is revenge, justice in blood,
And plain, animal violence.

And you would see -before the life left your eyes-
That you created me.

You had nothing better to do,
So you created me.

You killed all I was,
And created me.

You were laughing

When you
Created me.

My canvas, my art
My pottery to mould
My statue to sculpt
My treasure to hold

Inspiration is welcome
Appreciation offered in return
Glad to make a jewelled vase of this urn

No idea is enough
The shapes seem all wrong
The paint too dull
The song too long

My craft is no longer mine
From whence came this technique?
This form, this approach,
won't produce what I seek

Passionless correction grasps my hand
Once again I remove the sheet from the stand
Once again I place the brush in my hand
Once again I kneel before the furnace to plunge my mess-in-a-pan
Into the blaze which will return me near to the beginning

But not quite at the start

The canvas, now devoid of heart;

Of soul

All mind but

None mine

Tattered and torn; But still amendable with time…



And still, this is my canvas
And yet still, this is my art
A reflection of me; of what's in my heart

Who I am;
Who I want to be
I will design what I want to see


No. I won't put your favourite colour
Of course, I won't include your favourite quote
(With all due respect, Shakespeare is an excellent writer but he won't   fit    here!)
With all due respect, things must change now and it will be done without a vote.



This is now.

                                                                                        -A.M.E.N.

That's not a God, that's a sense of entitlement
A sugarcoated dishevelment in disguise
You don't have dreams, just infatuations
Turning hope into self-indulgent lies

I turned away from New York just to know you
Silver showered soldiers singing serene
I turned away from myself just to love you
But I don't think you know what love means

You're not alone, just afraid of isolation
Afraid no one will be better than me
I'm not that great, I say without hesitation
Someone will love you more, just wait and see

My opinion of you changes like the skyline
A star among the cascading dark
Baby, don't let yourself flame out
Before the rest of your fire starts