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  May 2016 Paul Gilhooley
Fay Slimm
The Farside's Face.

The wish of a painter or poet is to transport
the spirit's deep emotion by pausing
in awe at day or night's high-vaulted scene,
transposing its  beauty to dreams,

then viewing grass as more than green.

An alchemist with no interest in gold
invests time between folds,
finds in the sky thermals on which

to soar on fancy or some surreal whim
to make jasper of sea,  jade of dawn


and perceive gems hidden in flora's form.

A seer catches the farside's face
and traces that world in sentence or paint,
chimeric in nature an artist
whose eye encounters rock gives it heart,
transforms by description  
accepted mundane into mystic meaning,
adds soft to feather, colour to blur


and improves the initial by seeing further.

It is said that fine art opens doors
to show the extraordinary as but normal,
for the good poet or painter
ranks as foremost importance a felt magic


when met with empty paper or canvas.
Paul Gilhooley May 2016
Follow my heart?
Or follow my head?
A brand new start?
Or emotionally dead?

A person of warmth has cast a spell,
Enchanting eyes, a captivating smile,
Take a chance? Or let it dwell?
The chance I've awaited for quite a while.

The pains of past, cloud my thought,
Fear of pain, fear of hurt,
Thoughts of her, my breath grows short,
But bygone failures, their doubts, exert.

Should I do this?  Should I do that?
Will I do right? Or Will I do wrong?
I'm sick of loneliness, and feeling flat,
Tight in her arms, I feel I belong.

It seems when we chat, I'm finally me,
No mask interferes with the person revealed,
But out in the open, is that meant to be?
Or am I just safer with the real me concealed?*

© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2016
Paul Gilhooley May 2016
Desire
creates an inner
fire
creating hopes that you
*
inspire
dreams that sadly will not
transpire
forlorn emotions shall now
expire
harbinger of inner
ire.*

© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2016
Paul Gilhooley May 2016
I like the dark, I like the cold,
Away from life that makes me old,
To stop and ponder what should be,
And escape the life that's crippling me.

I like to sit out in the rain,
The splosh of droplets, relieve the strain,
This crash of water, the growing puddles,
Oft clear my mind, and all it's muddles.

To sit and feel the pelt of hail,
That crisp, sharp sting and blast of gale,
The swirling wind, no sounds of man,
Here I can work out who I am.

I want some time from behind the mask,
I do not think that's much to ask?
I like to get away from it all,
For chance to be the real Paul.

Working out which path to follow,
To stop me feeling empty, hollow,
Where to go, to do what next?
This age old problem leaves me vexed!

From within my soul I feel its growl,
It's evil, demented, cavernous howl,
It's mere presence chills to the bone,
This demon follows, wherever I roam.

Controlling thoughts, fuelling fears,
Crippling ambition, driving tears,
My plans to go forward, it brings to a halt,
As everything in life, is always my fault.

My future remains lost in the haze,
Living with this darkness for all my days,
All that remains, is my epilogue,
I'm living with the big black dog!*

© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2016
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