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Thoughts arose early again this morning.
‘I'm dying inside’
That made me want to cry.
Cry a lot!
Yet they pass, like clouds in the sky.

When all kinds of trust are lost,
The arms widen,
And perhaps love will see the day.
I’m standing here after an age in the forest.
The branches, they tried to shape my face.
Yet here I’ll remain, mistaking the ocean,
And wait for the clouds to clear.
I'm dying inside,
Ever so slowly
With glittering promises of hope
Along the way.

Help is yet another set of ideas
No more please,  I cannot bear them.
It is freedom from this personality
Or nothing else.
Works in progress - experimental verse for a graphic novel based on the life of painter Vincent Van Gogh
Thoughts settled this morning
I watched them fall like snow.
There was a glimpse of peace
And all what's needed to know.
When the pain is the knife
It searches naturally for the ground
Lock the doors, switch the lights
Shut out the sound.

We’re losing before we’ve played.
Tools sharpen themselves,
On tongues slayed.
And loneliness creeps in.
The back-lit screen replaces the mirror
Generations wrapped,
Before they can shiver
Wires loose, tucked away
Forgotten, unheard, led astray,

So how far out do you want to go?
Before you turn around to see the show.
Far out man - Lost - Found - Wholeness
On the edge after sleep,
My fingers run once again,
through the worn out pages.
The day ran away from the sun,
And I realised that life,
is a dream remembered.
Scratching for a meaning.
Deep down, you're tracing holes for the rain.
Forgiveness is not remembering a whole **** thing.
Breathing in, whilst hopelessly trusting the clocks will stop.
The mask slips down,  yet still,
It's knotted around my neck.
The vacancies turned on its side,
Neither open nor closed.
And this, this is the current state.
It is full and waiting to let go.
Is it possible
For a passion to end?
One that consumes,
Till only the shell is left.

I think it can be done.
It’s a last hope,
One before blindness comes
And awakeness follows.
I am not depressed sir,
That word is an invention to me,
it is circumstance that ails me,
circumstance and a fever of
saying 'yes' too much!
an imaginary conversation with oneself.
Been walking the age of man for over a thousand years,
Listening to his flightless birds sing,
Mimic I did, with countless others,
Copy I did, chasing their circle of shadows.
Tired I now stop and those casts stretch out four fold.
Which Road to take?
Or is that I remain standing  still,
And let clarity come uninvited, in a mindless stare?
I've been mostly at sea.
I came back on the belief,
That I was invited.
And I’m here now despite of it all,
Finding myself watching brides of perfume and peroxide.
In overweight cars with lemon mouths unable to see the upside.
TV’s on, blaring out opposites who,
Flay their arms against monsters of convention.
And I find myself, with hands over ears, unable to really cry
Because you know deep down,  nothing lives and nothing dies.

So I carry on despite of it all.
Hope left untangled, a forgotten frown.
Calls for freedom, will see us through.
Love is the mirror put down,
Love is the mirror put down.
Just before I wake,
I watch,
And see an expanse,
Upon which words,
Are like breath in hot climes.

One glimpse is enough
Of an unshakable peace

All is dying for me now.
I am not afraid.
For the hand that holds me,
Is mine.
I forgot the love and I am silence,
For all things.
We call out to your imagination,
It's the only place you'll be able to understand.
Beyond sorrow and happiness,
Come master the air and the shadowlands.

We do not hear our voices sing,
They’re for you, your calling,
Gifts from a perennial spring.

Pure in heart, words lose in flight,
Leaving wings to trace the skies, bringing,
Ecstasy, to an unknown height.

The body falls back to university,
Tears they'll run down your face.
The final grasp disappears,
As you give chase.

And all that you’ve dreamed of,
Dies.
But do not worry, you are me and you are I
We are flowers in the sky.
Debut poem for a series of new paintings about songbirds I'm working on.
I think the best of you,
You know that’s true,
You are my silent cat

You see beyond my eyes

We are letters now,
Keep me in ribbon' bundles
So we’ll last as long as the skies

With a warm handshake
I love you.
WIP's - for experimental verse based on the life of painter Vincent Van Gogh, this is called Seven Crow's - vincent writes to Theo
These will form part  a handmade zine , my first!
I'm sharing on here to engage with any opinion and also to publish as a way to reflect.
Gotta tight hold on god's colliander,
Looking, searching with love in my eyes.
History's lost in constellations,
Blowed out, breathed out in social sighs.
Are we just fish hung in the air for drowning?
Light rented for night-time skies?
Guilt is a wound not healed by time.
It’s scars are maps to the memories.
And there are those that never forget.
Only in my work shall I find redemption
Where the  monsters are reduced to shadows in the sun.
Works in progress - experimental verse for a graphic novel based on the life of painter Vincent Van Gogh
HARVEST

I'm truly naked
Accolades have no place to call their home
I see the darkness from where I'm from
And knowing finally rests upon the ledge.

Hope lost, leaves reasons to leave,
In younger years I travelled light
Now I plan for every eventuality, til
the train can’t take my load.

Time to harvest,
the crows have had their fill
Replacing clouds in the sky
I’m the blue, the thin
before the black and I shall fly
I shall fly and you will see me again and again
I shall fly and I will see you again.
Works in progress for new illustrated handmade book about the life of painter  Vincent van Gogh and a correlation to my own journey
Drunk on the thought of love,
I stumble on the shine
And the crowded streets seem so empty
What was treasured,
Is no longer mine.

I give it up, I give it all
To silence
Come find me
I'll be the one sitting tall.

And we'll go flying on a whim,
Into a net of tell tale lies
Unable to trace
Because our shoes,
Are tied

Hate moves swiftly by,
In devils flares.
Hope stalled in
Breaths,
Like rides at funfairs.

So give it up,
Give it all
Come find me,
In high chairs.
In a way,
Your way,
Matters the most.
A Flag of colours.

Yet in the midst,
Appears a
listening .

One that also
sounds.

Not an echo,
But the twisting of ones hand.
And in palm,
Such taste, such distortion.
one of those pieces that write themselves, unedited. Really appreciate being included in a community of lovely writers.
Upon waking before the light,
Is known by the window.
I am here,
Between you and me, I am here.

Then it floods in and you resume the dare,
To dream of a universe,
To take steady breaths of the morning air.
Where silence can’t shake off the sounding,
Eyes shut tightly in a deathly stare.

The body is nothing but the picture,
And you can’t put the brush down.
The journey happened around you
I am here,
The flower’s quivering sound.
Born into an ancient legacy
Of an endless war between wrong with right.
Holding Olympic flames under father's mantels,
Arms shortened to the desired height.

The scrub of history,
Cuts to the heart of me.
Sounds have been made since, yet
Unable to see, the heart of me.

They say it's all an illusion,
And Clever thoughts, they rule the day.
My breath sighs into stale air.
For and against must have their say.

In short, Oliver's’ hands wrap around fatmens scraps.
It's all you've got I suppose?
Yet that's the thing about integrity,
It's not a game.
Dice lay silent in cups
And love is once again allowed to move.
Is
Is
Birth is change is growth is wisdom
is death is love
is birth is…
That's me on the box,
But inside I'm in pieces.
I'm nothing without the lid.
And that hole, oddly shaped,
Shall remain empty.
Because I'm really the lost bit of sky.
Just like in a dream,
you went to school,
just like in a dream,
you wondered why you felt anything, just like in a dream your heart beat loudly on seeing snow for the first time.
When you got close to the ground and played with the ants.
When you ran out the door with joy and coin for ice cream.
Just like a dream you cried on leaving your friends and home,
on making new ones and how nervous the whole game became.
Like when you grew up and forgot  all the years behind.
And just like in a dream you always wake up and realise you are here.
And it fades to meet a new day.

It is in your heart my friend,  there is nothing here.
You are just like a dream and love takes you there.
Quick Run of childhood to now.
Stamping your feet on the ground,
Wishing it was quicksand.
Heads in tiny places with tapers to explode.
Maybe you want it?

Necks with built in hinges,
To look back into the dark.
Where happiness reigns in your sadness.
Maybe you want it.
God only knows.

A million churches to live in,
So as not to go outside.
With towers of chastisement,
To avoid the lies.
Maybe you want it?
Maybe you don’t?
Truth comes and goes
Truth comes and goes?
My soles are too thin,
To walk on old ground.
We are moons are we not?
Lost and found,
Obediently still in ponds,
Waiting for the wind to turn.
That moves foolish ships,
With captains at their stern.

Time sings in echoes.
Lost to a moment, lost to a glance,
Left wanting, waiting,
Feigning a lapwings dance.

Don't wait for the sun to show its face
Around a corner,
Turned long ago
All the searches,
Are curtains for the show
For the show
For the show.

And on speck, on landing,
When prey is past
My heart, Our hearts,
Settle, for nothing lasts.

Don't wait for the sun to show its face
Around a corner,
Turned long ago
All the searches,
Are curtains for the show
For the show
For the show.
A silent snigger is a lion's roar to me.
I reject them on every level,
From their shoes to their sickly smiles,
All eyes shall  cower from my glare
I will go my own way
Experimental verse for graphic novel about the life of painter Vincent van Gogh See  (collection for full list)
How else could it shine?
Where everything lends itself to nothing,
Where shadows creep from floor to mind.

Black it seems, so called by others,
Who lift lids for whiffs of fables.
Diagnosis is dispensed, your eyes milky,
With the stigma of their convenient labels.

But the Cosmopolitans find strength,
And turn tides to beautiful hues of blue,
Their feathers signal to unfavoured reason,
And master winds, that forever circle me and you.
Piece written for mental awareness day.
Misery is the backdoor to happiness,
What side you are you on?
We always choose,
Although that depends where you’ve come from.

Happy comes, so does the sad,
Be angry with your mother, be angry with your dad.

Depression is a word,
A fossil waiting to be found.
Everyone’s looking at each other,
Some just at the ground.
Snap,
In the grip,
On the vice,
As soon as your heads turned,

You'll want the mystery back.

As soon as your heads turned,
On the vice,
In the grip,
Snap.
Experimental piece using the middle sentence as starting point and mirroring the words from back to front.
Taking orders,
Left and right.
In tight spaces,
Ready for a fight.

Worn out shoes,
Kick the path.
Watching aeroplane spoons,
For mouths shut fast.

As the tide comes in,
I took my my hands away.
Nelson's eye,
Is back in play.
The coincidence of opposites.
I saw today in the faces of my own age, children.
They walked swiftly past, with stony faces.
As if to say yes I grew up.
And in the sunshine they just kept appearing.
Passing by.

The notion I'm dreaming, is ever stronger these days.
As if all the importance is being drained from me.
Yet there's no fear, or frightened parts,
Only love that sees all things.
Knowledge has ahead of it, forgetfulness.
The crow does not stop to examine his wing,
His gaze would surely cause him to fall out the sky.
Yet there is a time when knowing is fruitful.
Reflective verse for a work in progress - Crows Cage, a graphic novel about a correlation with the life and works of Vincent van Gogh
I stand on top of it all
The iron filings
At the end of my fingers
Gathering  love and hate

Get off... crowd control
Don't look back for old finds
Crowd control
Crowd control
Crowd control.

The drum beats out of time,
Dancing for space in between
Where I can breathe in any ocean,
And the cynics howls can't be seen….
Dead before I hit the floor
Tastes so sour
Uttered no more….
It's possible, that you no longer believe in...
Rubix colours, trying to match everything.

Get off ...crowd control
I'm a slub on the selvedge,
A fish in flooded fields
Hammering on water
A sower of sins and seeds.

The day seems longer,
Than the night.
I'm jellied in moulds
Shaking outta sight.

I've jumped into a corner
With death, still, so far away,
Listening to the dialing tone
Holds and leads me astray.

I'm a slub on the selvedge
The patterns just a blur.
Searching for long lost threads
That weave back to the way we were.
about being disconnected
Only when I paint
Does my grip loosen
I give my heart to it
And nothing is returned
That is my inner peace.
Works in progress for new illustrated handmade book about the life of painter  Vincent van Gogh and a correlation to my own journey
I think a man by all rights,
Should believe in anything he wants.
But your choice set my fear,
tenfold.

Your inherited freedom
Is on a leash.
Not aware that it tethers  
your children's necks.
A series of short verse for a new illustrated book about Vincent van Gogh.
Examples of work can be seen on IG  - @yellowstonestudio
The clouds,
They make me forget the sun,
So quick,, so fast..
I pretend so much to fit in
To costumes ,
Not built to last.

I try to stand out.
Works in progress for new illustrated handmade book about the life of painter  Vincent van Gogh and a correlation to my own journey
You are asked
And your words cast out meaning,
Yet their selfishness is returned.
And you cower, crying for silence
For kindness not to be spurned.

Is is all too much for what we have created?
Towers of dogs fighting.
Fallen compasses,
On an empty path
Is it all too much for what we have inflated?
Hands over eyes.
Blind dogs in the tall grass.

And your words cast out their meaning,
They lay out the welcome mat,
Yet on days to come, they fester
And turn you on your back.

Is it too much for all?
Is it too much?
Is it?
Is?
I.
telling the truth and it festering into something else by the hearer
Tag
Tag
Can't get past counting to three
Until it dawns on me
There's no-one chasing
To tag you see!
A short piece found in the archives, about going round in circles in the mind.
He stood by my bedside.
His growl was now the beat of my heart,
His purr the sorrow of it.
He led me outside, down dark winding streets.
Memories followed me and flooded the mind.  
I screamed out into the silence,
But those I once  knew could no longer hear me.

Further he took me, my eyes, they dimmed.
‘’Is this the end of me?’’ I asked.
‘’Yes,’’ he said. ‘’It’s time.’’
His huge arm surrounded me.

‘’Not to worry ’’ he said.‘’
Death never left you. It’s with you always, as Love's best friend’’
Who are you? I asked.
‘’We are the readers of the stories and show our teeth to guard all paths against this knowledge.

Yet even we must  leave when the story ends.
We close our books and we take you''
‘’Take me where?’’ I asked.
Ah! No One knows!, the Reader replied. ‘’Not even I’’
‘’Exciting isn't it?’’
Graphic Short Story  - The illustrated version can be seen here : https://www.behance.net/gallery/45714729/The-Readers-Graphic-Short-Story
How do you let it in,
After an embrace with the devil,
Who whispered, that the world is a lie,
Drenched, drowning in hypocritical sin.

Set, I continue on a road I know so well.
Yet my eyes  no longer touch,
The toys of show and tell.
Maybe I don't want to come back.
I've spent too long buttoning this collar,
Close to my chin
In all, the hope I feel,
Is the silence is yet to come in.
For love
Is despite of my days.
I sow this seventh crow
For you, to flower always.
Works in progress for new illustrated handmade book about the life of painter  Vincent van Gogh and a correlation to my own journey
Others’ are silenced in my imagination.
Conventions have flowered and gone to seed.
I stand here on empty lands,
Seeing nothing but beauty embracing death,
As it’s always been.
A series of short verse for a new illustrated book about Vincent van Gogh.
Examples of work can be seen on IG  - @yellowstonestudio
For some reason or not,
The softness was exposed,
and like all creatures who are in danger,
I found a hard shell to call my home.
What else do you expect from me!
When you all join in a world,
So full of sorrow.

It’s a game where you’re neither the pieces or board.
But  authors of  rules.
No matter,
I shall love all the same.
Works in progress for a new graphic novel about Vincent van Gogh. These are trial pieces for both a background narrative and conversational pieces.
Out of the sea.
The air a splendid cage.
Gasping upon the surface,
Born to change.

To fight for fins, for wings,
And crowds form against the rock.
Patterns shimmer across skins.

Glaciers shape sound, sickness gets in,
And we fight for fins and wings.
Foundations empty for totems,
To fall in.
First few verses. Written in 5 mins and may, just may be the first piece I paint my debut series of works to.
I don't think I've ever felt so alone,
It's intoxicating.
It is the light that casts the shadows,
Yet the nature of me, dances in the sun.
A thousand times on the boil,
With an inch left of steam,
I paint myself white,
Waiting for  graffiti.

It's always been this way,
Stuck like glue.
Faced with a me,

It never felt right.
And the games go on into the night.
It doesn’t feel right,
Dice so tight,
It’s turning to sand.
If I could see the other side,
My worn out ticket,
Would be out of hand.

It's always been this way,
Stuck like glue.
Faced with a me,
It’s turning to sand.
My worn out tickets in hand

— The End —