Hades 4h

What if this attention or what mortals called fame,
Vanish all of a sudden, will you still stay the same?

What if time slowly takes my voice away,
Will you turn your back and finally stay away?

What if life keeps me under the soil of the earth,
Will you ever voice out all the pieces I've written for the youth?

I'm a small pilgrim of the earth,
I'm the most trusted of the Deities
I'm the enemy of the mother planet
A tiny dust breathing under the vast skies,
Soon I will die and be one with the ground
And fade away like the sunset,
Letting the dusk that they call death
Take over and be in union with the night sky.

if you made it to the rock chart
this man would paint your face
all his life lived for pop art
that moved from place to place

Amy Winehouse, Stevie Nicks
he'd painted every one
from Eric Clapton to Hendrix,
and Ringo, George, Paul, John

his work adorning many sides
The Spice Gils, Siouxsie Sioux
12 feet high and six feet wide
Duran Duran, The Who

and Prince And Justin Timberlake
Tupac and Biggy Smalls
a pop star they had yet to make
he could not paint on walls

from Elton John in star shaped shades
to lately, Taylor Swift
so many pictures he had made
with likenesses his gift

no Visage caused him trouble
or escaped his artistry
not Micheal Jackson's Bubbles
and not Freddie Mercury

a Britney Spears, a Leanne Rhymes
he catered public wants
he did Madonna, several times
and Jimmy Saville - ONCE

Ziggy Stardust, Kids From Fame
Jay Z,  Beyoncé Knowles
he'd painted over Curt Cobain
to make room for Dave Grohl

no galleries or posters
no merchandising deals
his worked on rollercoasters
the waltzers and big wheels

but no one ever called him great
no accolades supplied
for painting garish portraits
on a thousand fairground rides

but still he lived his rock star dream
his work in flashing lights
accompanied by young girl screams
through countless teenage nights.


Riding past a travelling funfair on 21 July 2017 and wondering, who paints those things?

There are songs that no one sings
Yet they are still heard as melodies

And smiles no one paints
But it doesn't mean we can't call that art

And then there is my heart.
How it quivers at the sound of your name,
and how it loses itself in the thought of your smile.

In all fields of Artistic Endeavor,
One will find the Exceptional
And the Mediocre.
Moralists might try to draw distinctions
Between the Vulgar and the Sublime,
In Whatever forms of Art
You view,
Or Study,
You'll have to refine your Discernment
And lean to separate
The Gold from the Dross.

It’s imposable to comprehend,

The Gamut of anything,

But I believe, with art,

We can at least begin.


a colossal marble
was just a huge rock
until you layed eyes
on it and bought
it life in form of David,
the biblical hero,

walls of the heaven
in god's own earthly residence
were figment of imaginations
till you painted the entire bible
on the walls of Sistine chapel
that stands as beacon of hope and faith
for those who want to
follow passions extraordinarily

you were Apollo reborn,
only to return back after guiding humans
about the irrepressible capacity we possess
of which we have gone unaware of somehow,
even today, in shadows of doubts
and the storms of failures.

"survival is an art form"

art forms are survival

survival in art forms

forms of art survive

forms survive in art

this art form is my survival


Making Good Art
Is not necessarily the same thing
As making friends.
If you Make Good Art,
You might drive away
A lot of "friends".
They might find your work
Too raw.....
Too vulnerable.
It's as if you're posing naked,
(Or, maybe, posing naked IS your art!)
In any case,
If you persist on the Artistic Path,
You'll grow spiritually,
And you'll probably become wiser
With age.

This poem was composed at the Blair-Caldwell African-American Research Library in the Five Points Neighborhood of Denver.

Holbein paints us together.

Fortune teller,
Truth bender,
gifted beyond his young age.

let us listen to his forecasts
even if to do so is Folly.

What does the crystal ball see?

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