a tug at the end of the line -
there's something here,
she squeaks,
as her skin turns
sea-foam green.
silence drowns her,
"do it afraid",
whispers the sea.
©

To stare at a bowl of fruit

To become intimately aware of a pear's curves,
The pores of a lemon peel.
The velvet of a peach.
To meditate for hours on the shadows of grapes.
I long to stare at a bowl of fruit.
To hear nothing but wind and paint strokes.

the ink of succinct…

is this a poem?
is it a sufficiency?
it self, itself is in
possess of two f’s,
two i’s and two c’s,
thus, is it necessary?

necessity, a quality qualification?

the moment, this moment
is both over and forever,
a sufficient and a necessary
condition for art, for your art,
think - is your condition,
necessary and sufficient?

then you are an artist and a poem…

Well, did you know that your eyes are mighty beacons?
Great flickering flames of an artist's soul?
Did you know that when I saw you first I felt you, wildly?
Felt a gentle steward of poems among us, a river voice renews.

One utterance from you has me above my tiny tempests,
I've been pleading, even prayed (though out of practice) for more words,
But your words, only your voice! Which has me falling into tension,
And godsent, glorious tension ensues from your stark frequencies.

Rejoice, I do now rejoice and it feels like for the first time,
Surely not? And you can't know but I just cried for our distant meeting,
It is as though a veil is lifted, a dam destroyed, a collapsed ceiling?
But now a fear, such a quiet terror that I may not hear you again.

The presence of our contemporary age
Alters artistic vision down a spiral of emptiness.
Artist no longer create the visual page,
Their spellbound by ambitions of digital laziness.

Visions lost to the age of simplicity,
Erased to machines’ evil desires,
Deluded by storms of deception,
Creativity ceased as hell endures its fires.

Instant gratification — the new reality —
The yearning for excellence, no endurability.
Modern day artistic creativity,
Coerced by digital debility.

Tradition bankrupt by false realities,
Lost to a pallet of ones and zeros;
Artwork with no archival ability,
The future lost to modern day technologies.

Well !
To justify the word
"Perfect"
All great artists
Have invested
Some more ink
Some more color
Some more truth
Some more sense
Some more time
Some more endorphin
Some more emotion
To detail
Their perception

Honoring the spirit
With passion to prime
Their enthusiasm
And insight to give
Eternal life endlessly
Consoling their soul
They invest

Nothing more