Property,
Art is my,
this....****** is my,
I am not your....,  
Property,
High squeals and sun rays coating sight,
heart beats slow as the joke reach its peak,
but you are too much to teach,
Property,
Art is my,
this....****** is my,
I am NOT your...,
Property,
spontaneous in arousing ways,
Paris for breakfast,
Bali for lunch,
The moon for dinner,
But you are all about your Inner..self,
Property,
Art is my,
this......****** is my,
I am not your,
Property,
Adult...business..care,
you have the scent of over driven adolescence everywhere,
but taking steps back...you're too attached,
PROPERTY,
art is my....,
this....****** is my,
my time is my,
my home is my,
my body is my,
I........am not your,
property.

Where's this abject
anger come from?

Is it innate or
is it
an acquired trait?

Who owns these lips
grinning at gains?

Out comes the wolf?
Out comes the hominid.

Who owns these tongues
dripping silver?

Produce and consume.
That's how it is.

What an art it is
to dispel doom.

Tried selling concepts?
That's where it is.

Beneath the cloth and within a wire cage exists a living, breathing sentient being that is owned by the artist. Although the creature may seem to be in distress, the artist gains an economic advantage through use of the creature in his work, and his economic interests are protected by law.
Please be aware that any tampering with the artwork, including removal of the cloth, shall be regarded as vandalism, and you may be required to purchase.

Knock on any door
And you may hear the cries
Of children, deep within a house,
Whose parents smile at you
With that eroded grin we all know
Like the stony leer of a gargoyle.
And yet you can do nothing.
Not yet…

Visit any friend at their house
And hear the silent pleas
Of a wife and mother
Who endures the fear and pain
For reasons the mystify us.
At least now.

Walk the floor of any factory or boardroom
And you will see the man who bows to his master
While, at home, he treats his family as slaves.

Visit the mansion of any president,
Minister or king
And you may see the ragged masses
Of those who built the walls yet have no home,
Who work the farms and have no food,
Who tend a country and are refugees.

Thus, in the cry of any child,
The fear in a mother’s face or
Silent rage in a worker-slave
Or immigrant dispossessed
And you will see the tyrants who rule,
The fathers who strike and bosses who fire,

Yet all of these serve one master
With many names:
Property,
Greed,
Violence,
Primeval rank and…
Power.

To this power,
There is only one answer
And to alleviate the suffering,
of those oppressed,
Only one thing.

Two independent beings that closely co-exist: love each other, respect each other and worship each other, should not have to claim ownership of each other, as labelling them ‘mine’.

A little bit of ***
In a canvas bag
And a wallet full of notes
And a piece of rag
A tooth brush and comb
And a letter pack
And a bit of paper
With a number on the back
And a crisp old sheet
From a writing pad
Is a folded memory
And a poem so sad
Yet with joy in the lines
That live on still
While the love they were for
Will no longer thrill
For the cause is lost
Like the canvas bag
Left by the seat
With no name tag
How can I find
That fleeting two?
They won't be in Oxford
They were passing through
I met them in London
By the cold roadside
They wanted a lift
So I gave them a ride
They'll pass on
Down Exeter way
The cost of that lift
Was dear to pay
For now I am left
With a canvas bag
With a leather flap
For a naming tag
All covered with names
That student wrote
So when standing so cold
At a glance he'd note
The words of his subject
Written thereon
And his mind would warm
As he pondered on
The lecture from where
The thought first came
And the hour of the day
When he wrote the name
Nameless he was
And his lady too
Till the *******
Was sifted through
Then a card
Came to light
With a name upon it
Plain to sight
And I remember
The college hall
Goldsmith's was
The name let fall
So to the English
Scholar then
I may return
The bag again
With a little bit of ***
And a sad love poem
I'll return them all
To their former home.