(why must I be so hard-headed?)
First glance, it was nothing but beauty,
but oh no, can’t touch,
my mind is thy & no one is for sale,
send demons on them

Some days we wake up on a bad note.
We don't know why, it just happens.
When even the littlest thing can set you off.
For this, all I need is some space to breathe.
To just be alone, away from the world
From the noise of society that drowns me.
Who with their grasp hold me tight as we sink.

Where women aren't quite women
They're Menstruating folk,
Their gender simply Human,
The world gone truly woke.

Grasping for atonement,
The art of double speak,
The fancy of the moment
Our words they cutely tweak.

Political correctness,
Not He, nor She, but It,
In search of urban fairness,
With some a glowing hit.

For others who stay silent,
Not knowing what to say,
On tact sorely reliant,
For this to pass they pray.

But how about this thought
To brighten up your day,
Good sense is rarely taught
So why should wokes hold sway?

We the startled masses
Muted for so long,
Know Thoroughbreds from *****,
That's how we get along.

Kicking up the dust,
learnt about married life
from the prostitutes, I never
touched the flesh of
****** beauty that the flesh itself
is poetry & when
you grow for the better is when
their devils come to get you
& when I die, know that I never
wanted anything else
besides the company of your presence,
heartless when I saw
them bugging out, hard lessons
taught when you’re aware of how easy it
is to be ease
when there is suffering,
I saw them coming &  I put up my hands,
‘I was only looking for love,
I hope you understand’.
They’re become crack, like the time
before that. One of them said, ‘don’t you
dare say a word, you’re giving us
your right hand, don’t you dare cry wolf’.
Afterall the growth, beating real good,
poetry was made
for attention, Heavens gates are inside
their smiles, it put me ahead of the
pack, on track, but I
promises those aren’t your friends,
now don’t hate,
reality has decided for you to wait,
but couldn’t handle the
weight.

ART MOMENT, VOL 1
By Darcy Prince

Time or reality is ungoverned, it will remain so for at least in the indefinable future. Innovations will come along. If ethical education has taught us anything. It always changes. Devoid of not making an effort.

I tried painting for a bit. I’m not that good. Several years ago, my housemate recommended watching an Andy Warhol documentary. I honestly became fascinated & dived into several art documentaries, honestly quite a fantastic learning experience. Looking, I regret not collecting all the links to those documentaries, even though I got the time to do so now. This was during the time of getting to know myself again, or getting a sense of direction. Painting, drawing, more attempts to learn, using online videos to learn how to draw a person's eyes or hands was a somewhat slightly disappointing experience, that I should try something else. I can remember the pacific moment to try art writing a go or even getting into any sort of criticism. But I ended up there.

I remember watching the program, ‘different ways of seeing’, aesthetics became a new subject for me. With Alain De Botton, now taking into consideration the larger impact, things have on society. Being utterly fascinated on how some, not all painters have a lasting print on peoples society. Like how Van Gogh never sold a painting within his lifetime. The relation between what we see & what we know is a comforting, settling thing. Seeing the painting ‘scream’, perhaps an early meme or trolling act, without a notice, reflects the inner fear we share. Feeling desired as a lover, maybe the most Holy feeling in the world. For those who aren’t, their artworks are a displaying force of nature. Rothko has provided a new way in expression, with his drape like paintings in a tone of red, as his edges before the canvas ended seemingly lazy at a time when art was supposed to be serious & realistic. And so far, people are the common thread between forms of art.

A time for action is in art. In modern speaking or our armchair conversations over coffee, maybe you’re a tea drinker. My cigarettes will be there. The hashtag learn to code was quite popular, especially when universal income became a new subject for our politicians we are voting in and started to be talked about. Games are a large industry. There’s even arguments for it being art. It does make use for graphics & storytelling. Whether you play it or not. It does include a large amount of thinking to put together. Sure we can talk of the violence it uses. Though outside those who read or try to keep up with modern times. The rise of deep fakes. *** doesn’t belong to a group, race, a part of the city, race. It honestly belongs to the world. Yes, some works of art will rise from it. The obscure thinking never actually seems to fit in. Even in the Star Wars films, there’s a use of passed away actors to be acting in the films they’re releasing now. To remain innocent, is to remain ignorant. Statues of past figureheads of culture may have been adored by the art critic, but the average person has someone they know to be entered in their private virtual world.

I don’t know what your story is. I think art can offer what we’re languishing inside of us. Personally, over the last couple of years, I’ve been wounded by my last breakup. I spent it in bed, I cried, I couldn’t do anything, even food started to taste differently. In romance art, novels in particular, supplemented so much. Being heartbroken. Can you believe that individuals can do so amongst themselves? I’ve heard it argued & arguing successfully, that identity comes from an idea. Art I think, that comes along with that. But art does provide a certain grief, with tragedy developing as its own genre.

I really don’t know where I was going with this. I just wrote it out. But leaving it here, to add to the body of work when I die. But what reconciles an individual with society, to what that person created.

The sun has risen in the eastern sky
The beginning of a novel day
The world is colored by the light of dawn
Decorated branches are young, yet.

Gestures to walk on the path again
On the blue horizon
Consciousness begins anew today
On the border of life, again.

The south wind blows slowly
Gives life throughout a pacification
Let's come on the path with firm conviction
Sing the song of life, eternal.

Shadows,
Depending on the reflection of light-
Sometimes small,
Sometimes oblong,
Sometimes get lost in the dark again.

Compassion,
Bridge among hearts-
Yet sometimes gets manipulated,
And most of the time, forgotten.

Corpus,
Is constantly running-
In the face of decay,
Fatigue, exhaustion, depression built on it.

Companion,
She is the incarnation of love-
But why gets lost,
In which subconscious?
Covered with an untouched wrap.

Covered by the night

I visit you secretly --


That is the rumour.

A colleague asked “Are you a Christian”?
Implying if I practice my religion every day?
What a topic, subtly graphic,
How to answer, what to say?

A moral trap to utter “Yes”,
‘Thou shalt not lie’ jumping instantly to mind,
Should I now smile, force him to guess
Not showing I’m so clearly in a bind?

If I say “No”, what will he think,
I'm not the man he'd hoped I'd be?
My brain a jumble, options sink,
My instinct quickly turn and flee.

At this point you may well ask
Whatever did you choose to do?
I swallowed hard, reviewed the task
Began to think the problem through.

Do I believe, yes in my way,
But maybe not according to ‘The Book’,
Other's held views never did sway,
Most caring little how they feel, just how they look.

With that all said I held his stare,
And uttered this one simple phrase:
There's but one God which we all share
With Him I’ll travel life’s strange maze.