Word-weavers we are carefully choosing
how to entwine our visions in moment.

We curve the textured linen page
with phases that in-hanse a readers mind.  

We create loops of poetic jargon
that dances to inspire a readers eye.

And when our cloth of vellum is done,
we present our gift to all who gather
in our tapestry of words.

Behind the door of studio flat
Lies a man fighting.
Everyday a battle goes on in his head
But instead of giving up or giving in
He seeks adventure instead
He thinks life is seeking our truth
or the story behind the fact or fiction
He says life is not always what goes on in your own head
Life is a needle making a rich tapestry with a thread
Maybe it's affected by your heart more than your head
We all make it up in some way
From the sun to the light of day
From the moon to the shadows
From animals to insects
From rock to beach
Life is a movement a dance to teach
But in that dance we all play a part
Whispering thoughts across our words from our hearts
Born of lofty brains and souls
We all have roles
In the dance of life
Our heart beat is like a drum
Beating in a rhythm more complicated than drum and bass
Smiles are put across our face
When we realise we are as important as anyone
In the movement of the earth
The star dust made conscious
We walk around the place
We are faces lighting up
Drinking from the waters of realisation our cup
The universe made real
Each day this man feels the rhythm
The movement of life
Each day is a wondrous sight
Just to be alive
and it is gift
To be born and arrive into this existence or expanse
Life like he says is a dance...

The fabric of my life is a tapestry
Woven together with tragedy

There are black threads of loneliness
Blue threads of sadness
Red threads of the angriness
Yellow threads for my minds sickness
Orange threads for craziness
Purple for my madness
Gray threads for deeds of heartlessness
Pink threads for those rare moments of tenderness
Of course there is clear, see through thread for the emptiness

Now look really close, fine little silver threads can be found of happiness
As well as shiny bright golden threads of hopfulness
It's what holds it all togeather
So no matter what storm I must weather
My beautifully tragic tapestry will be wrapped tight around me
The picture in the end will be so wonderfully sad and beautiful, it will make your eye's tear just to see

Your mind will have trouble comprehending how something so sad and tragic
Can create something so darkly beautiful, it seems like magic
It's because I've lived in the dark so long
I've learned to see beauty were it seems to not belong
Out of place and wrong

But in the darkness the silver and gold threads shine so bright
You would of never even seen them in the light

It is never about the words I use,

The order,

Disorder,

It is the tangled tapestry between lines,

Try reading it,

Don't look,

Feel,

Inherently the unwritten ink runs darker.

don't force the words on paper
like a tube of oily ink
it will splatter on your hands
make your ego start to shrink
it's OK to wait til later
when the feeling's turning pink
and the slanting green upon the lands
greets raptors slyly with a wink

don't slap a poem on a page
in the haste of no job jitters
you'll only feed a hungry rage
and feel your talent's shivers

unless . . .

the desire to accomplish
burns gallons of the best
and you've shook your soul wide open
put your biceps to the test

your mind has not been empty
but gathered up and stored
every little bit of lyrics filmy
not so unlike a dragon hoard

the words art each embroidered
and silvery trappings fastened on
with diamonds, blood, and feathers
a new masterpiece spins on

A tapestry couldn't do life justice.
Life is like staring down a cloud
Until it has bowed its head to earth
And you put your hand to its brow
Cool its fever and
Give it colour.

Then walk within
And paint yourself on the layers of mist
Life is like your own reflection in thousands of droplets of water
Life is like your grunt echoing in a canyon as you try to climb down.
Life is like your smell as the wind takes it away to another.
Painting myself into a cloud,
I wrap myself inside it and
When I am done with whirling its frozen suspension about me
I tuck myself in
And sleep well.

That is life to me.

long ago,
I was once given
one of the finest pieces
of cloth

only that the cloth was very small
and I had no thread

later,
I was given some nice
golden thread
I had sewn a tiny heart
on the cloth

the next day,
a boy asked to see
my fine tapestry
i was full of smiles

until

I looked at it and saw
a set of terrible words
on the cloth

as i read it my eyes
burned

"jealousy is a nasty *****."

(b.d.s.)