In Amsterdam a few years ago I stood below 12 sunflowers. Standing still I stared at the bright strokes, bold With something but I. Could not understand I. Did not see a plan, and I. Felt small, my heart in my hand alone below bright beaming sunflowers Some sort of morse code.
Through the frame I look at sunflowers still stale. For a moment I was nauseous and the world spun round Like a horror story the painting asks for a gift. I could not provide, salty eyes and lips I could not give, a heavy handed thought. So I turned on my heel and left.
but then again, yellow was the color of the july sunsets we missed when we were puppeteering the glitches in our words. it was the color of autumn — its night, when we first made out and left permanent scratches on the hood of your daddy's car, its leaves - a deep feuille morte; detached, detached, detached.
like the scent of my hair from yours.
it was the color of the light — back when we lived for early morning kisses on coffee-stained tables, when the world was still asleep. it was the color of the first sunray that crept through my blinds after two days of raining — darling, that was day 4 after you left.
it was the color of the rose petals — a mess on the floor as we listened to a bulk of lonely playlists — love, it would take corrosive agents to dismantle the songs — and probably the memories too, that unlike you, refuse
but then, you are to me as yellow was to van gogh.
but then, it was under the bouts of madness that he ate the paint, thinking that happiness could be ingested.
and darling you are to me as yellow was to van gogh.
I'm drunk and the skies are a little hazy, and the stars, a little like Van Gogh's, but tonight, I'm still an astronaut angling metaphors from the mesophere and you're still the moon to which these poems orbit around.
I think the best of you, You know that’s true, You are my silent cat
You see beyond my eyes
We are letters now, Keep me in ribbon' bundles So we’ll last as long as the skies
With a warm handshake I love you.
WIP's - for experimental verse based on the life of painter Vincent Van Gogh, this is called Seven Crow's - vincent writes to Theo These will form part a handmade zine , my first! I'm sharing on here to engage with any opinion and also to publish as a way to reflect.
I'm truly naked Accolades have no place to call their home I see the darkness from where I'm from And knowing finally rests upon the ledge.
Hope lost, leaves reasons to leave, In younger years I travelled light Now I plan for every eventuality, til the train can’t take my load.
Time to harvest, the crows have had their fill Replacing clouds in the sky I’m the blue, the thin before the black and I shall fly I shall fly and you will see me again and again I shall fly and I will see you again.
Works in progress for new illustrated handmade book about the life of painter Vincent van Gogh and a correlation to my own journey
Guilt is a wound not healed by time. It’s scars are maps to the memories. And there are those that never forget. Only in my work shall I find redemption Where the monsters are reduced to shadows in the sun.
Works in progress - experimental verse for a graphic novel based on the life of painter Vincent Van Gogh
For some reason or not, The softness was exposed, and like all creatures who are in danger, I found a hard shell to call my home. What else do you expect from me! When you all join in a world, So full of sorrow.
It’s a game where you’re neither the pieces or board. But authors of rules. No matter, I shall love all the same.
Works in progress for a new graphic novel about Vincent van Gogh. These are trial pieces for both a background narrative and conversational pieces.