In 2005 The Piano Man was found wandering the streets of Sheerness in a soaking wet suit and tie
he didn't say a word.
When presented with pad and pen he simply drew a grand piano.
His nurses sat him in front of a beat up old upright
he played for four hours straight;
for four months his hands were the only things to break his silence.

Alexandre Dumas said "man will never be perfect until he learns to create and destroy."
Do you ever think about how Beethoven hacked the legs off his piano so he could feel the sounds he couldn't hear in his head, through his chest?
And Van Gogh heard the sounds his paintings made but kept going until his sanity
was just a memory floating on a distant river under a tired Milky Way.
And you see, like a Gaelic folk song blindness runs red through my family,
so I know it's not much but I'm here, still trying to mould my hands to say the right form of 'I love you'.

And did you know that the human heart beats over 30 million times a year, but we still have a hard time keeping our feet on the ground?
And did you know that the act of breaking in a horse is actually the act of breaking it's back?
Like we can't sit without sitting on broken things.
And did you know that every time a mobile phone sends out a GPS signal a bee loses it's way home, and every bee that doesn't reach it's hive dies?

So on nights when your pulse matches the beat of my favourite song
you don't have to wonder if it's me matching the syncopation of your silence --
and I wonder if you ever found what you were looking for.
And I wonder if you realise that on days you're not here I roll up my sleeves,
count the beats without you,
sit on the backseat and miss you.
And somewhere The Piano Man rolls up his sleeves
creates the Big Bang under his fingertips.
And in 2005 on an April morning in Sheerness, a suited piano man walks straight into the ocean,
begs the current to take him.

I send you a message
a bee loses it's way home.
I send you another
another bee dies.
My chest cavity is a bumble bee crypt,
my tongue a honeyed graveyard.

Another message.
The Big Bang.
The hive.
A suit.
That ocean.
Another back is broken.
Another message is sent.
I fear I am more honeycomb than heart.

To create is to destroy. To destroy is to succeed.
And would you just look at what these piano hands have finally done.

Something is
simmering  *  
  ****      
His spice the stars*
His cologne heat up the
woods
Lips and taste boiling
The Green Irish Tweed
Epicurean love at
the Italian
Spice Epic Stadium

Here comes the
Sun the__?
Royal Mayfair
strikingly
My Fair Lady
The spice diction of words
Her name is Sage Lady Bird
You could feel her smile
shimmering

Carnal spice knowledge
Savory animalistic
Spice culture ******
Citrusy fancy dress
Not to panic
His Sunday gravy
Italian sauce garlicky  
She could win so pungent
Spicy lady Pagent

The poor stealing the
rich culture
Sage surrender like the Oz
Like Robin Hood

Spice of life this is our life
Top of the sea salt Spy
scouring
You better have a love
Like a deep pouring
Her Sage Genie bottle
on the stove
Her sheerness lascivious robe

The Meditteranean sea with
Four leaf clovers freeloaders
These cultures and eyes of
strength feature
There is no time to
break up for the love of a spice
Is this the human race
Fresh linens better company
What a primary
Oh! Hail Mary

Those ethnic spices
what a sensual smell
Sage pretty coffee cup show and tell
What a razzle top of her cake
The media takes over all
painted and swirled
Baked spicy finger she dialed

Through her locket heart sake
Recovered love reconciled
The Teddy Rosevelt or Chicago Bears
tight hugs of cultures

Hairy chest his smooth gestures
Culture rough and tough exterior

Like the smile beautiful mind
creature
Beyond to be seen
The Spices computer
world of devices
Strawberry fields forever
But what is forever more love
Crises

Do we always lose our stripes
Feeling layered with her cereal
Tony the tiger
Whats great about curses
Sage speechless can feel the
roar spicy mouth
Going South or North
Victorian corset sensual
Guity spice dark side of Goth
Hot desire from both
The pine needles
Christmas time
The mistletoe kissing pointing to the star
Wearing herself out with her
pointed pump shoe*
But losing her spirit what to
endeavor
*The Blue Horizon Spice Rub
The  pub the sky has no limits
to the Stars that twinkle
The Gods to their *****
Rip Van Winkle
Dry Vermouth or the Russian Roulette
French spice Crepe Suzette

"Adam I Apple Dante Jubilee
Eve was more like a neigh
Horse spicy slide Colonel Spicy mustard
Meeting General Lee Sage custard

Her handkerchief
with sage cut leaves
Hearing echoes what gives
Anyone's spice rack
of shoes engraves Sage leafs

Noone really knows for sure
She wore spice deep blue velvet
Jade Ring Brittish Colony
Stuck to her beliefs like a magnet

Eating vegetable and fish
Her best China ever find her dish

How the jade chandelier twisted
Became laughing like two musketeers
New York City love Serendipity
The Queen chair so domineer
'What Debutants"
Crazed like spices of mutants
The anger management getting
the evil out
The shoutbox strong clove spice
Sage was never outfoxed
Her **** jaded uniform
The firefighter Smoky the bear
  eyes of candlelight storm
didn't make it this year
Torn to tears like two
vultures of
the haunted night
He peddles fast
But the fear needs to disappear

Fresh lake smells fresh
as her breath
The culture and media
make tons of mistakes
She knows what she wants
Not a jungle of
poisonous snakes
He knows what he doesn't want
to tell her
Perhaps losing his
bark dog naps
The best part engage her on
Sage with a heart
The fruit her
flesh and blood
The blood on his finger
Her medicinal herbs
of China
The mason spice jar is empty
The full heart needs his half
Cream of the crop
Careless love accidentally
spice dropped
Sensual Chin like pine needles
The exception to the rule more leaders
Remember Every September
to leave your scent
We all have needs we want
Drinking all the flavors of Snapple
*Big waves of the ripple don't you
love her amazing dimples

That someone
Transcendental
But the scene got dangerous
Lady confidential
The Candle in
the wind of diamonds

Went International
A kiss all over
Continental

{A Scene}she play like
a *** phone
The Xylophone,
not a girl's best friend
Used as a weapon

The scenes crying your eyes
out being alone
Taught her many lessons

And those I phones will become old
The new science of acting is bold
Like the I-spy  you've been
Sherlocked
Pretty smile closed locked
Your earrings what big loop
He's draping the sheerness
The fairest of them all
escaping they need the
The darkness hitting those
stage lights
With your lover
Your body so lovely but
The scene changed to the

{Arsenic and lace}

never will he cover
Death becomes her

What happened to
your love scene
So-called part of your face
His words can devour
her footprints
The scene next required
dinner mints
Like tracking

The trance what a long trip
My taste bud acidy
Flying with lucidity
Meeting My Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

The scene was set up with one crack
To be naked no lines left out train track

The Prince looked away
Never to kiss her

But its I
In the scene, someone will bless her

The whole shebang act
Not some kind of
Seed planted
Whole wheat clean as a whistle
bagel
With your cute beagles
Watching your whole set
Like twins or double bet
What a set she has
Detective scenes of
Chocolate Bavarian cream
Vanilla sky the scene you had
was only perfect for
your dream
Doughnuts all cream
She slipped out of her
French crazy horse
burlesque
scene

The Nutcracker ballet
What meaning yearning
But waiting so long my steps
Got lost in his fire
The desire was higher than
Those outtakes and scenes
To do over again
Primetime someone
Will do the scene again
They skipped over
too many lines
Became the dark silhouette
The scene can be changeable
Channeling into someone
remarkable

We are not built up
to take instructions
We are the someone's
Walking the thin line
Or the thin man
Slim man scene
The restriction chair
Like the guillotine
was the fad
Getting scared and angry
Someone showed up mad
Was pitch black dark of the light
Flickers

Should a scene have teasing
No silly quite the drama so
theatrical they hired someone
Was she anyone well known
Like no artist over the website
He was teasing her hair I mean
That wet diving suit was
like the Rite
She got the look shopping
at Shoprite
"Like Loreal" but more surreal
What April fools commercial
Loosening his tie so political
Their discussion all
exceptions to the rule
Bullfight what kick
in the pants mule


She was born Nutty Professor of snickers*


The true believers and achievers
The passion within us
The colors come to ******
Like a scene
We know how to act when
we aren't acting
Like the punctuations
P...I...E...C...E...S
Those nooks and cranny
bits of pieces

Look at her nieces
they look guilty
When we are doing a scene
It's not necessarily about
being wealthy
Everything is
tangible you're on your own
Even if you're not well known
Like a movie extra
Extra read all about it
I am capable of acting anyway I can
Like my words are written
They can shine a stage to glisten

My decisions grow, as moss grows. Slow, slow and unseen between the green-green of expected. My decisions grow, as moss grows. Quietly wild. Shallow threads clutched tight at the sheerness of possible- drinking light from the dark in order to thrive.

My decisions grow, as moss grows. Slow, slow and unseen. No branches, no forks, no watch-wait-and-see, just spores caught on a breeze when I need them.

Like water falling over a crest
A swift rapid descent into a black hole
The paradox known as my life

Disguised as a pseudonym plunging
Ever deeper into a swirling
Of emotions into depths unknown

Cascading over cliffs at ever greater speed
Feeling out of control
Coalescing into a bottomless pit

The sheerness of the sides
Ever sharper the deeper I fall
Leaving no way out

Holding my breath
For the inevitable free fall
Into a chasm of darkness

Is this my destiny or fate
Or just another nightmare among many
That I will endure

Until...

Andreas Simic©

I will defy the movement of language
With syllables soft before the snow
For Autumn in the fewest chosen words
Along lines of simple alphabets

In the palm of my listening
I will observe you walk as a poem
Skips across ethereally this earth
With colors and bodies of Christmas

An instantaneous impression of beauty
I will sing a lullaby to the irreproachable sky
And kiss the poem-greeting letters
That dissolve as a soul among the trees

And the centre of music
That is a living expression of the times
Today the sun comes out in your poem
And I listen for the poem I will write in reply

I will be a hero of a recluse today, again
With an inner smile of jewel-pointed clarity
That the imagination is a universal thing
The night’s sheerness of black gardens

A voice from which religions spring
Spiritual movement completes itself
In an intuitive release of meaning
A letting go of the sadness of having come

And gone, like death, poetry takes me there
As a river of music, entering my blood
Chilling me with a serotonin symphony
The joy of being here, the glances and reflections

Of existence, mirroring poetry
Between silence and music
The snow and sun, men and women
The rain and drums stalk my fantasies.

there are still words knotted in her stomach,
tangled cherry stems waiting
for shy hands to unravel them,
the pungent scent of fear dancing slowly
in a dimly lit room where you
cannot see her

but you feel her,
innocent, blameless—

a soul with runs always sneaking
down the sheerness of her tights,
the one who revolved her days
around messy diary entries crammed underneath
the mattress she grew up dreaming on

and right now,
you can feel the weight of her eyelashes
fluttering against the warmth of your cheek
the desperate wings of an injured butterfly that knows
that there still exists something called love
drifting soundly down a river of juvenile apathy

it is at this particular moment in passing time
that she decides to dedicate her youth
to the one with enough courage to hide it
in the pocket of his brown overcoat

tell her you love her
before you grow old

.
In the seas of night,
I wish to be with you,
Naked in a bed under stars,
All ocean and wake of dream,
For a true journey into the soul,
Fleshed out and wholly dispersed
Within the sheerness of locked peace,
Under the nearset stars of living light,
We could be, truly knowing in that air
And our eyes would climb, bursting
Into new heavens, hot in embrace,
Circle as we row among palms
And cheek joined with bliss
To a bed of touching love
Made for that journey
Beyond all reason,
Into the sun.

In those first years
we spent a lot of time
in red corduroy chairs,
the ones that came with
the house on Turner Terrace.

I would sit and watch you
when you didn’t know
I was watching, constantly
looking for a crack in
your armor,
for a little snippet of the
***** you might become,

but I never found it
and it never happened.

Your little girl wonder
had me convinced that
the world in your hands
would be safe,

no death blows,
no mean streaks,
love's foundation set deep
never to be undone by
head games or hidden agendas,

and now all these years later
I am still transfixed by
your clarity,
your complete “sheerness”.

You are my priceless
dividend of peace finally paid
from a lifetime investment
in Faith,

you came to me
when Hope had gone
and Grace was silent,

and you love me
when you don’t even know it.

Winds blowing in a symphony of passion
Time stood with expectation of retreat
My realm belongs to the world  
Since I was invincible, the harpoon crosses the finish line
The lighthouse watches the fire raising thoughts of Indecency,
A collaboration of hands holds the secret of creation  
Corridors fuel a desire of revolution
I ran out of words, exploring inside my love
Stranded I left my eyes on the balance of evolution  
Chanting butterfly trembled as my fingers caress your face
Attracting fears at the door, escaping sadness of oppression  
In front of a thickest fog
a human calculation lifts us wondering for justice
A river flow through a piano unveil a new song
Places of freedom continually changed the landscape of the people
Wheels turn slowly especially when tyranny sits on the throne
Few hands found sincerity,
who can pass through a needle without pain?
Rapture of souls found beneath the skylight
Moments of an old flame burning, Summons the rhythm of a man
Take a deep breath on the middle of serenade
Sheerness of life reconstruct the hands that rocks the ocean
I walked through the valley seeking silence
Satisfaction clear presence of danger
Many spoke about solidarity reveling
emancipation from the streets
Forwardness  touched a ****** sensing
the silence of an oblique mourning
For miles the last breath came on a brink of manifestation
Castaway your ambitions and ride on a wave of passion
Wondering syllabus hear the bells
My heart is beating at the sound of angels
Predictions reveal a song of peace
Reckless and punishment declares a new dawn
Eclipse wonder along the clouds,
Timeless spreading kisses inside a concrete rose




Rony Joseph all rights reserved 2010

Everything became love
So grateful wine deep graphics
Stripes and lines the fab of four
Ladies fantastic Apollo
Set deeply to her body

Powerful sun the Trojan horse
Her robe velvet blue stars of course

Shooting out love to the Cosmo
"Holy Water" Posedian

The Gods Athena curtains
That Grecian Santorini island
He became all  magical Houdini hands
So artsy Adobe paint her he's drinking
Japanese Amazake shake
His art through her sheerness robe
He kissed her earlobe
She was perfectly fitted inside his suit
He was probing like a love circuit

We have all types of soul we make
Our own bed
Some people aren't cut out paper
dolls to be wed
Work of art whatever draws
inside your fancy
He was left to think way at
the end of her brush
She still has her cheeks
At the time he so
wanted to crush

All curb appeals statue of gardens
We beg your pardon women in their robes,
  somewhere over Judy
The rainbow cubes
Grecian summertime taking away
that wasted grime
Doing your own time Alice tea party
Whole wine crystalline glass
And just when you look he
disappears
Your blood sweat ancient years
Terry cloth wet tears globe-lit
His sexuality unexpectedly surprising
Her vivacious waves fit diamond
point of return his Target
Paints memories Adobe genius

Sunset nightly dip he's the Adonis
Come to my window but don't
leave me crumbs
More sunlight over
my lace face
I remember the feeling
my whole
body felt numb
To succumb on a mysterious limb
Like a headpiece meet the 
 Malevolent (King-fish)
No home is a Castle until we
make a wish

The wicked cartoonist "Zazzle"
Like a war zone bloodshed
Warriors are coming
Like the communist
Please get it back
to my Grecian finest

What is really our very own
masterpiece tiniest detail
He has a stiff neck and I am
On my Island of loves taking a
sea whiff
Something like a
shark-encircled my
body of emails
Adobe print was all squares-fight
The sentinel of squirrel didn't leave
my sight
My tears shaped the stained glass
We are our own creation be heart
no need to rip Grecian robe apart

i do not feel any darkness inside of me,
only the sheerness of the oppression of the ages,
raining down from atomic skies;
along with the fears of so many who cannot see;
as ignorance draws not from the well of freedom,
nor listens to the wisdom of sages,
but instead courts the fascism of seductive lies

Images of all shapes & sizes
comes into focus in
a melodramatic-way.
A damsel for sure.
The way she plays
does not require
beer-goggles.
It boggles
my hero-mind
the sheerness of
her beauty.
I do believe
it is genuine &
I am sober.

taunt them with your ***** lips
kiss the calendar, each day will
taste your sheerness
sweet and wanting, alone in the room
tempting
let the tongues do the talking

-c.j.

"All the towering materialism which dominates the modern mind rests ultimately upon one assumption; a false assumption. It is supposed that if a thing goes on repeating itself it is probably dead; a piece of clockwork. People feel that if the universe was personal it would vary; if the sun were alive it would dance. This is a fallacy even in relation to known fact. For the variation in human affairs is generally brought into them, not by life, but by death; by the dying down or breaking off of their strength or desire. A man varies his movements because of some slight element of failure or fatigue. He gets into an omnibus because he is tired of walking; or he walks because he is tired of sitting still. But if his life and joy were so gigantic that he never tired of going to Islington, he might go to Islington as regularly as the Thames goes to Sheerness. The very speed and ecstacy of his life would have the stillness of death. The sun rises every morning. I do not rise every morning; but the variation is due not to my activity, but to my inaction. Now, to put the matter in a popular phrase, it might be true that the sun rises regularly because he never gets tired of rising. His routine might be due, not to a lifelessness, but to a rush of life. The thing I mean can be seen, for instance, in children, when they find some game or joke that they specially enjoy. A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical ENCORE. Heaven may ENCORE the bird who laid an egg. If the human being conceives and brings forth a human child instead of bringing forth a fish, or a bat, or a griffin, the reason may not be that we are fixed in an animal fate without life or purpose. It may be that our little tragedy has touched the gods, that they admire it from their starry galleries, and that at the end of every human drama man is called again and again before the curtain. Repetition may go on for millions of years, by mere choice, and at any instant it may stop. Man may stand on the earth generation after generation, and yet each birth be his positively last appearance.”

The sheerness of the lace she wore
was an amazing aphrodisiac,
it accentuated her fine points &
amplified the magnitude
of her rare beauty.

Her selection of fashion
was perfect,
it created an amazing reaction
in me & when
she seperated the fabric
and I saw myself disappear
between the roses,
it was more than
I could take.

The steady flow we made
seemed like it lasted hours
& curling her toes like that
was incredibly powerful,
it made me feel
like we were immortal,
me lost inside the folds
of her *****-portal,
the ones she wore so well.

It's a fair cop
when you catch the
bull in
the china shop.

The china shop sells china
made in Stoke on Trent and is
owned by one-legged Tommy who
lives alone in Sheerness
Kent.

And the bull being full of
whatever bulls are full of
didn't give a hoot.

When inquired what love was
I believed it to be merely infatuation,
an excitement sculpted by the sheerness
of gazing, but upon meeting
the blue-eyed boy, but an acquaintance
at first sight, he became what I believe to be now,
a love I would trek the world for,
the blue-eyed boy, completely and entirely
beautiful, in both soul and skin,
will forever and ever so more thereafter,
carry my heart in his hand, and I, his in my mine

For it blossomed from the unforeseen,
a tale neither expected yet welcomed tenderly,
a love so completely wonderful it aroused pain
at heartbreak, a loneliness in limbo, an absence in life,
alas, the soul felt abandoned in mist, as if lost with
a map, trusting the direction of a broken compass,
still, it was a tug and a pull and push,
the tug of the soul,
the pull of a heart,
the push of realisation,

But it was not the need for someone, something,
it was his mesmerising blue eyes,
the bite of his lip,
the sweet widened eyes when surprised,
the warm arms engulfing my body,
the sensual kisses on my neck,
the love I feel at his gaze,
the sense of bliss as our bodies melt into one,

Quite candidly, most honestly,
most sincerely,
I am madly in love with the blue-eyed boy

I try to make sense of the blurring
Patches of ink on the paper
The sharp curls of each letter
Forming words
It was an imprint of the mind
Moving, reforming, changing
A sentient being taunting my once solemn thoughts

It was a cage.
Trapped and wrapped in a plethora of oddities

It was the color that surrounds it
The very core of what it truly is

It distorts me

The sun was dim and bright
A collision of all
The stars were eyes
Looking down on the meek

The birds swam the skies
And licked it clean with the clouds
The fishes raged at the seas
And from their turmoil
Brought forth raging waters
It was the splotches of creatures on land
There their eyes stuck to the ground
Untethered but cannot move
Unscathed but the fires in their
Bones singes of black goo
They fertilized the soil
And grew trees
Woven out of blood
And the euphoria of staying afloat

In reality one cannot fathom
What it truly meant

Or how it made one feel

It was a different kind of lost
A different kind of terrain
It was unexpected.
Unexplainable.
It was a compendium
Of the confusing.
The ineffable.
The colors were everything.

And I was reduced to nothing.

It was not just mere ink.
It was not just words.
It was not just the paper.

It was the sheerness of its meaninglessness.
The desperation of reason and thought
That spindled and weaved its way into
My skull.
drilled and drilled and drilled.
Until I am numb.



Just like Sylvia.