Thursday, October 9, 2008

Om is where the Art is

I’ve lost my brush and canvas
My pastels too are hiding
The paints are drying up into little cakes
Sitting neatly in glass boxes

I have pictures in my mind
Colors going wild
If the fantasy is to materialize
The art has to survive
In my head
In my heart
In the space between the two
Where the peace is
Where the pause is
Where the sound of creation
Quietly melding into color
I can hear it
It’s pulsating
It is alive, it is beating......

Find me my brush and canvas
Find me my paints
Give me back my pastels
And the power to create....
Let me see the brush strokes
Light up the screen with fire
For if the fantasy is to materialize
And the art is to survive……
Color and sound will have to morph
Until they unite...

The morning.........

The morning is heavy
With the freshness of the dew
Hanging precariously on a leaf
Showing off the sun
Passing through it

I wake up unmindful
Of this delicately placed
Expression of the universe
Not looking forward
To the heat of the day

I sit on my bed
Wary of the daylight
For all it reminds me of
Is a tedious stringing
Of beads
Very unlike dewdrops
Hanging mindfully on a leaf

Living in the moment

my teeth plunge
into crimson covered flesh
my eyes spy
a soft white centre
the roof of my mouth
my eyes well
my ears are titillated
by the sound of crunching
the roof of my mouth
my tongue curls
my heart beats caustically
i am discovering
a radish
body and soul

Sunday, October 5, 2008

The Mountains Stand Behind Me

The Mountains stand behind me
The sky, a gloomy blue
Into the ocean

The clouds above my head
Forever remind me of the soul's dampness
As i walk down dark alleys
The wind strikes my face unkindly
And i still search the dsimal sky
For a miniscule crack of light

But as i hurry through the dribble
Stepping mindlessly into puddles
A luminosity covers me from the cold - the recollection of a smile
Of sparkling eyes
Of pure innocence and abandon
The happy laughter of my child!

Childhood Forgotten

A little girl
She sits beside me
Talking aloud her fantasies
Her conversations with imaginary friends
Her reveries of genies
Seem so unlikely
But the twinkle in her eye
The magic in her soul
Lend credibility to this world so remote
So unabashed is her admiration
Of her own reflection
It makes me ask just one question
When did i relinquish
The little girl in me?


open skies form a canopy
a cover that doesn't protect me
still i stand underneath
exposing myself to it's whims
gazing blankly at passing clouds
cringing from time to time
for these clouds seem to mock me
perhaps they see me for who i am
a groveling piece of flesh
a tortured soul
a confused mind
a complete fool
waiting for salvation
and if thats not my reflection i see
then who am i really?