ArtArt.Art3 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry
The world is your canvas.
Society is your paint brush.
The people are your choice of colours.
What kind of picture would you paint?
How would it differ from the image that is currently on show?
Would you go mad and rid yourself from all forms of restraint?
Just how far down the rabbit hole are you willing to go?
I ask because every portrait I create,
Is inspired by what is already in front of me.
So is it possible to even recreate,
Anything that the mind is not able to see.
The picture will always be the same
Because this life is all we know.
Where there is compassion there must be pain
Because it us who made it so.
your teeth leave different scarswhat they didn't tell me--your teeth leave different scars2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry
the amnesiac is
61.8% water &
on watching the night
close its eyes on you,
I only know beauty;
maybe Anne Sexton was on to something
& for the woman shamed,
arise and breathe. Seabones
with taciturn eyes
after we lost him:
mermaid thirst for
Your virginity is like an envelope,
a lover's observations on
post-it notes, cupping rice
always, and always.
The Songbird's ReplyThe Songbird's Reply4 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry
I am not a songbird
I am a raven
My voice is hoarse from all the tears I've cried
Despite my unwelcoming appearance I am a gentle creature
A loving bird
I am not evil
I do not kill for pleasure
My cry scares off all those who hear it
They don't even listen to what I say
I am a bird of meaning
A bird of love
I do not lash out in anger unless I have reason to
I am sweet
I am caring
I am beautiful
But I am sad
I am lonely
I am unloved
You look into my eyes
And turn your head in disgust
You see my tears and spit on me
You hear my cry and kick me away
A sweet fox beacons to you
Her luxurious orange-red coat attracts you to her
And while her eyes may be smiling
She sneers at the raven
As the fox draws you into her lair
And as you sleep in her arms
The beautiful fox you now love so much sneaks out of her den
All the way to where I live
She gazed upon where I slept
Curled her lips into a fierce grin
And ate the poor raven
Who had done nothing wrong
Who wanted nothing more than to be