Tag Archives: art

Museum

When you visit the museum,
The old paintings are taken to the back
New painters hang on the walls,
Hope my poetry will be remembered

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If God went North

             This sacrifice for a dream
Screams thoughts of what I must cast
                    into the sea

       My heart is lost of love
But vengeance
             Hate
      And anger
              
        I see the moon
                                      Not the sun
           walk a dark path
   With an admiration for my shadow

        The only family I know
    With the night inside my heart
         The friends in my head

     When darkness is all I have
             My Nightmares to cherish
     
           If God went North
                              And left my soul,
                                       On a boulevard,
         Under these sinking skies

image

The knights of darkness

Sleep stands a few steps away from me
Watching my pathetic body cycle in weary
My mind aching in ceaseless frenzy

After long hours of a short day,
Counted two at most,
That slowly passed like two long dull centuries

I was reading, vampire chronicles,
Buried between the black ink and papers,
In the great imagery of fine wording

The beautiful scenery of dim evenings,
Masked by moonlights and lanterns
Along streets of the late eighteenth century

An artistic painting it seemed,
Old fashioned, tailored coats and hats,
Queued in long lines awaiting the curtains of the Opera

When theatre truly boiled blood in human veins,
The excitement, delight, clever poetry
Written softly on tender walls of their hearts

Listening carefully at the sounds,
Wagon wheels on tiny rocks of the dark streets,
Through alleys where stray cats made their little roars

There were gasps of terror,
swift advances like a wind,
Cold, that death smelt in the dump air

Then, screams of the fading,
Echoing on walls of moonless nights,
As their skins turned white within the reaper’s grip

Inescapable, truly before the face of death
Creatures of the night, lone predators
The knights of darkness

Beautiful, ain’t it?
Fascinating, the metallic smell of fresh blood,
Dripping from sharp canines, a fresh kill!

Ah, I felt the hunger, and truly did,
But was lost to this world,
Oblivious to my own problems, “food”

That now, dark, you understand,
Why I can’t leave this house to find “food”
And can’t drift smoothly into that pool of sleep “nightmares.”

Ah, nightmares! Hunger!

~sad ~

The epitome of a dreamer

From smoke of random thoughts,
The world as it should be
Burning, a fire of invention

The pen wets the paper,
Smudges of a dark ink,
The calligraphic mastery of art

Following strokes of fine brushes,
On stretched surfaces of white canvas
The coloured sunsets of oil pastels

This, the epitome of a dreamer
The long bars holding,
And glass walls reflecting the mountains a far

Searching within particles of ether
The knowledge of outgrowth
Sieved through the many minds over time

image

The dusty books and furnished paintings

Shadows of bold letters
Anchored in hard covers
A writer’s ship in a sea of thoughts
Blown at by the winds of muse
To tell a story, memory, an idea
The fantastical world of ink on paper,
Detailing sounds and imagery,
The dusty books of the attic

But strokes of coloured ink,
Life painted on sky canvases,
Beautiful sunrise, scary twilights
Amusing faces of admirers
So they hang in the halls of fame
That souls through time,
Shall forever remember