Life as Art

introspective1@gmail.com

A word,,,

Thanks for coming to my blog; a space where I can post the words I've put on paper, now into the nethervoids of the World Wide Web. Please be gentle. Please give me props if you post my poems anywhere. Please know that they're all copyrighted & I will hunt you down like a dog & kill you if you disrespect that. I know you. I know where you live. I haven't taken my medication in a long, long time. Just kidding, but I will be angry, & you will be short of money.
Love,
Life as Art

Perfect Meditation II

writing for me is all content

a perfect meditation

it’s better than…

it’s better than sedation

cuz when putting mind to words

the feelings flow so true

they speak of strange and precious things

I want to say to you

but it’s better yet that when I write

my heart out while it pours

that when the pen it does take flight

I’ve opened up your doors.

Strings

strumming harmonic happiness

the strings all dance for me

playing to the angels round us music they can see

octaves range in pitch of what my fingers feel

in the space of sequential collusion strings spell what is real

in my arms the probed seduction takes off at a chord

we’ll say quite all we need to now without the spoken word

you’re a part of my existence in your perfect woman’s form

I’ve noticed no rejection from your polished wooden warmth

when all about is hatred bickering and strife

I hold you in my loving arms since 8 you’ve been my lfe

a crystal clear perception of what I can portray

your love is like a vacuum taking me away

The Electrician

sparking through thin insulation consolation

your voltage electrifies my coils

I am the transformer

reformer conformer

reverting converting averting into useful energy

synergy

intimate knowledge of your conduit

shrieking power

I am the electrician

wiring firing inspiring

your system

We are the powerplant

providing subsiding residing beside

the harnessed energy

synergy

We are the fused

appliance alliance

needing both

to never be

shorted

Tattoo

I want a tattoo

a man climbing an impregnable mountain

or mind-blown freaking into the nothingness

Edvard Munch’s Scream

I want a tattoo

your name carved upon my flesh

my blood sacrifice

but what when it’s obsolete?

an engraved reminder of artistry gone awry

yeah I want a tattoo

a man scarred ripped asunder

sown back together

better than before

Mary Shelley’s Monster

didn’t he die at the end?

Tattoo me pierced as you please

a smile etched upon redeemed flesh

smoking reds and violet explosions

of a chance grabbed clung to heart

a phoenix resurrected from a handmade grave

to rise and smile upon the vision

of a lifebird who flies again

Jet City Town

in a purple tint burnt fire

of a window seen sunset

shared by two inspired

just before met

something holds the colours

in the evercrimson sky

tint of two hearts beating

sienna as the day’s-end prize

lovers awestruck serene

sucked deep by infinite power

more real than any dream

the blossom of any flower

this we took in mind’s remberance

this picture inside me now

an hour of peaceful assemblance

paint my jet city town

Queen's Alchemy

venus eyes saline pearls

your perfect salt

I lick it off

tongue tip tracing

silhouette lovers grace

salt to sugar

acid to gold

queen’s alchemy

lovers atomist embrace

fertile sun tongued arena

tracing the pleasure of your sigh

stone melts to liquid sand

glacier to river

queen’s alchemy

Flux

flux

sometimes a state of tremble -indecision- no peace resembled
can stand between the goals of your desire
at times a fate dissembled –bad religion- faithless assemble
can grant your dream a hole devoid of fire

can you persevere with patience creeping slowly towards the station?
is it possible to wait for what is whole?
to blind revere the latent creeping steadily with singular patience
you’ll scramble with a purpose to your role

like a runner’s rush you’ll follow –adrenaline rising- hard to swallow
the power of a well-chosen stride
like a mourner’s hush it’s sorrow –toward the end- victory’s hollow
a passion consumed by our pride

so slug-like oozing forward like a soldier towards the tower
we strive towards paper engraved by the dead
and when at last we see we have enough to be thought free
it’s a stifled shell-shocked silence mind your head