#poetryinmotion
N o t x A f r a i d |
#prose #typewriter #write #poetryislife #poetryinmotion #poetryslam #art #blacklove #wordgasm #lovepoetry #igpoets #urdupoetry #inspiration #inspirationalquotes #spokenword #motivational #poetryofig #poetsociety #lovequotes #quoestagram #lifequotes #poetrybook #poetryloving #instagrampoetry #metoo #spokenwordpoetry #poesia #yogapoetry #spilledink #writtenbyhimy
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N o x S u r f a c e x K i s s e s |
#prose #typewriter #write #poetryislife #poetryinmotion #poetryslam #art #blacklove #wordgasm #lovepoetry #igpoets #urdupoetry #inspiration #inspirationalquotes #spokenword #motivational #poetryofig #poetsociety #lovequotes #quoestagram #lifequotes #poetrybook #poetryloving #instagrampoetry #metoo #spokenwordpoetry #poesia #yogapoetry #spilledink #writtenbyhim
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G o o d x M o r n i n g |
#prose #typewriter #write #poetryislife #poetryinmotion #poetryslam #art #blacklove #wordgasm #lovepoetry #igpoets #urdupoetry #inspiration #inspirationalquotes #spokenword #motivational #poetryofig #poetsociety #lovequotes #quoestagram #lifequotes #poetrybook #poetryloving #instagrampoetry #metoo #spokenwordpoetry #poesia #yogapoetry #spilledink #writtenbyhim
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G o o d x M o r n i n g |
#prose #typewriter #write #poetryislife #poetryinmotion #poetryslam #art #blacklove #wordgasm #lovepoetry #igpoets #urdupoetry #inspiration #inspirationalquotes #spokenword #motivational #poetryofig #poetsociety #lovequotes #quoestagram #lifequotes #poetrybook #poetryloving #instagrampoetry #metoo #spokenwordpoetry #poesia #yogapoetry #spilledink #writtenbyhim
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the sound of it is enough, there are no perfect words; - Haste the Day, May 2015 - #hastetheday #newyork #irvingplaza #travel #metal #coward #throwbackthursday #throwback #flashbackfriday #fbf #tbt #flashback #punk #tour #inspiration #shadow #love #uplifting #poetryinmotion #instagood #toomanyhashtags #dontcare #duet #metalcore #missyou (at Irving Plaza)
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‘Wildwood Road’
ELIE SAAB Ready-to-Wear Autumn Winter 2017-18 for the September issue of Jamalouki Magazine shot by Pascale Laffe and styled by Dima Farhat.
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In full display, Harrods’ windows light up to the ELIE SAAB Ready-to-Wear Autumn Winter 2017-18 collection | Discover the collection at Harrods Superbrands level 1 #PoetryInMotion
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That Morning Glow
ELIE SAAB Ready-to-Wear Autumn Winter 2017-18 for the September issue of L'Officiel Netherlands shot by Laura Marie Cieplik and styled by Camille-Josephine Teisseire.
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Straight from the runway take a closer look at the embroidered details from the ELIE SAAB Ready-to-Wear Autumn Winter 2017-18 collection now available at all Boutiques #PoetryInMotion
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I can’t sleep—
Last time I allowed
Whales to dance
Through my brain
But I cannot sleep
My thoughts are running
Like moving water
Where fish dance—
Sparkling river
Leading them
Downstream
Reel all my thoughts
Impale them on sticks
Roasting over flame
Let tomorrow
Burn them all away
Warmth emanates from
the singular chimney
Housed within the heart
Of a drafty mansion
It’s where the deer go
To lie upon rickety floorboard
As sparrows acquaint themselves
With the abandoned rocking chair
Preening their worries away
Serenity melded with serendipity
The course of the universe
Ivy stretching over bricks
Decomposition of matter
And the soul
An Internal Dispute From Sleep Deprivation
Blatant words befalling blue lips
Smeared the color of sadness
Tri-coated depression
What is art to sadness but apples to applesauce
thefortymillionsomethingpoems
Some statement minus punctuation and declarations of woeful broken love
Gorge upon the sales of music to public ears
I gave my blood, the likes which you’ve never seen and apparently do not want
Pages of fine ink multitudesofwordsmeaninglesswords
The alternative framework lost—
Eaten in the mainstream, some cherry picker we have to thank for this
Poets ought to rip the world to shreds with a pen
Splash ink onto pavement, blacken the world into a deep void
Gross schemes, where the fuck is reality?
I accidentally threw it down the garbage disposal
But the corporations forced my hand
The meaningless throb the echoes of time ticking sand
Mind wrenching melting numbness pain
Contradictory hell
What more is left to do? What more is to be achieved?
Light a metal garbage can,
Set all the books on fire
And all the art as well.
Deafened ears
Silent eyes
Rippled waters—
Reflecting murky skies
What remained
Laid in sullened tune
—With calla lilies
In godless demise
My organs wrung
Then clotheslined—
Like some
common rag
Discarded lungs—
Airbags for the worms
And my
once sharp tongue
Sits ’tween teeth
Delicately dead
This damp cavern
Punctured by
A singular watery tree
The branches splay
Beams of light
Where I lay—
Skin haloed
in mossy wreaths
Flowers before dusk
Curling from darkness,
How you shrink
So timidly inward
You fill yourself
With seas of fears
Though occupying
Minimal space
I would
Kiss your petals
If you
Loved me
Peace with the worms,
Consciousless things
How I’d like to join them
In holy matrimony
With the earth
As the skies weep
Reinvention
Feels like a sin
i t’ s backpedaling
Don’t I deserve
To live
Without
A
Hi-polymer
Eraser
?
The Haunted Ceramic Figures of My Childhood
My ceiling is crusted with stars
It brings with hesitation, old memories
Chipped ceramic figurines
Cherub lips, empty gazes
Some were glazed matte,
Others shone glossy
There was a plastic
Glow-in-the-dark unicorn as well
The past hums
A soft lullabied tune
It creeps up your spine
And into your heart
Like ice
The old, dusty window ledge
Where those old figurines sat,
Ate cobwebs and glared out
At passerbys
The paint would stick to
Each small pedestal
Baked under the sun—
They would grow hot summertime come
I would touch them as a child,
Sometimes make them kiss
My fingers collided with their skin roughly
They were gritty, like fine-toothed sandpaper
Cross and unwelcoming they were
Like they had little spiteful souls
That looked at the first floor lawn
In contempt
Perhaps I should have known
It was how all things went
Visible and forgotten
Left for the next apartment owners
Death beckons
And I hesitate
But the solid form
Appeared
So comforting
A being
A rubber wristband
Encircling a
Pale arm
Extended graciously
A plain white
Sterile shirt
Hung loosely
’round their form
And bed hair,
Bright eyes,
A smile
Innocently wise
I would lay
In their embrace
Nestled wordlessly
Drifting
Into peace
If Life had not
Eaten my soul
Starting the new year with a clean slate. Looking back at the past year in art I found little in the work that really expressed the things I wanted to say. People make art for different reasons. I have always been issue driven, emotive and immediate with my tools. Trying to simultaneously convey the head and heart chatter of the moment, through color, gesture, scribbles and words. To my way of working and thinking; The more aesthetically conformed the work, the less truth it contains. So my desire and intention going into this new year is to stop thinking in terms of desire and intention. Stop trying to “fit in” so to speak. Be a better more honest painter. Not sure such a thing exists anymore, but giving it a go all the same…. Sending out the good vibes to everyone for a healthy and blessed new year. So much work to be done. ❤️❤️❤️ #honestart #newyear #paintergrrl This piece finished: Leap of Faith: Giants. 48x48 mixed media. #abstractpainter #markmaking #cincinnatiartist #contemporaryart #headshot #poetryinmotion #truedetective #mindsleuth #modernart #searchingforcamus #strangersinparadise
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